THE THISTLE

 

Sister to Queen Ann’s lace

A guarded beauty

She protects her precious seed

in an abandoned field.

A thorned sentinel

She draws soft colors from a difficult soil

at the edge of the highway.

On driving by a guard rail on the way to training

school. 

Aug. 1987

 

TAPPING THROUGH

 

Tapping through a mind field

looking for a real world

I am caught

in this cell of conviction.

 

Searching for the right ways

to cut through the blues haze

I find

that my life is a fiction.

 

When lost in these dark times

I pick out the good rhymes

that

speak

to my web of connections.

 

I tune out the poor goons

to turn on the real tunes

just

hoping

to share some affection.

 

Here with the inmates

I look through the

thick grates,

my

soul

is simply exploding.

 

So

I

just

listen to my music

and

use it

and

use it

 

There is no easy exit home.

 

ON THE BEACH

 

He is seven

His brother almost four

As the wind

and its eddy

 

they rushed onto the shore

He with a young gulls

awkward wings

parades the sand,

catching the waves delight.

 

ever mindfull

 

of

 

the surer step.

 

Together

their voices

CHALLENGE

the Oceans

 

CLAPPPPPPS

and ~THUNDER

 

exchanged

 

the sounds mingle

as the tide

 

Their pants are rolled to the knee

 

his not so practiced

 

now

 

cuffs unravel to the sea

to

join in

 

the pleasure of the day.

 

Winter Morning

 

The sun is rising

softly, you leave the bed

warm odors linger

I

snuggle

in the memory

of

the night

 

1981

 

The Battle Monument

 

Only a fraction of the day remains

the dull pain echoes from each fiber

that is

the web of my life

 

no more musters

we fought well

 

when they told me, I did not want to know

when they told you, I did not want to hear

when they told the children

I

began

to tell myself

when I told myself,

I

cried

a

single

tear

that will not stop.

 

for Jim McLindon who wore cool shoes.

 

at the edge of spring

 

Near the edge of a winters day

listen for the special hour

when

the crocus becomes a flower.

 

Smell the scent that comes a new

as the last snow fades in a breath of dew.

 

words

 

unspoken

 

speak

to seasons of life

unbroken.

 

her kindness casts no shadow, I am refreshed.


 

thoughts

 

1. His body neatly barreled, his genetic tonsure two inches

above the ear. he totters on the wave, seeking a new found

balance. His splashes attack the wind, and with the tide his

laughter rolls up on the beach.

 

2. The autumn wind sweeps across the river of grain carrying

its seed to the spring.

 

3. The sky’s gray flannelled horizons gave the city a buttoned

down look of sameness.

 

4. He was not quite the picture of his father, but rather,

underdeveloped and overexposed. He could not take the

light, but needed a slower speed and a thicker emulsion.

 

5. Her face filled my eyes. I did not fill hers. In the

confusion of absence or figure lost ground.

 

6. His voice was a hot summer wire, high pitched, wringing

with tension, piercing the muscles of my neck. With no relief

in sight, the sound of his voice trailed endlessly into the 

moment.

 

7. The windows of the soul were polished dull with the

abrasions of life

 

Spring Morning

 

My neighbor sits in his living room

the doctor visits

 

He says

 

‘all is well, I get out often’

 

each agrees

to

ignore the other.

 

I am watching with my neighbors wife

ants as

they

crawl in the morning sun

and

insects

as they take wing

and

the forsytheia as they give bud

to spring

 

I return home with freshly cut boughs

as He sits

caught at the edge of winter.

 

On meeting Gardner for the first time, April 1987.

 

NO_____________ Or  feelings out of tune  

 

I don’t know what to do

I’m not sure where to go

every bodies telling me

where

and

I keep screaming NO

 

The noise of my insistence

is

the bane of their existence

there is 

 

NO QUIET

 

in my head

anymore

 

I need a rhythm to rock too

a song

to carry me through

 

I need a destiny to walk to

not an order to slow me down

 

a gentle pull at my strings

so

I

can be

about other things

 

I need a rhythm to rock too

a song

to carry me through. 

 

At 40

 

Her hair is pepper grey

tears and laughter of four decades

line the margins of her eyes

Parchment now shows through her tender skin

her fingers know each hair upon my back

and 

nourish

a life within.

 

BIG FUCKIN DEAL

 

I just want to party

 

and drive a big car

 

I’ll drive off to nowhere

 

it aint your concern

 

I just want to party

 

and drive a big car

 

I don’t need anything just 

 

a 72 challenger with a 383

 

I’ll go drinkin a little

 

and fuckin a lot

 

its none of your business

 

you aint got no right

 

to live my life.

 

I just want to party

 

an drive a big car

 

who gives a fuck any way

 

if its money I need

 

I’LL take it 

 

dead people don’t bleed, 

 

I just want to party

 

and take a line

 

whose life is it anyway

 

ain’t it mine.

 

I just want to party and drive a big car.

 

OCTOBER 1987. FOR D.P.

 

TRAVELS.

 

Nestled on my shoulder

in the big red tub

holding onto a

star white

sky blue

balloon

Lying on the spring green lawn

dipping feet in to our warn summer pond

swimming coral reefs

counting wildabeest

catching snowflakes with our hands

building castles in the sand

we

have travelled landscapes

together

 

carry us to your new home

 

in your dreams.

 

For Matt on journeying to Thailand.

 

ON CHANGING COLORS.

 

Oh its hard to change your colors

oh its hard to know what’s right

oh its hard to change your colors

when you go from purple to white

 

When I 

lived in the land of purple

The rulers were unkind

they asked us for lots of work and sweat

those troubled days

I am glad to leave behind.

But my friends were there, to stand by me

with a struggle shared and fought

and I miss them now in the land of white,

where such friends as those are naught.

 

Oh I wish I had a good friend

one that I could care for and trust

Oh I wish I had a good friend sir

a good friend is a must.

 

Someone that I could go to

when I was low and down

someone that I could go to

when I felt that I would drown,

in doubts and fears about myself

that

I really can not stand

and which at times make my heart cry out

I  need a helping hand.

 

Oh its hard to change your colors

when you go from purple to white

the passage is unclear and you get lost

without the light

of a friends, a buddy, a pal

someone

true and dear

who wont get mad at me

when I shed a tear,

who will tolerate my anger

who will let me be his friend

who will share with me

his cares and woes

and will stay with me

till the end.

 

for JOSHUA ON CHANGING ‘classes 1984.

 

looking in the lost and found

 

I have been runnin round runnin round

just hit the ground

been lookin up lookin down

even gone to the lost and found

tryin to find you baby

 

I’ve been feelin blue feelin bad

didn’t think a body could feel so sad

just don’t know what to do without baby

 

I’ve had a beer shed a tear

just don’t know where

I’m gonna find a baby like you

 

so

 

I’ve been runnin round runnin round

been lookin up lookin down

even gone to look in the lost and found

trying to find a baby like you.

 

MOJA SHILLINGI

 

Copper hills bake in the sun

skeletons of rivers etch the land

the memory of tradition

is now lost

in the childs extended hand

calling

MOJA SHILLINGI

MOJA SHILLINGI.

 

TOMS POEM

 

Rivers are long stretching

doing everything

I walk along the shore

and climb the rock

to see

the sand below

I will swim

I will float

I will not drown or frown

but will always be.

 

for the memory of Donna Magarelli

 

SILENCE

 

Bright mirror

in

the dark

 

compass

of

this heart

 

words

now

lose

place

 

within thy grace.

 

The anguish of this night

burns

clear

with the morning dew

 

I

 

am

not alone

 

I

 

am you

 

CLEANING CUPBOARDS

 

Matthew 15 sits at the kitchen table

ironing autumn leaves between

sheets of wax paper

holding onto a passing season of his life.

 

Cleaning out the cupboard

I find old photos

leaves of past seasons in our life

and pause to

 

smile.

 

New Margins.

 

Not knowing quite

how to

punctuate

I imagined that my heart

was last between

the period……………………………..

 

and

The next paragraph

SO

I

decided

to Ibid. my self

into

 

the footnotes

only to find you there

helping me to find

new margins.

 

WORDS.

 

rocks that bridge silence

safe ground in the awkward steam of life

anchors

from which to try ones depth.

 

A Winters tale

 

In this

flake white night

caught

in a bubble of 

choices made

 

I wait

barefoot

outside my neighbors door

 

senses

numbed in drink

 

and

I wonder

what GOD

thinks about this

 

Life

 

where stale cigarettes

give 

no protection from the cold.

 

MORE THOUGHTS

 

JOSHUA at 5 learning how to play cards

 

he was about the game of life

not quite understanding how the it was played

as you brinked the age the five to six

he said he saw no difference

between my rules and his

and it was I that was confused

a problem he could surely fix.

 

On approaching 50 and thinking about my brother with my

nephew who has recently returned from Africa.

 

Sept 21, 1985

 

At the edge of the river

 

now

 

I lie and wait

 

a single incisor left.

 

I feel cool clouds lift

 

to greet the day

 

nourishing new definitions

 

on the banks

 

My boundaries are fading

 

in time

 

as I rest

 

in the suns warmth

 

I have trouble seeing

 

Dreams

 

of 

 

the river, the wind, the land, and my life

 

are now a single current reaching

 

to the horizon.

 

I fear I am losing

 

my mind

 

Dread winter creeps

 

into my bones

 

past decisions float

 

up to the surface

 

I feel so all alone

 

is that you

 

my brother?

 

I’ve missed you so

 

So good to see you.

 

tomorrow

 

Will you

 

greet me

 

in paradise?

 

Dancing partners

 

Stooped and slowly nodding to the left

his heart sill danced with hers

to a silent melody

the rhythm of their life

There was nothing pedestrian about it.

 

THOUGHT

 

In your bed

a garden of delight

I find myself exploding

with 

the fragrance

of the

night.

 

winter wind

 

Cold air

unwelcomed

cushions

itself

about my feet

Winter

is

at the 

door

 

In south providence

 

there were all beginnings

no ends

many breaks

no trends

 

a circus tent

a performers role

the barkers ring

a curtain call

 

another stage

another call

where is life

is it worth it all.

 

at pmhc

 

I changed my name in hope

of escaping the roots of my concern

only to find it served as a mirror of neglect

 

I was wed to my father at two

as my mother had to leave for Texas

daddy needed a lady to finger

so

I was served up

 

Dressed up in their feelings

paraded as their strength

I was painted from head to toe

only to

be left in the wings with my mascara running

 

the heart grow red in hate

and

parched the landscape dry

 

the child is lost

the mother dead

the cunt enshrined

the body wed

to vagrant men

and a hollow place

the child is lost from grace

 

on fear

 

they keep knocking on the door

I thought it was death

so I kept it shut

only to suffocate

in my own breath

 

fanta babies

 

There was only one fanta baby left

of the nineteen born

he too

would die of too much sweetness.

 

Thinking with hands about wheels.

 

A mirror to the void

 

he

sits and drifts

awkwardly

sifting

through

word things

trying to

get hold

of a

meaning

before

he-it

too

slips

again

below

the surface.

 

sledding

 

The blue sheet of polyvinyl

the flexible flyer

and

the silver disc

had all been tried

 

cradled against his brothers body

glued to his fathers back

the snow packed patterns of the day

seemed set

 

Yet now

intoxicated with the warmth of the sun

and the firmness of the snow

he slid in his body suit

upside down

face to the sky

with legs rudder-propeller

through drifts

of his own laughter.

 

WINTERS WAY

 

In this middle season of my life

when

faint musings give voice

to that tapestry of choices

made

 

I pause, at the kitchen window

to share

with the cardinal the fire he brings

to winters way

 

As the sun has stopped to rest on the south’s horizon

I have come to rest with you

enjoying the preparation for the children’s spring.

 

It is summer in my heart and 

with practice and rehearsing,

the note now learned

play full strength

the melody of our life.

 

thoughts:

 

*oil and water may not mix but they do make wonderful bubbles.

 

*to wander through the worlds of thoughts

that bramble and entwine

requires a practiced flexibility

not a glass of wine.

 

HOPE

 

her friendship is stenciled onto 

the walls of our kitchen and hearth

they greet and end each day

not even paper thin

yet

a part of the substance of our home

as much her as us.

 

KATHLEEN

 

In my childhood

and

that of my children

she served

as the first concrete measure

of 

becoming an adult

 

with each child’s passage

 

KATHLEEN

 

delighted with being smaller

as others grew taller

 

keeping her childhood alive

 

thoughts about Easter Sunday as Joshua escorted the china

doll among the Easter eggs

 

AUTUMN

 

The sunflowers golden mane

bends

to the earth

 

apples fall

 

hints of autumn

are

on the leaf

in the wind

 

harvest is close at hand.

 

TRANSITIONS

 

Out on the bed

lies

a closet of dreams

 

mixed scraps of paper

worn thin at the edges

 

debris

 

a confusing map

esoterica, the sacred heart

are now

sandwiched

between redi teller slips

 

hidden meaning remain hidden

 

plastic utensils

in white foam blown boxed

are saved

for picnics

never taken

 

precious

is now unwrapped

in a plastic bad for display

 

this is a sad day.

 

Why?

 

There once was a girl

Nearly  3 feet high

And all that  she said

Was Why?Why? Why?

 

She said it at breakfast

Before she ate

She said it to her mom

When mom said

We're late!

 

She said it to her teacher

When she was at school

She said it most often

When the teacher gave a rule.

 

She said it  at lunchtime,

As the sun rose in the sky.

Every other word she spoke

Was why? Why? Why?

 

Why do I have to?

Why can't you?

Why is the sun yellow?

Why is the sky blue?

 

Why does the Night come?

Why do stars shine?

What does the moon smile?

Why is that not mine?

 

Why must I do this

Why do we eat greens?

Why can't  I eat

Those red jellybeans?

 

Why do we sing ?

Why can't I hum ?

Why can't I have  a cookie

For my tummy tum tum?

 

Why must I wear it?

Why is it cold?

Why can't you stay young?

Why do you grow old?

 

She said it to her daddy

 Each and every day

She said it to others

In the most serious way.

 

 She said it to her playmates

In the  late afternoon

She said it to the stars

and  to the man in the moon .

 

all the day long

She expressed the view

When life is young

And words are new

The favorite word

That children knew

 

(The word she liked the best

And never got a rest)

 

Who were nearly  three feet high,

And just a little shy

Was

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?