Father Beach
Father Beach
stretched arms
under the bridge
and off to the rocks;
he is losing his hair
to the rhythm of time
in great green chunks,
and with many-fingered
waves he writes
his story in the sand
only to erase it
a moment later
so he can choose
better words;
he is a gifted spoiler
of the wind's free dance,
saddled like he is
to the edges of
the many great cities.
... I know it's been a long time since I've written or posted anything here but I've just kind of been caught up in the day to day routine and have let my blog go... things are still great here in North Carolina, I'm still living with Jay and Dani and Connor, and playing at the church every other weekend... we've got a full band again for this Sunday and a good list of songs, so I'm really looking forward to it...
... this week they've had some houseguests from NJ, Mike and Colleen and their son, Hunter, spending their vacation here... Mike and Jay are good friends and I know Mike also from the old hometown... so there've been daytrips and pool trips and fires in the firepit at night when the rain hasn't ended them early... we had a nice fire going last night, and the half-Moon was in the sky and a scattering of summer stars, but by 10:30 a storm rolled in quick and began raining heavily on us... so we beat a quick retreat inside and let the weather finish off the fire...
... I do have some poems to post and I will get them up there starting today... I had the place to myself for a while yesterday and sat outside for a bit and got some new ones too, which felt good after such a long spell of not writing much...
... I miss my books... tho' I'm glad for the ones I packed with me when I left NJ, but I've so many other ones I miss... reading other poetry is what usually kick-starts my own writing by getting my brain in that special frame of mind, so I miss having the whole variety of my library around me... hopefully someday I'm reunited with them all, I hate to think I'll never see them again, or any of the other things my friends are holding for me back in NJ...
Cookie's Home
Your beautiful egress
from the plane
down the steps
ticket in hand
like still
a little girl
rushing to my arms
the paper lifted
and lost
to the wind
like a drawing
you made
with crayons
of a bird
landing
on the front lawn
of our old house
with a heart
in its wings.
After Sharing Summer Stories
You told me about
the blanket you
and your sister
would take outside
with you both
in the summer
to lay on
and watch
the clouds pass
overhead
and now I want
to write about
that blanket so badly
tho I've never seen it
and I have no idea
what color it was
or how it felt
against the
back of one's neck
as a pillar of white
fluff changes
discreetly into
a pony
but I close my eyes
and I see you
the woman I love
lying there as a child
laughing with your
sibling
and I know at once
that the blanket
felt like comfort
and smelled
like home.
The Buffalo Poem
I grasped the horns
but had no idea
how to steer it
best to just let it
wander away
on its own
his shaggy back
making me stagger
because he bumps me
while he turns
to go
I wanted to ask
why the deserts
crack under the
weight of thirst
and how many
layers of loss
it felt capable
of carrying
but it just
wandered away
like they are all
born to do.
... here in North Carolina there's a spot in Jay's backyard to the side of the house where little grass grows and it's mostly dusty and rocky... it's usually where I like to stand when I'm out with the dogs, especially in the afternoon and evening, because that area is all sunlit and warm... I crouch down as I watch the dogs run, but the whole area actually takes me back to New Jersey and when I was a little boy and I'd go to church with my mother and grandmother on Wednesday nights for Prayer Meeting... now, the word "meeting" is a boring word to any child - you can almost hear the droning of voices in the background when you say the word - so my mother would often let me stay outside the church in the warmer months and play on the grounds... this was a small church, could barely have held 100 people, it was a little one-story white building with the pastor's house beside it, and it all sat on the end of a street next to the parking lot of our local strip mall... and usually I settled on playing in the parking lot, maybe with a few army men or other small toys, pretending the dust and stones were a desert or alien planet... I'd also watch and listen to the cars passing by on the main road, and I always noticed how deep and green the grass around the church looked in the setting sun... then I'd hunker down again to make piles of stones or grooves in the dirt for my soldiers to battle through... so I keep remembering those days when I'm out there now, watching the dogs stir up the dust as they run past me and listening to the tall grass at the back of the yard whisper in the wind... no soldiers in my hands now tho', just the one in my heart who keeps walking forward while also looking back...
... I'll have to write more about that church since it influence me in so many ways and I have so many great memories about that place from when I was in single digits... our pastor back then was a Mr. Glen Fisher and he was/is one of the men I've admired most in my life... I don't even know if he's still alive, since he left that old church while I was still young, but he did leave a strong mark on me about how a man should live and act... so I'll bookmark today's thoughts for a reminder to come back to them and share more...
... for now, the dogs' are calling me, and it's a cool summer morning...
