Though my mother was already two years dead
Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,
put hot water bottles her side of the bed
and still went to renew her transport pass.
You couldn't just drop in. You had to phone.
He'd put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.
......
In 1965 my parents broke two laws of Mississippi;
they went to Ohio to marry, returned to Mississippi.
They crossed the river into Cincinnati, a city whose name
begins with a sound like sin, the sound of wrong—mis in Mississippi.
A year later they moved to Canada, followed a route the same
as slaves, the train slicing the white glaze of winter, leaving Mississippi.
Faulkner's Joe Christmas was born in winter, like Jesus, given his name
......
It's golden teacher appreciation day, a shiny red apple;
Like scarlet carnations and roses, compel smiles ample.
To worthy ones, who helped shape hopes and dreams,
Like still silence of moonlight, when birdsong screams.
A card for the teacher, at orange sunset of school days,
Whose lessons follow forever, like a purple, misty haze.
Deep emerald days of youth, as yellow butterflies roam,
Will find you again in memory, after you've gone home.
I will tell you something about stories,'
They aren't just entertainment.
Don't be fooled.
They're all we have, you see.
All we have to fight off illness and death.
You don't have anything
if you don't have the stories.
Their evil is mighty,
but it can't stand up to our stories.
......
Some are teethed on a silver spoon,
With the stars strung for a rattle;
I cut my teeth as the black racoon--
For implements of battle.
Some are swaddled in silk and down,
And heralded by a star;
They swathed my limbs in a sackcloth gown
On a night that was black as tar.
For some, godfather and goddame
The opulent fairies be;
......
It's golden teacher appreciation day, a shiny red apple;
Like scarlet carnations and roses, compel smiles ample.
To worthy ones, who helped shape hopes and dreams,
Like still silence of moonlight, when birdsong screams.
A card for the teacher, at orange sunset of school days,
Whose lessons follow forever, like a purple, misty haze.
Deep emerald days of youth, as yellow butterflies roam,
Will find you again in memory, after you've gone home.
There are mornings I wished I had never woke,
And times where I was just another worthless bloke.
Day after day my troubles seem to follow,
When night came I longed to not see the morrow.
They said turn to God and follow His light,
Learn to fear Him and worship His might.
His love never reached me no matter how hard I tried,
And so I closed my eyes and wished I had died.
But comes morning and I open my eyes,
Heaven had refused my pleas for goodbyes.
......
Green and red apples
flowers in a ruby vase
Hues shout in stillness
and sweetest blooms, richest red
capture the laziest eye.
Vibrant explosions
in the hushed art museum
where the colors dream
Life frozen in a moment
......
I was an active, prominent architect, like fervent stars which race the sun,
Or exotic, summer flowers that bloom vibrantly, creating rapturous visions.
I'd wrought modernist skyscrapers, as huge trees lean into a bronze glaze,
On raspberry, latter days, quite lovely, when azure blue jays sing in praise.
I had designed homes and buildings, to the plumb delight of stylish people,
While satisfying the favorable environment, with novel, vivid colors, gleeful.
I had built homes for family members, the loved ones who made life sunlit,
......
Time is moving so quickly
I'm falling behind,
I'm working so hard but
My life is passing me by,
My friends are all dating,
And one has got married
Two both have a baby
And a house they are sharing
And I -
......