Wildflowers
The wildflowers I have known
slowly growing in the fertile soil
of my raw and untamed mind
make me see the colors of love.
Slowly growing in the fertile soil
are all the dreams of perfect days
and warm evenings on the beach.
Love blooms from smaller seeds.
Of my raw and untamed mind,
only vague memories exist,
replaced by splendor and green.
Spring's hope is eternal they say.
Make me see the colors of love,
or let me continue to dream.
If perfection lasts through dawn:
the wildflowers I have known.
Crushed Roses
She pulled a pressed rose from the Book of Luke’s pages.
These pale and flattened flowers bloomed once upon a time.
Now the colors are muted and the scent has long since diminished.
The petals once soft and flesh like lie flat, saddened; neglected.
These dried flowers are stories of yesterday, slumbering today.
These pale and flattened flowers bloomed once upon a time,
When life and love and memories were young and new,
Even though they each correspond to a love one lost,
Whose name is carefully printed and followed with dates,
Birth and death separated with the small dash of a lifespan.
Now the colors are muted and the scent has long since diminished.
The old family Bible though well thumbed, mended, and dog eared
Now sits neglected in a dusty old storage space in a ramshackle garage
Collecting dust and missing a family who wander the world,
Daily further away from crushed roses and Jesus’ Word.
The petals once soft and flesh-like lie flat, saddened; neglected.
These dried flowers are stories of yesterday, slumbering today,
Making me wonder how tomorrow will be if we put aside the past
In an old family farmhouse, a lonely widow woman’s tears slowly dried.
She placed a rose to save in the Book of Luke’s pages.
Lights In The Sky
There are lights out there to the Northwest,
I think it is one of those flying wedges,
whatever they call those fast moving planes.
I think it is a modified flying saucer.
I once saw a UFO, but really it was a ski resort.
I think it is one of those flying wedges
From somewhere in the middle of the earth,
That strange portal into the earth,
Or back to the skies beyond the stars;
Inner and outer space mixed together.
Whatever they call those fast moving planes
That seem part black ops and part sci fi
Was waiting just beyond the hills
In the high desert of southern California
And I had no idea how long it hovered.
I think it is a modified flying saucer,
Not the disc or cigar shaped ones
I grew up loving and fearing
Reading about in ratty novels
And bright crudely drawn comics.
I once saw a UFO, but really it was a ski resort,
Or so they told me; those military guys
Whose job it is to tell you
What you really see by mistake
When you see lights in the sky.
Vessel
Loose lips sink ships,
And I am trying to find the bottom
Of this endless cup of coffee,
To see if the flecks leftover
From a filter bowl
That didn’t quite seat
In the worn out Bunn O Matic
Have left a message for me.
Like so many tea leaves,
Why can’t coffee dregs
Predict the future?
Loose lips sink ships.
The News
Saturday’s headlines spoke to me:
America has a new 'rat capital.’ New York isn’t the star!
A Florida woman realizes she left child in hot car!
Business owner claims cops accused him of breaking into his own store (because he's black)!
Air Force fighter intercepts plane near Trump NJ golf course and successfully turned it back!
More headlines for all to see:
Ritz crackers and other products recalled after salmonella found!
Tiger Woods falls just short of sensational victory in final round!
California woman guilty of killing dog, throwing animal from parking garage roof!
Man, punched in the face in New York City attack captured on video as a ‘goof!’
5 minutes of headlines make me fear my tv.
Night Owl
Woooo woooo hoooo
The sounds of the resident owl
In the big hollow
Of the Boo Radley oak
that grows right outside my balcony
Calls in the quiet of a dark night
Amid the clattering blades of the
Mercy flight helicopters that are
Following a back and forth flight
From tragedy to triage in the trauma unit
Of a hospital two blocks away.
I bet the people
(who I silently pray for)
Strapped on backboards
With oxygen masks
And heavy bandages
Wish they could fly away
Of their own free will,
Like the sleepy old owl
Their death delaying machines
Are keeping from his slumber.
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