The Earth Shine Words

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.