A Song Too Far

A mocking bird's song
skips like smooth stone-notes
across the lake
in a descending breezy scale.

In flight, or
water lips kissing,
momentarily,
whistled seductions,
the end is near:

a fading ripple dying
on sand and shell,
an unanswered inquiry
floating, floating down,
falling short the desire
of a waiting Spring dream.

All To Do With Temperature

I’m proud of my southern heritage:
“y’all” gliding from ear to ear
like a lazy-winged heron
piggybacked on a warm Georgia breeze;
wobbly-legged, centuries old oaks
with sparse patches of moss whiskers
pointing down to their sprawling root feet.

I have nothing against the North,
even know some “Yankees” I like.
It’s the bitter cold and gray of Winter,
and snow that won’t melt butter
like a bowl of hot Jim Dandy® grits.

Cleaning Required (Or Not)

You said I was looking down your blouse;
it was your pony tail,
that flopped from the back to the front,
when you bent over to get something from your bag.

It looked like a tilted fountain of hair
streaming strands in a carefree circle,
suspended
on filaments of shadows and light.

Of course when you questioned my gaze
I couldn’t believe I’d let such an opportunity pass.
I’ll promise you this: if your shirt should be
so risqué again,
my eyes will be tracking in dirt from my mind,
hope it won’t be too hard to clean.

Last One Out Lock The Door

Death is like a door in a room.
We paint over it, even the knob,
so, it’s inconspicuous as can be.
If we can’t see the handle
we surely won’t open it by mistake.

We can nail boards from jamb to jamb,
add sophisticated locks that require a key,
a combination, and a dead bolt with hardened steel.
Security measures make us feel safe, except
in the pit of our stomach we know
it opens from the other side, locked or unlocked.

Goodbye

The Sun fell from the sky two days ago
I thought he would bounce several times,
maybe longer; all balls bounce even low on air.

Instead, he formed into a spirit with a white straw hat,
and slipped quietly through the air conditioner vents,
and ceiling tiles until he reached the roof:

a last look at the construction next door,
the tears, the folded hands and sighs.
He hopped on the back of a saddled prayer,
rode due West to the edge of the world,
turned, and left the sunset as goodbye.

for Benny
goodbye my friend goodbye.

A World Of Fleas

Have you ever wondered what a flea would think
on the back of an elephant?
It would have to crawl and bite
every square inch of rough, dusty hide;
a world traveler, a sophisticated “insectellectual”
with a million frequent parasitical miles.

I can see it theorizing, when the trunk
blows back a snout full of water and dust,
a storm of biblical significance occurred,
and somehow the population of wingless flies
brought down the climatological wrath of God.

Of course, we know, maybe like Angels in heaven,
it’s just the sleepy-eyed giants way
of protecting its sparse-haired skin from the sun.