Poems and Prose from Writers’ Workshop—2007

Extra’s, extra’s, if you can

Upscale wedding held in Florida

Aunts and uncles of the happy couple.

Hey, that’s me,

I know how to do that

Will I “get the call”

 

Da Da dada

The phone rang

My glory—can it really be

That such an exciting thing

could really be happening to me.

 

Wardrobe—I’m not prepared!!!

What shall the “aunty” wear for

such an auspicious fete

“Thrift shops”—here I come

to set the style

You haven’t failed me yet.

 

Call time/early! Hurry and wait,

for that I was prepared.

But not for the overwhelming,

ridiculous glee that I would incur

Real “star” treatment for little ole me.

 

Make new friends, behave,

know your place.

A lowly “extra” you see.

Left gasping for breath

and thrill of it all,

"LOST” and refound

in my memories.

The trio of travelers,

Treasures in hand,

Bend cautiously before the child,

Seated on the maiden’s lap.

The unlikely homage

For the magi—some will say kings—

Comes at the end of uncertain miles.

Matthew’s report—some will say legend,

Others parable, or historicized myth—

Still is classic quest.

 

Every tale is a quest—

So says Mr. Frye—

Searching for a pearl, a girl,

A secret passageway, a culprit,

A splinter of truth,

A glimmer of hope.

So we search.

 

But now—so ask some who doubt—

Has the quest become a question?

Is there any truth

Beyond one’s own perspective?

Is there any value

Beyond one’s own preference?

 

Can the exchange in this arched cove be our star?

Three gifts presented, yes—

Of some reported value.

Might the recipient be one who embraces value

In such a way to give value in return?

But what do the donors receive?

A splinter of truth, a glimmer of hope?

Every experience has exchanges,

Giving and receiving, reciprocally.

Every encounter exchanges internalized enrichment;

Value meets with value, mutually blessed.

We arrived in the Texas noonday glare

with a fist of plastic flowers

to decorate mother's headstone

standing in a caliche field of cement bordered squares

 

Her wasteland garden of faded plumes

languished far enough from town to keep sorrow in its place

yet too far to pipe in moisture

to green its parched face

 

By day the yard is powdered with truck stirred dust

and shadow-blinked by vultures circling overhead

By night beneath the lonely dome of galactic light

it fills with coyote yaps and silence

 

A bony mongrel bitch with hesitant hobble

limped toward a central cedar dangling her prize

of flattened road-kill more than half her size

She settled in the husk of shade to tear her

dusty tuft of maggot-loaded jerky

 

I saw no den or refuge for the outcast

but marveled how this cemetery reject

existed above forgotten boxes of death

determined to savor every moment before

yielding her last breath

Look across the way

a grey wisp of soft silken stealth

monitoring for terrorists

It's my neighbor

a wee gulp in the food chain

charged with homeland security

 

His binocular beads

scan for fangs of leather lightning

coiled in the shadows

Daily he twitch-samples the breeze

for creature stench fuming on the wind

Twin radar alert for fearful feather fans aloft

 

He too is concerned for the safety of his children

It’s a wonder how his kin learned to endure

dinosaurs

pestilence

and eons of bone crunching pounce

without learning hate and war

I rushed toward home in a bubble of conditioned air and sweet radio spin

with a full trunk of groceries and a head full of projects

weaving the Saturday maze of people, buses, gutter-fumes

challenged by a blue fender on my left

A wall of white truck ahead with the moral demand in small black letters,

“If I am driving irresponsibly, call . . . ”

Suddenly my crowd of wheeled-metal boxes stopped

giving way to the intersecting lanes of gas guzzling chargers

In that moment I saw a rumpled young fellow falter by a bus shelter

bracing feet like his world tipped

a wave of body jerks hunched his shoulders

fingers splayed pushing against the air,

a wisp of agony twitched his lips fighting the smile

like an un-burped baby in sleep

Emaciated skull Vacant eyes Silent scream

The youth tried again to move down the street

tripping over his lack of childhood hugs

Blind without a white stick

Three more steps and he was startled by another spasm

The light changed and my traffic scrambled on

he slipped out of sight as the newscaster focused on Iraq

our national guard far from home died in droves today

nameless lives at war because we lead ourselves with flawed decisions

No Weapons of Mass Destruction

just destruction of their masses by our weapons

Not just crack in the head

Crack in the soul

Light and dark

Hot and cold

Hard and soft

Sweet and sour

Spicy and bland

Life is full of surprises

Without, it would be dull indeed

That is why we seek the Lord’s Light

 

Enlightenment is our hope

The source of our faith

It only took a glance

And I knew she was mine

So small at two weeks

And bigger now she is one

She knew she was loved

And she readily returned that love

 

She never forgot her Grand-Pa

Even after three more months

When she was but six months old

Long ago, then, she learned to snuggle

Her head leaning against mine

Angelic face and earned trust

A beginning of patient understanding

 

Eager for her rewards and her care

Never tiring of my being there

Always fond for my return

My reward but a heart melting smile

AMAR

mouth like a flower alive

she hides her petal lips

bitter heartbreak in the eyes

ten fingers weep

the window is too small to see through

 

heart like a flower in death

he lies asleep

like the jesse tree of the bible

living life pushing up flowers

from his black and white still-life of a body

 

red flowers of love and lust and life

kimonos with pale petal flowers

 

who envy the real thing in that other reality

which side the city of dreams and life and death?

AMARYLLIS

Maia’s b-day number one

now she’s one year old

number one girl

all those active teeth to come

number one smile

all that hair to shine in the sun

all those words shaping in the wings

number one heartstopper

take us with you

on your way to number two

is it that I imagine you

the so-called subjective genitive:

does it subject me to you, taking me as subject?

or that you imagine me:

(indeed, objective genitive,

taking me to be the object of your dreams)

imagining of me long past,

a thing of memory in the night;

 

no matter:

my imagining of you stays

with me still, sees you clear,

object of desire the very subject of delight

God’s love—beyond understanding

God’s power—beyond understanding

God’s plan—beyond understanding

 

And here I am standing

Out in the rain

Here I am standing

Deep in my pain

Here I am standing

Again and again.

 

I see you standing—in spite of all

Your faith so strong—in spite of all

And envy you—in spite of all

 

Unfair in the standing

That you should have pain

That you should be standing

Out in the rain

And that you must fight

Again and again.

 

But you have courage—born of your faith

You have strength—born of your faith

You have hope—born of your faith

 

And there in the standing,

You are inspiration

Where others are standing

And live in frustration

When others stand lost

In pain’s undulation.

 

God’s love—beyond understanding

God’s power—beyond understanding

God’s plan—beyond understanding

 

God sees you standing

Out in the rain

God sees you standing

In spite of the pain

He knows you’re outstanding

Again and again.

I am deafened by the screaming

One hears out in the night—

Hate, distrust, anger, pain,

Frustration, despair, fright.

 

I am deafened by the screaming

In the cycle of abuse—

When people will condone the power’s

Insane abject misuse.

 

I am deafened by the screaming

That doesn’t make a sound—

Yet manifests in hatred,

And echoes all around.

 

I am deafened by the screaming

That isn’t even there—

When vacant stare accepts despair

And silent din rips the air.

 

I am deafened by the screaming

That goes on in my head—

As the scope of human blindness

Fills my heart with dread.

 

Then when injustice comes to call,

Deaf, and blind, and waiting,

Ready to embrace us all—

I am deafened by the screaming,

And the screaming,

and the screaming,

and the screaming...