The Branch and Vine
Clinging to the branch and vine
In wait of microbursts
Like poets at the well with lines
Hoping to quench a thirst
Scrolling, canopies of gray
Knock with nitrogen
Lightning cuts the hem and frays
Like silver words, the pen
Parched, the roots drink puddles
Veins of thought cast onyx shade
Fruit swims in sangria bowls
Kraft boxed, warm pie, homemade
Peaches, mixed with sugar
Cream and milk — gelato chills
Foggy windows, breath and verse
A la Mode melts down the sill
Tennessee Tuff
The sweat on Boss’s face
Tastes like the salty bones I ate
Crinkle cut to brush my teeth
He stole off Honey’s plate
Sure, Idaho is known for gold
But, Boss and I agree
Tater tots, baked or mash
Got nothin’ on Tennessee
Where Bluegrass makes for blankets
Humid clover, summer sheets
Music, fit for dancin’
When the sun and mountains meet
And, in between the horses, cows,
Me and hired hands
Earn an honest livin’
Helping Boss tend to his land
Our ears perk up to listen —
Boss’ got some words to say:
“Charlie went to heaven
Just his bones hide in that grave”
He and Honey reminisce
Tears sit for a spell
I lick their wounds and warm their feet
Chuck’s fiddle razes hell
They call me Tuff and outta
I’m a member of their clan
Burgers, fries and soda toast
The Legend of our band
(Authors Note:
Based loosely on a dog named Tuffy, a best friend to Charlie Daniels and the only dog allowed in his studio. This was written for the weekly challenge - a story from a dog’s point of view. It must have closed early today, but I still wanted to pay tribute (through the eyes of a servant) to one of America’s greatest advocates for our Veterans.)
Living Will & Trust
Flaxen drapes her cedar chest
Rainbows dye wreath braids
Pinned with twig tiaras,
Nests, where doves of peace lay wait
Silver Maples cradle
Ivy, canopied in shade
Veins of Blue Spruce Pine weep
Like the Willow trees cascade
Creeks whisper sweet nothings
Cherry lips speak, sunset’s mouth
Seas drunk on streams’ kisses
Eye of storms translate soul’s spout
Rivers cut through virgin skin
Tattoos inked, tanzanite
Platinum, gold and silver leached
Clay bones of marrow, mined
Hollow heart beats, swells and quakes
Waves crash beneath bare feet
Scales tilt, tare, tsunami
Salt of sorrow crests each knee
Pillars set in tungsten, stand
Flesh peeled in thunder’s truth
Foundry fashioned lightning
Fire’s kiln where all is proofed
Kissed by death, her nemesis
Time steals Life’s laurel crown
Revealed as weak in nakedness
When winter strips her gown
Until through Beauty’s Gate arrives
Her Prince of Spring is found
Sowing seeds of Eden
Florid jewels stud fallow ground
As tines of wind brush golden wheat
Sun drips from honey combs
Illuminating children’s wings
The heirs unto Earth’s throne
photo credit: I. Pettus
Between the Lines
Each story starts
with just two lines,
in pink
inked
on a stick;
developing an image
in the dark
of mother’s crib —
where spiritual is present
as the body,
formed of flesh,
hides
future sight
from vision
’til it stretches, thin, the mesh —
&
through the window pane,
we fall
like Alice
down the hole,
to chapters
that were written
before eyes
covered
our souls.
Purpose pens the plots,
each path,
(the author
yields free-will
in every choice
between the lines:
heartbeat
to limb leads
still).
’Til deja vu,
a bookmarked page,
illustrates
what’s been,
and destiny
reads right to left,
beginning
from the end.
Heavy Hearts
God wrote of eternity
and placed it in our hearts
perfect love that drives out fear
a light within the dark
So enemies of his and ours
distort the truth and fire
shadows formed in silence
twisting heavenly desires
The longing for security
beyond the other side
where all the evil, pain, and tears
are washed in crimson tides
Will always be a part of us
as long as time remains
but, sanctified, each thought we have
yields grace in Jesus’ name
The power over each deceit
a plumbline to his throne
where every lie meets its defeat
until he calls us home
Manuscript, Miracles, & the Mundane
Sunrise mimosas toast the new day, spilling orange juice and champagne down cactus-barbed ridges in the Sonoran Desert. The early edition’s printed with shadows of sycamore trees on sheets of a cracked concrete porch. Dawn’s detergent; my Calgon get-away before relinquishing myself to the small, fine print hidden in the asterisks of adulthood: redundancy that makes me loose track of time and its brevity.
*sigh*
There’s nothing new under the sun! I have nothing “new” to write!
Wait!
Maybe this?
Somewhere between swim lessons and back-to-school shopping, I sync with nature when cicadas ring dinner bells, grace sets the table and eventide restores me, being baptized in its rutilance.
I dry the dishes with a kitchen towel inscribed, “Happiness Is”, while Evening draws a coral bath and steeps hibiscus tea to pour through the shutters into our family room.
*sigh*
I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to write outside my comfort zone!?!? No rhyming!?!?
Last try...
Silence speaks in iron oxide; the angels of the four winds having laid their feathered quills at the feet of the Author of Heaven whose hands bend bronzed clouds to skywrite bedtime stories in cursive and calligraphy.
Dusk’s residue lingers after Day’s dissolution when God’s fingerprints leave blind spots on the optics of my view.
Happiness is..... writing!
I count the days ’til classes resume and sunsets succumb to fall while wondering, if eternity still writes in cursive, shouldn’t they be teaching it in school?
To Pack:
leather jacket
work boots
sweatshirt
sketchbook
journal
pocket knife
glasses
sunglasses
wallet
keys
belt
watch
CDs
golf clubs
scorecards
shaving kit
eternity by calvin klein
I hope a 1/2 empty bottle keeps.
chapstick
Yes, the one you couldn’t find that morning.
coin collection
(stored, loose, inside the shave kit)
favorite nike t-shirt
(the navy blue one
&
the one stamped with
footprints from the hospital)
anouncement
cards
obituary clipping
death certificate
I promise I’m only packing your belongings away to be sure that everything that holds so much of your essence is well-preserved for the days ahead as your “little man” grows up.
I wish you were here
to tell me
what
to pack
and what only
you
could know
he’ll need.
I wish we still had
you.