Best Salt Lick Poems
His poems live deep down in the wood
down in an olde hunting lodge
They are brown as the bears head that
hangs on the wall
brown as the dark leaves that fall
silently hiding the salt lick
from fawns who come in
the twilight to call
His poetry growls and grumbles and purrs
like a cougar alone on the rim
of the canyon above the olde
hunting grounds
where he writes all his lines
like a hymn
His poems stretch out on the furs
by the fire
and tell of the storms and the waves
that tested the strength of the words
that inspire
and sent many songs to their graves
for brave are the sagas
the odes that survive
the trek through the woods to the town
and as we go home we gather them up
scattered like leaves on the ground.
Brown,yellow,red ,a few of them green
His poems are places and things we have seen
but not from the view that the truth hunter gives
deep down in the woods ,where poetry lives
A scarlet tanager sits primly on the rail
Of the new fence erected near the meadow,
He eyes me stroll as I take in every detail
The path to the woodland is rather narrow,
Infrequently used, it is rapidly overgrowing
I am brushing against the yellow yarrow,
As hottest of summer is fast approaching
The meadowland has nary a cooling shadow.
Happily, I note the salt lick has disappeared
I hope its purposes were well-intentioned,
Certainly not as the hunter’s ploy, I feared
In a previous post, I am sure I mentioned.
I feel the coolness of the pleasant breeze
As I approach the edge of the tree line
Where meadow gives way to aspen trees,
And further on, a stand of taller pine.
I shall follow the trail through the wood
To the river which I can faintly hear, ahead
Where I saw a huge buck in full manhood,
And I have seen signs of where he bed.
It is a good two-mile hike, not exhausting
But I stop to examine new growth along
And for moments to reflect, I am pausing,
I’m encouraged by the tanager’s song.
Written June 18, 2022
When the bronze-skinned,
silver tongue surfer
came smoothly yacht cruising
at year’s end
All the island ladies,
at the cabana house welcoming party,
mosh pit fell in ...
Fell in love
with the cosmopolitan thought
of permanently leaving
Loose their dinghy life from the slow-pace wharf,
and deep dive go fast
romantic adventure sailing
Isle isolation departure
was the open sea dolphin freedom
Tho’ the flamboyant playboy
stage act was Shakespearean serious,
behind the bamboo-zled veil,
it was all just winter vacation pleasure fun
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em on the run,”
this was his favorite yoga mantra
Fantasy Island desertion
was as cold a breeze as they come
It’s cold in the tropic,
Tahiti tears are snowflake falling
Frosty behavior ... change the topic
Bad weather report kiss missing
Now the few chosen, pretty island girls,
all thought they were the one
Their sad, wintering thoughts
are just a crushed string of fake pearls
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em on the run,”
this was his favorite tantric mantra
Another island desertion
was as Arctic a breeze as they come
It’s cold in the tropic,
Fiji tears are snowflake falling
Northern exposure behavior ...
monsoon sobs salt lick
It’s so cold in the tropic,
Paros tears are palm tree frozen
Snow blizzard report ... no kiss goodbye
Ice floes forming quick
Heavy snow falling in the tropic,
Oahu frozen teardrops ... no Aloha kisses
So very cold in the Azores to Palawan tropic
Arctic bound vows
are making island souls frostbitten heartsick
You keep colorfully saying those hateful things to me,
repeatedly all the time
Then you say that you didn’t mean it
You was just funning
Pulling my leg with your teeth
That sabertooth edge
do love biting into my funny bone
Why say those awful racial
things to me, if you didn’t really mean it?
Are you serious,
now you want me to believe ...
You was just funning?!!!
Having some rich, cruel amusement
at my poor feelings’ expense
Inflicting tongue pain with a flick,
that sly salt lick
But, I hear the real tick, ticking
of your heart
Dropping word bombs
meant to hurt more than skin deep
Hoping the lightness of tone
would fool me
But, the funhouse mirror in your heart
showed the truth
of your subtle bigotry —
That you wasn’t just funning,
you was lung gunning
Hate fired by poisonous syllable
pellet arrows
You love to shoot away,
until you see the surrendering white
in the grave, damp eyes
Spittle slow death by verbal disguise
Taking my first summer stroll in the meadow,
I marveled at the new growth and flowers
The sun was shining full blast, not a single shadow
My mind rummaged through its ivory towers.
Wild carrot and cosmos were in full bloom
Along with larkspur and bright columbine,
Tempting me to pick for my living room
But I demurred, not to disturb the natural
Habitat for the critters, pollinators for the bees
Seeing in them something awesomely spiritual,
I headed for the woodland line of trees.
Surprisingly, someone has set up a salt lick
I wonder, this being a wildlife sanctuary
Surely no hunting, it hit me like a brick,
I thought it so entirely unnecessary.
Surely not here...a deer hunter's nasty trick.
An afternoon so filled with joy and promise
Suddenly was overshadowed with awful thoughts,
I quicky turned and headed toward the house,
My stomach churning, gut tied up in knots.
I shall complain of this infraction to authorities,
Next thing I know, they'll be chopping down trees.
Written June 3, 2022
[Last year partial fencing was a scare;
Now hunting? They wouldn't dare!]
We can’t afford no tree this year.
We spent it all on dog, and feed.
We got enough to buy birdseed,
and a salt block for the deer.
We scattered seed out on the snow
like freckles, footprints, and little gifts.
And, ain’t it strange how the spirit lifts
to see the birds light up all in a row?
The deer arrive and bow their heads
for the salt lick in the manger.
They’ve traveled far, where spirit led,
no more in any danger.
12/20/2020
I hate salt for the sake of my cake
That is sodium-rich by the baker's mistake
And the syrup I poured
That I never ignored
Is more salty still
Then a fish with a sword
I like sugar and spice and everything sweet
For the sake of a snack or the lack of a treat
But I struggle and fight
With a big appetite
For a cherry cheesecake
And a bottle of Sprite
Yes I really hate salt by the savor I taste
That is bigger than big by the size of my waist
And the water I hold
That is bigger than bold
Is a day at the beach
In a battleship mold
If the salt I consume is the fault of my doom
Then I might as well vault to the back of my room
But I’m heavy as heck
With an iron neck
And a big Mack truck
In a miserable wreck
But if salt is to blame for the blotch in my fame
Then I might hopscotch to a different game
Where a sodium fix
In a bag of tricks
Is a sugar high
With some different kicks
If you still chase rats by the look of your hats
Then you might as well race to the Utah Salt Flats
Where the salt lick alone
Is more dry than a bone
And your new conversation
Is a drop in your phone.
Like Silent Laughter
David J Walker
I can still feel the cold water
Cool my tanned skin usually drenched
in the sweat of a hoe handle and the
hot summer sun
The above ground steel tank filled from
The creaking efforts of a windmill meant to
Quench the thirst of thirsty cattle
The salt lick that became our diving board
A rare moment of splashing laughter
Rarer than rare the occasion of young cousins
allowed to play for an afternoon
as other children play in city park pools
Very aware that
We were the farm kids
And would curse in bilingual blurbs the
Profane adjectives accenting hard work
I don’t remember who was
winding and aiming
The 8mm movie camera
Capturing the moment through a lens
that would
Otherwise have been lost forever
Documenting the silent laughter of
Farm kids having fun the hard way
In the New Mexico Summer sun
Playing off your intent,
writhing as you plunder
within the dank dampness,
the wanton wave
spray painting effigies like Pollack
pole axed in delight my pelvis rises…
With hands full of Adonis’s moons
parting the skin of your throat with pearly teeth,
clawing back, ripping wide the broad side
the effigy of a biblical God.
Breath warms the conical rises
fingers wind in the curls at the nape of neck,
the hollow of your throat, a salt lick
capping the wave brings froth
to the fecund cave of desire.
Oh, dear hart, you are such a deer, dear.
I know sweets, but it is lonely up here,
at the top.
But never fear
although I have no earthly peer,
no need for you to shed a tear.
I’m sure you could replace me within in a year, or two, or five, maybe.????
Oh, dear hart.
Never could I find another coat so red
with fourteen points on his head.
He would already be in someone else’s bed.
Sweets, it’s true! I’ve heard it said.
But, we just have to take what comes, no matter the cost.
Or else my image could be lost
my beauty I value most
next to that I can’t be bossed
I’ll never depend on a salt lick post.
I’m wild and wooly and free to roam
the big tree country is my home
I’m faster, stronger, better looking and have more under my dome
and to put it in the vernacular
all I need is a bus token and a one call cell phone
I’m sitting on ready- - - - - - - - - -OOOPS???
Dear Hart speak to me.
Is that blood, coming off of your nose,
from that big round hole between your eyes.
Please say you’ll come back to me as, as, as,
SOMETHING ??
Hey, sweets, look over here. NO, over —down here--
the little black one with a white stripe down my back.
I don’t know how this is going to work out
but did you ever see anything so gorgeous, so fine.
Hey, where are you going? What are you following him for?
Hmmmmm????? What’s that smell seems to be following me.?
Man becomes a bee
assaulting a rosebud.
Death, do not punish for unlived years
when Budha was sitting inside me.
At center stage a dance begins
wading through salvia and absinthes.
The soil craves for the roots,
lake was not deep enough to sail.
Stem cells resume the debate
tapping the amniotic fluid.
Salt lick becomes lethal in midnight syndrome.
It was a tall claim.
The beards hang in rows, testing
the impatience of the system. A line
of funerals becomes longer, on burning beach,
where god and beast meet in dark.
SATISH VERMA
He'd glimpse her, the peripheral life of her;
she lived in the corner of his eye.
She passed-by, her face and form - tidal,
a tug on his shore.
Perhaps she was salt for his blood, spice
for nomadic mitochondria
that carried her silks and perfumes,
salts to his earth
when flesh grew dry and dark?
He took a mind journey
within the coiling tendrils
of his pith and fiber.
Capillaries traced her imprints,
neuronal fingers tried to define her.
He'd gladly walk into her marrow,
metabolites clinging to her shifting shapes.
A camel-train of visions travels
his corded spine
bearing incidentals, trappings.
He plants glances among ganglia,
feeds on a returning musk,
until she walks among his thoughts.
She is no longer a fantasy, no longer
a salt lick of moth-threads and rain,
but what she is - he could not say.
Like Silent Laughter
David J Walker
I can still feel the cold water
Cool my tanned skin in the hot summer sun
The above-ground steel tank meant to
Quench the thirst of cattle
The salt lick that became our platform
The young cousins allowed to play
for an afternoon as children
Rare but very aware that
We were the children of the farm
And knew in bilingual blurbs the
Adjectives accenting hard work
But I don’t remember who was aiming
The 8mm movie camera
Capturing the moment that would
Otherwise have been lost forever
Like silent laughter
In the New Mexico Summer Sun
Man becomes a bee
assaulting a rosebud.
Death, do not punish for unlived years
when Budha was sitting inside me.
At center stage a dance begins
wading through salvia and absinthes.
The soil craves for the roots,
lake was not deep enough to sail.
Stem cells resume the debate
tapping the amniotic fluid.
Salt lick becomes lethal in midnight syndrome.
It was a tall claim.
The beards hang in rows, testing
the impatience of the system. A line
of funerals becomes longer, on burning beach,
where god and beast meet in dark.
SATISH VERMA
Salt lick temptation
lures that dangle,
camouflaged darkness
masks and blinds
Easily captured
when most attracted,
flypaper memories
—trap and bind
(The New Room: November, 2021)