A metallic muzzle
breaking through a scrubby bog,
an unlikely find out here
in these rain-riddled marshlands,
I finger-dig the soft ground
to reveal the snout of a snub-nosed
clay clogged revolver.
Who hid or threw this,
this ‘who done it’ out here
is an unsolved mystery
laid to rest
in these acres
of wind swept nowhere.
Bluing worn away,
steel beneath dented and pitted,
firing pin corroded,
an old 38 special,
yet heavy still
with some
unknowable sin.
I took it home -
cleaned it up a bit,
but a week later
buried it
under a weeping willow.
these were adorable snow boots but they leaked
my socks are wet now and I think I’m getting frostbite
It is at least a hundred yards back to the house
why did I have to buy beauty instead of sturdy?
each step in this deep snow is miserable
My teeth are chattering now
Why does anyone live in Minnesota in January?
I cannot wait to get inside
I made it alive, my icy cold socks are plastered to my toes
I have difficulty pulling them off
I put two socks on each of my feet
Put on my cozy pajamas and start a fire in the fire place
Out the window I can see the snow
It is gloriously pretty from inside.
Twinkles and glistens, sparkles with bluing.
Maybe everyone should live in Minnesota.
In the tide's peril, through dusky snare
I fall low, i submerged slow, and when they call me, i drift below
I am lost, I am alone
I am but a shadowed self of my own
Striding, fleeing and now I'm drowning
Deeper and deeper, i reached randevou's crown
I reach, but nothing holds me near
Echoes vane, no voices here
I found none to whom I'm dear
Walking on the path of sand,
Down and drown, but can't stand,
In the deep abyss i found a man
Swirling like bay, warmer than may
He stretched his arm, he found me astray
He found me lost and taught me to pray
I sailed above, hiking through love
Now canva's lightning, darkness is bluing
I see the sky, i found the migh
Now no dusk can keep me by
I found the migh
With his power, now I stand still
I stand by
Nocturnal dreams of midnight fantasies
neon flowers alongside scented lily pads
Rippling clouds, crossings on the moon
magnetic fields of bluing yes I see
Angels flying, flitting, round the globe
calling over stars to light the path
Magistrates of heaven glorious chants
soft and mellow pastel like the sea
Beatific vocals soft as voices of the earth
enigmatic secrets of a society un-known
Cooing doves fragrances of evening musk,
Divine Beings attired in Elysian clothes like Deity.
With every breath you take for as long as you live
for as long as you exist and have your being,
I will be by your side to guide and protect you
my child *
You are the reason for my bluing wings
for this Parson light that blew up the skies
only to dive in and save you from a pellucid night
my child *
I am here to remind you that your soul
has a destiny and a purpose in life
so don't get lost in the noise of this world
my child *
I LOVE YOU !
A metallic muzzle
breaking through a marshy bog;
an unlikely find out here
in the rain-riddled moor.
I finger dig the soft ground,
reveal the snout of a short barrel,
clay clogged, emerging -
haul out the rest,
a revolver!
Who hid or threw this?
This ‘who done it’ out here
in the wind-swept nowhere.
Bluing worn away,
steel beneath dented and pitted,
firing pin corroded
yet heavy still
with unknowable sin.
Lingering, ashes creep toward center,
bluing verge of desire,
frost ring edging smaller,
stoked on memory’s flower
of fractured heart wood kindling.
An aging reminiscence,
this fire I bow toward,
leaning closer inward,
wishing I could fall . . .
my flesh the keeper of the flame.
March 9, 2022
Title: Keeper of the Flame
Pick A Title, Vol 29 – Poetry Contest
Edward Ibeh, Sponsor
A metallic muzzle
breaking through a marshy bog;
an unlikely find out here
in the rain-riddled moor.
I finger dig the soft ground,
reveal the snout of a short barrel,
clay clogged, emerging. -
haul out the rest,
a revolver!
Who hid or threw this?
This ‘who done it’ out here
in the wind-swept nowhere.
Bluing worn away,
steel beneath dented and pitted,
firing pin corroded
yet heavy still
with unknowable sin.
ETCHED AND ENCLOSED
Etched and enclosed
Forever for an evening.
Holding a heart
Breath of bluing
Breath of beforing
Breath of remembering
The closing of a heart
A memory of an evening
Moments, fragile, passing.
Moments, passing passing.
She closes the curtain to her heart
Worn-down diamond woman
yoke full of cracked wisdom
facing that disease called loneliness
you still have that much-sought-after scent
attracting those mindless mad bee men
probing sweet puffs until they get their fill- then flee
hasn't loneliness always been your ice-covered Achilles
bowed your petal spirit toward the uncaring ground
the great alone is the deepest bluing of any mind
so, you keep playing the scented flute for that mad bee line
while the xylophone taps back into diamond ring time-
An Earth Rises To Its Star
Per fortuitous sun,
befalls in a hard sky,
burst kissed bluing off,
seeds of tried gain calm,
turn pummels to squander,
and set a fast pace to change,
to a sedate sensation, influence,
the awakening elements of earth's
variable forces, components all, in its
wake of contributary spoiling of its world.
2020 March 14
Starry Night
A bluing sky
Seascape
Aloft
Squalls
Adrift
Currents flowing
Starfish swirls
Stirs heaven
Midst a dark purge
Tamed voices
Outcrops a town
Pellucid
Envision
A
Work of art
Goes
Sprawling
2020 March 04
The feathery dusky violets,
Of a purplish vaulted sky royal,
Tickles the genteel soles of twilights,
It wakes to a bluing chambered hall,
Whilst ups a blanched dress as white stars sprawl
How cold the sun of April
first day playing games
of spring return to winter chills.
Blow ye wild, racing winds
slip thru the stilled and silent trees
hovering between the naked forms
and promised new growth of life.
Hear the cry and howl of the hollow
echoing goodbyes and hellos
waiting for March gusts to die away.
Sing loud and bold old birds of prior years
pretty, pretty, pretty tweetings
of April's spring into May days
as showers fall hard and icy cold.
Young, newly paired wrens and sparrows
begin the staked out housings
gather nesting materials for soon to be laid eggs.
Croci, daffodil, forsythia burst forth
in shaded emerald green starts
soaking in the sunlight warm
ready to glow in bright and brilliant hues.
Others soon to peek thru the earthened ground
breaking grit and graveled clay dirt
in sprigs tendered in their greenery.
Yet comes April in its unpredictability, yellowed sun
teasing life to come forth and be reborn
then sear it chilled within its grip
amidst bluing cloudless skies.
These are the days of every life
enticing and cautionary
hesitating and holding back
all the April fools.
Saving memories about Mom
(Rub Boards, Bluing & Homemade Lye Soap)
By: Tom Wright
1/2/02
My half century old recollections
of a #2 galvanized tub,
When in use
it covered all four burners on the fire.
With homemade lye soap and a brass ridged board,
the household's clothes she'd scrub.
Doing laundry most every day
sure must have made Mom tire.
We lacked hot water in the house
for use by day or night,
So from this tub's steaming water,
boys bathed, and dad shaved.
A bluing bottle on a shelf nearby,
kept things smelling fresh, and color, white;
so with bleached white "punching stick" in hand,
Mom slaved.
Then, as for the time for ironing
she seemed to find no halt,
Always accomplished with a low tech iron,
referred to as "sad".
It too, was heated on the fire,
and she would periodically rub with salt.
Making this chore time consuming,
and for mom, equally bad.
If you're a woman who don't understand this,
chances are you didn't experience this.
For this, thank God.
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