Many paths lead away from home, but only one leads back.
As the years sit salted upon the rack.
You find the path home has narrowed.
Turned from gates of dependence to mirrors opaque and black.
You arrive with exhaustion on your boots.
A feast of favorites on a favorite plate.
Go upstairs to your yellow crib.
To ignite those unreachable dreams again.
Things have become slightly slanted.
The faces so unfriendly.
Some are missing altogether.
Replaced by fresh ones, but you don't know their names.
Home is a place where you go back to lick your wounds.
Stay in tune with yesterday.
Until the nest completely blows away.
Nobody knows your name; you're a graying orphan.
A gasoline-splashed stray.
A stranger lives in your nest now.
The whole world plays the jester.
Holding a piece of your ancient flint.
S FLINT CONES
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Ekphrasis tribute to and inspired by imagist-F S Flint
musical rhythm of vers libre
in a sequence of concepts
&propositions
recording impressions
clothed in beauty.
instinct over thought
independent of form
cadence lyrical expressed
where emotions
are the driving force
in
harmonic flows
of nuanced length
&breadth
Flint (Frank Stewart) aka F S
a creator of imagism no less
In 'Mirrors of Illusion' he did expound
his theory so valid was found
A forest under the surface
Reaches out to snag you as you pass
The shallows scrape and grab and hold
The sun beats down with little respite
And yet the water is cool
The company is better
And time stands still for a few hours
As a river runs through our day
Flint in the eye, makes our heart sigh
Feral urges mostly
In silence, let lower mind die
Apparition ghostly
We are as we so choose
Make love divine, heart’s muse
Else we’ll cook our own goose
Ego draws nigh
Flint in the eye
17-December-2021
Quietus
Grab the dark side by the waist.
Plant a kiss on its dead black lips.
Sow the light into the darkest soil.
Toss the halo and the horn.
Into the fiery pond of mind.
When truth makes love to lie.
Set goals-come up just shy.
Breathe the smoke of defeat, the death of hope.
Tap dance, flint-heeled on gasoline streets.
Savor the dew drops of brief victory.
Then collapse in one big heap.
Risen
From the springtime flooding along South MLK
A sh#t-skinned slimy pipe
Pops half way up from a grimy hole
Like a gopher molded from iron ore
Neck and head periscoping left then right
Tiny arms bolted to its furry chest of rust
Surveying the silence of this industrial prairie
And the graves pocked from Foundry hammers
Until a school bell bangs
And a kaleidoscope gang of cell phone kids
Clamber from broken windows and dim doorways
To play in this forbidden park
Riding and rocking the new springer like a rodeo bronco
Screwing
The old boss back to its subterranean foundation
Another generation
Re-connecting the muddy wells to our silver faucets.
A Grave Marked By Flint
We wonder if it was really meant,
To be on top of grave and a Flint,
We saw lark;
A grave mark,
Or what we may need is another hint.
Jim Horn
Monkey found that sack of cherry bombs.
Now it searches for flint to unleash upon...
Heading for the blackest forest of a rippled past.
Shaking every leaf - every barking branch.
Knucklewalking into the pond's depths.
Spitting broken lilies from wettened lips.
No flint there either... monkey-fish!
Swimming in clouds, morphing to a murder of crows.
Talons piercing clouds-unleashing a rain so very cold.
Nothing there either, mad-monkey-crow...
You see, I'm the keeper of the flint.
Stored deep in hidden catacombs.
I'll strike flint against cherry bomb.
When the sundial whispers it's time to blow.
l
My parrots name was Captain Flint,
Boy that bird could swear.
I never invited visitors,
So blue was the air.
He'd squawk "pretty effing polly"
Or "give us a cracker you t##t"
I'd never heard such swearing,
I never taught him that.
I bought him off a sailor
Who was heading back to sea,
He said to me, "you'll love him
He's such good company."
And what he said was right
He entertained, it's true.
I said "who's a pretty boy then"
He squawked, " well not effing you !"
The profanities just got too much,
I sold him, with regret.
But the house seems so quiet now,
Without my 'effing' pet !
In the millionth season
they've finally blossomed
ready to garnish a famished brain,
but mind monkeys will pillage a garden
snatching anything fruitful away...
Screaming atop flint branches
just beyond trembling reach.
Sitting so smug while casually sniffing butts.
Bouquet of scythes in mitts of flint
chattering away...
"If you want it so badly,
come fetch the scent of your dream, indecision man".
All the while I'm idling in a barrel of gasoline.
Mind monkeys nibbling the heads off the dream.
The mead warmed the belly
The songs eased the mind
The frown lines disappeared
The friends lost in battle!
Earned a salute to be cheered
Boots with soles worn thin
Cuts left to heal in the wind
To now sharpen the blade on wet flint
To make ready to fight for the new fu#king King!
Strike Up Spark with Flint
Who said on responsibility they skipped out?
On good water upon us did bring a drought
No doubt, somewhere must be some slander
Precipitated in politics by a Michigander.
Did you see color of water in glass
None of my tests would it ever pass;
Can tell what smell and taste may be like;
For good water have to take a hike.
What are our taxes being spent on?
Where has all our great water gone;
Well, do I have to be more adroit;
They still do have it in Detroit.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
To
smile
in the face
of ill-will is to
wrest full control
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