Half Time
A warning from the winds,
What the spirit carries: no fumbles.
It brings the stories of the sun to the touchdown!
Lessons from the huddle, from the coach,
Under a lunar eclipse.
Last game of the season,
In the third quarter-
We scramble for the setup.
Because our die-hard fans watch,
and our fragile lives loom on it.
Then, the snap.
The stadium noise fades into silence.
No roar from the fans, just a sigh in the air.
The inner motion of the play
is as the ball arches upward.
Suspended above the green turf.
A leap for the pylon, reaches for the end zone.
Where the home team claims its own.
The stadium clock strikes zero,
Frozen inbound waiting for their hero.
For the final score.
Watching for thrushes that grow moist
from dusky soil, my heels trek along
deepened clay. As I lay on the porch listening
to tress rustling, inky moon sinks its riddled face
through veil of midnight. Somehow, I feel restless...
abandoned like jagged refrains of this heart
which seems to fall into an unsettling interlude
of time. Yes, this golden chapter drifts,
as a baptism of new beginnings swells.
on this barren field…
a solitary twig cracks
from one glittered tree
The nightfall drools looking for the yellow
among clouds. For a while, the hazy outlines
of strangers--native women and children ---
disturb my revelries of younger moments
lingering through the dipping sway from moonglow.
Through calm intervals of laughter, I sway
with mid life's flow; fire to air, salt to honey.
Much as I need to inhabit youth's space,
it no longer belongs to me.
But twilight comes brimming with all
the glistened jewels of my own half- time of a world.
between two lifetimes
is a haunting melody…
like an unsung note
The half-time show was well-rehearsed
And those who watched it all concurred,
Though I’m not sure if Kendrick cursed;
I didn’t understand a word.
There was a message; what it was
Perhaps the younger crowd did get,
But in between the hype and buzz,
One note made me a bit upset.
I know for years it wasn’t right
When chorus lines did not include
Performers who did not look white,
Despite the talent they’d exude.
Yet now the pendulum has swung,
But way too much; it hasn’t found,
Among those who have danced and sung,
An integrated middle ground.
The times are changing, as they tend
To do, yet progress will reverse
If entertainment won’t extend
To casts and crews who are diverse.
old trees remember
confusion stirs the leaves
an idle rake waits
Super Bowel Half Time Rap Crap
Whole super bowel half time rap,
Was really a total bunch of crap;
Will not care;
A sad affair;
Resulting in humongous mishap.
Jim Horn
In an uncertain half time
The sky spread silence
In drops of eternity where
Every cloud
Carries thumbnail dreams
In children’s arms
Full of butterflies.
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