orange glow of
dipping autumn sun —
infirmary bed
messages
in the hair of front arm —
evening breeze
city noise fades
rural silence begins
clear autumn sky
smoke rings
from chimney -
autumn air
Here lies a silver silence, hopelessly violent
embroidered in the corners of my lips,
Steady and stern standing on a steel of stillness,
Then, in a sudden sweep the soil begins its shift,
Why do you keep scaring off the sanctity of gravity?
The very pavement to my soles,
Why do the sounds of our thoughts enhance our virility?
Cause chaotic curiosities,
Why, in the mists of your eyes I feel the undiscovered dreams,
The opaque definition of what a silhouette of the sunsets mean
while a cluster of clouds swim amongst its rays,
Cruel conscience creeping through unopened spaces,
Revealing reasons why must these walls stand,
When they have begun to feel like the simple sands
softly dancing to the swirling sequence of the sea.
Show me the depths of the ocean,
Let the grimness of my heart wade through the gills of all your monsters,
Like a jellyfish in a pile of predators.
Pierce , pin , push or perhaps pull,
Have all and more verbs take their motions onto me,
kindly construct a hidden infirmary for the velocity of what may progress,
Set an anchor through my ribs and sail away to the divine infinite firmament.
elderly and Helen Mirren
It is hard work to be old; many people prey on us, the elderly
My wife is better at telling people to fob off than I am
When people tell me a sob story, I tend to believe
What they, why else will they tell
My wife and I are very different; she likes to speak to
people in a cafe or a waiting room at the doctor's, yes, we
Do see many doctors, with age comes the infirmary
I sit there and try not to look at the clock
She comes from an upper-class family without money
I am from a modest background with a tendency not to spend
money, but safe for a day, it might rain, and we will be
caught in the downpour without an umbrella
Yes, in public, we hold hands, we get the condescending
glances, oh, how sweet they are
I feel annoyed like Helen Mirren, wishing that people would
off and leave us in peace
Heartthrob in damsel drag
Belief of human bile
Completely instilling cascading dregs of mechanical flesh, bones and spit
64th avenue
And coiling deft doom
Winged balls of bulging blood and speckled steel
Merry wails and flutters of moths unsealed
Fitted upon falling kneel
And reckoned release of rotten roadkill-
Rats and babes and brats
Congealed candy and sickeningly sweet brandy
And hailed light of epiphany to choke, swallow and spit
And strangle without a hand nor handle but grit
Of groil and crevices of menaces heralding honed notes
And a lone liver in fathered infirmary
Black backed in breachers
Potted a bulge to indulge the fickle maggots of dissociation
Emulsification and hearty sniff of
Whitened slice and slithers of snow
Dregs to drag and hone and throw
Up upon bedded saline laden road
Of rows and rows and pounds
That drag rotten flesh afresh from the hound
Sutured from spine to fluttered wing
The hide
Plucked apart from rat to brat
And collared collier stepped afresh with new hide and throw
And stubborn stubbled child with a new mind in tow
5//5//2025
Seven days in the green-browed mountains.
Time retreated to the horizon.
Sun casually took to the foreground.
Moon sighed into its gloaming.
Seven days inhaling green-
wildflower sashaying into the veins
No more migraines-no chain of coughing cars.
No barbed wire news or plastic drama.
A bumblebee made a path for my eyes.
Seven days bathing in green-
Like a bronzed-faced kitten, I napped beside a stream.
Didn't see God but felt him watching over me.
Seven days fasting in green-
A spirit half-cleansed in the sheen of brevity.
Tomorrow, I return to the grey-eyed misery
Into the padded infirmary of puppets, madmen and kings.
I’m here, but I can be there in the spirit of joy's iridescence---
As my faith brings me to behold your triumphant presence.
I’m here, yet I can reach you from afar
Together, virtually, we watch the star.
I’m here with my body and soul, reading
Then you join me through poetic feeding.
I’m here alone... viewing loveliness of nature
And I’m by your side along technology’s venture.
I’m here fully absorbed with your creativity’s zest
Vicariously, we both experience sublime peace that's blest.
I’m here in the infirmary vanquishing sickness with its pain
Indeed, praying for you to run the race for championship gain.
I’m here testifying about God’s love and mercy*, so gracious
While letting you feel the ripples of divine gift that’s precious.
*Ephesians 2:4-5 But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, Even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ, (by grace ye are saved).
February 12, 2024
3rd place, "YOUR CHOICE AGAIN" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 2/20/2024
Dedicated to Mississippi John Hurt
...whose melodies were as sweet as bird song
Oh how I long
For that sweet bird song
Sweet Lord bye & bye
Prop my chair
'Neath that old window bare
Sweet Lord bye & bye
This cold air done bought me
Tears of infirmary
Sweet Lord bye & bye
And when I die
My soul gonna fly
Sweet Lord bye & bye
Held fast to the wings
Of angels I'll sing
Sweet Lord bye & bye
Sweet Lord
bye & bye
12/22/22
If things keep goin’ my way,
I don’t know what I’ll do
Maybe I’ll go be a priest
in the Church of Déjà vu
Maybe I’ll court a woman
and go to Harvard for a degree
Maybe they’ll cast my carcass
out from the infirmary
I remember what they always called me –
Good Luck Charlie
All advice stops here –
Good luck, Charlie
Yes and maybe we’re all just handfuls
of what came before
And maybe the point of this game
is not to caught
Inside the revolving door
I remember what they always called me –
Good Luck Charlie
All advice stops here –
Good luck, Charlie
Listening to the Blues
Slouched almost supine
Next to special person,
Her hand clasped in mine:
Mississippi picking,
Bottle neck used as a slide
St James Infirmary playing,
End of a long Blues ride.
Now a mouth harp break
Exhilaratingly raw,
Finger picking guitar
Carrying the music before.
House rent music that
Spread the world around.
Borrowed, refined, adapted
Into a multitude of sounds.
Music to relax to that
Seeps slowly, and with style,
Down into the soul
Satisfying all the while.
Voices of gravel,
Voices that moan and wail
But voices of power to tell
Some of life's varied tales.
At times when I'm stressed,
Or at times of despair,
At times of great joy
The Blues are always there.
I first listened as a child,
A period so long gone,
But still my favored listen
As my life speeds along.
Now almost in my dotage,
Slouched almost supine,
Still listening to the Blues with
A very special friend of mine.
At last came the long Lockdown
It is so agonizing for doubtful countdown
I feel we are living in a darkened cage
With the gaze on calendar for counting days.
Like a storm,Corona virus swept the lands
All advised not to shake hands
Shop shut,bank shut,school shut
Do I use mask for virus or mouthshut?
Groceries, All deny to lend
With my kids I find time to spend
Trying to cook smart and yummy
Covid-19 alerts to keep starving tummy
Alas ,The only concern now is the pandemic fear
Thinking what is far and what is near
It is hurting to watch infirmary scene
May we soon come out of this scarry quarantine.
In her grand fantasy’s territory
Freely emerges beauteous Twinkle Fairy
Opening great provisions' granary ---
Gifts* for her wondrous birthday flurry
As a good girl, giving home no worry.
Twinkle Fairy grants her food-dowry:
Sweet delights flavored with strawberry
Midst pies whipped by apple and cheery
There’s also veggie meat, indeed savory
Likewise nutritious chips of zero calorie.
Basking under her dream’s victory
She’s awakened, hearing Mom’s “Hurry!”
In her room, vibrant and glittery
Are loved ones, singing; oh, how merry
With their presents wrapped by prayer’s glory.
Thanking God, she winks at Twinkle Fairy:
That's Mom along her virtuous story
Miracle-filled; sometimes, a mystery
Strengthening her faith, despite fatal injury
This blessed feast in the infirmary.
*Romans 11:29 For the gifts and calling of God are without repentance.
November 1, 2019
Honorable Mention, "STRAND no 650 any theme any form" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 1/19/2020.
Peddy don’t know-no betta to do,
he just following his imaginary urges,
friendly suggestions from TuSac Boy Blue
Sayin’ little Timmy and Sue
wanna play the same game too
Pity-patty
First fake squirt a few ...
then tell his new little buddies,
he made a tear boo-boo
Let him cry on the shoulder,
while his little hands privately
wander over
down there and touch you
Peddy got caught
wid his hands in the honey pot
Patting his little head ... sweating hard,
and licking his lips a lot
Take po’ pity on Peddy,
‘cause his little fingers gon be
trying to pick the lock
Pity-patter of his little feet ...
lying to escape
another beating, and him eating
his own bad boy snot
Prison infirmary peeps sez:
Peddy’s short eyes memory
most daze
don’t remember a lot
Much of what he does now ...
is suck his tiny thumb,
and finger diddle
wid the pretty little flower pot
If things keep goin’ my way, I don’t know what I’ll do
Maybe I’ll go be a priest in the Church of Déjà vu
Maybe I’ll court a woman and go to Harvard for a degree
Maybe they’ll cast my carcass out from the infirmary
I remember what they always called me –
Good Luck Charlie
All advice stops here –
Good luck, Charlie
Yes and maybe we’re all just handfuls of what came before
And maybe the point of this game is not to caught
Inside the revolving door
I remember what they always called me –
Good Luck Charlie
All advice stops here –
Good luck, Charlie
This past week it was raining cats and dogs,
prayed about it to not get so annoyed,
one car totaled other in infirmary,
husband tomorrow having triple bypass surgery,
Meow, Arf, Splat go land some more in the bog.
The sand beneath my feet, the waves above the water, floating endlessly in search of nothing. Hitting the water, the sharpness of breath, I feel renewed above these waves. Towel around my shoulders, sitting, gazing at the horizon in the warmth of Maughold's cove, one tiny inlet, to almost feel new, pleasure in the being. The plateau of sea beyond me, all around me, sensing the curvature of the earth. Curious people bobbing up and down between rock and sea. No picture to remind me, prefer the sensation of that moment. Yesterday I heard, today I feel. At one with the emptiness, beauty reaching far out to sea, just me, a hint of something beyond a sea infirmary door.
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