Shield yourself
the flying monkeys are hurting.
They want casualties,
they want recognition,
fame,
and it has to be you
that made then so furious and sad,
it is you they blame.
God helps us one by one,
He ties shoelaces,
makes sure our shirttails
are tucked in.
The monkey's wedgy,
a blubbering dubs their sore eyes,
and they are forever upset
and unsettled
that you do not ever
consider their feelings.
Be kind to them,
tell them they are okay
in a very special way.
God will keep them safe
in their indignant hell
until they are well.
Categories:
shirttails, poetry,
Form: Free verse
We carry small talk above our heads, ceilings drip clouds.
Nothing is put away. Coats dangle over chairs in layers.
Drugged by spate and mizzle, denim droops,
snagged over rummage
and the outstretched arms of impedimenta.
The house awakes to a soft toed patter.
Around us, cuffs pull the roof closer to damp collars,
hangers weep in wardrobes,
while the unhung sink in muddy shallows.
Before the light paddles away, calico, cotton, and shirttails
are rescued, bundled into higher heaps;
the soggy separated from the merely mildewed.
The muddled and fusty raised above an imagined tide.
Tomorrow, front steps will be scoured;
the washed-out made to flap.
Squirrels may walk the earth again,
and if a blotting wind returns, we will wave
from dry bathtubs.
Categories:
shirttails, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I have been following the trails
of familial footsteps;
the moon-daze of nights long gone,
threads of ways lost.
Where sky and dust merge
I see your lineage and kin,
their names are under my skin.
Ancient they are,
and seconds are their wombs.
They shape each rim and verge -
emerge there as my thoughts.
Those we have known and known not,
their shirttails dangling, their anatomy dwindling
leave and reform upon the breath.
They twine both life and death on one vine,
we circle the same planet
until we awake together
from the one dream.
Categories:
shirttails, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I have been following the trails
of familial ghosts;
watching the dusky horizon,
the moonrise,
the gilings of ways taken and lost.
Where sky and dust merge
you also may see your lineage and kin,
their names are written under your skin.
Ancient they are, seconds are their wombs.
They shape each rim and verge -
emerge there as your thoughts.
Those we have known and have known not,
their shirttails dangling, their anatomy dwindling
leave and reform under our breath.
We twine both life and death on one vine,
awake together in the same dream.
Categories:
shirttails, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Angry men quarrel
While boys pull at shirttails-
Ominous cycle.
Categories:
shirttails, hate, war,
Form: Haiku
Son, would you tuck in your shirttail
Was something often heard
At home when I was a youngster
With harsher action inferred
My otherwise kind hearted Mother
Had shirttails as a pet peeve
That boys were just naturally sloppy
Was something she wouldn't believe
It didn't seem to matter
That action was big in my plan
Like building a fort or a tree house
Or a game of kick the can
As long as my trouser tops covered
The tail of my shirt complete
Dear Mother seemed quite contented
And smiled at her son so neat
But catching fly balls and gophers
Are surely not meant I'd say
For shirttails tucked in and tidy
From the start to the end of a day
Well now that I'm older I smile
Each time I check my belt line
And straighten my shirt without thinking
Like a habit that's learned over time
Some Mothers have talent for teaching
Their lessons to boys of school age
Who think that neatness can't happen
'Till life's reached a much older stage
You see my reflex for shirttails
Was taught by a Mother with grace
Who sewed to each shirttail bottom
Two inches of fancy pink lace!
Categories:
shirttails, funny, mother,
Form: Cowboy Poetry