whom I will never meet
and always love:
Miss Woolf.
When I don’t have
a room of my own,
and when people forget
the history of
the Hogarth Press
and marriage
becomes conveniently easy,
readers will have lost their way.
Leonard, remember,
your wife needs you
“in all the old
familiar places.”
When I lose my sense
of sound and rhythm
for ‘The Waves’
then it will be time
for me too
to take my leave.
“A lady always knows
when to leave.”
I will still be a woman
who stands straight-backed
shouting “I have no country.
My country
“is the whole world!”
Virginia,
you are my lighthouse,
my only bouquet,
my ‘Mrs. Dalloway,’
my stream-of-
consciousness
to the river
and winding
essence of you.
We are the lovers of life,
the watercolor
of another artist’s poetry,
and heading ‘To the
Lighthouse’
slowly, yet certainly.
I won’t buy the flowers,
myself, ‘Mrs.Dalloway.
I’ll pick them wild.
In one breath mountains welcome
I don't remember you.
A small stain on my consciousness,
left untouched.
I want to go to Virginia
With a girl named Virginia.
Feel the sullen breeze cross my face,
Surf over the knobby contour of my nose,
Then whiz past my ear as I hold Virginia close.
Her honeysuckle shampoo
Permeating my brain.
Both sets of our eyes gaze riverward,
Wondering if the dream had started
Or is this the magical reality
We forever wished for.
With my phaser on stun clipped at my side
We kept on along the water’s edge
Hand-in-hand. Our skin dry, warm,
And glowing, with our heads full of
Miracles and our hearts
In serene syncopation.
Have you read the note?
It speaks of the doom of the liquid element.
An inclement weather, grey, and with the fuss of a bleached lightning,
Besieges the tick of the clock.
Must have been a bland Sunday, which retreated
From the temerity of old wine,
Haunted by the lonesome refrains of exhausted hymns.
The belfry yawned loosely....
But quiet crept in like leprosy,
Hanging loops on loam-matted hair, black and fringy,
And nursing frets we held
When the wetted guitar strings would not strum....
Have you read her note?
Not the one of Mrs. Dalloway
Nor the one of Between the Acts,
But the one she cringed for —
That banal, invidious act, non-virginal,
Which haunts the church to this day.
watch out for mothman
his beady red eyes shine bright
towering the bridge
roadside attraction
no cares or worries in mind
just happy eating
This highway's mine, goodbye to Jayne,
so long, farewell, Virginia Plain,
strife was yesterday's heavy load,
life is tomorrow's open road,
it's time to hitchhike once again.
Heading where songs, don't sound the same,
and no-one stops to ask your name,
they'll think I'm another Tom Joad,
this highway's mine.
Generations tried to explain,
through war in Spain, and Catskill rain,
how quickly continents explode,
but somehow memories corrode,
and now the past returns again,
this highway's mine.
In Virginia's mind, a tempest swirled,
A brilliant mind, yet shadows curled.
Words flowed like a river deep and wide,
Yet within her soul a tumultuous tide.
She danced with joy, a fleeting waltz,
Yet battled demons, unseen assaults.
To the lighthouse of her soul, she'd strive,
But darkness whispered, she couldn't survive.
A room of her own, a refuge sought,
Yet the waves of despair relentlessly fought.
In depths profound, she sought reprieve,
A final rest, a chance to leave.
In the pages she wrote, her essence lives,
A testament to the pain she gives.
A fragile soul, now at peace,
Virginia's tale, a tragic masterpiece.
as i began to understand Virginia Woolf
her voice from a room of her own
i realized i was upon a mountain
she had exposed the molehill it was
the dirt soon revealed a tunnel
entering it opened a new horizon
where i finally fully grasped the world
surrounding Jane Austen
in that moment the mist upon the horizon
disappeared and i could finally grasp
her words between the lines
denied a seat upon the Parthenon
forbidden attending The School of Athens
she displays the truth about her gender
that soft restraint we find in mother
its wisdom resplendent
in that hardened fist of reality
covered in a glove of soft lamb
we forgive ignorance
or become yet another in the mirror
who denies the freedom the world
breathes in every breath
the child's first cry
should echo, i am born free
deserving a room of my own
all warrant the miracle life is
nascent in the gratitude within
OKC 6/22
If you follow an oxycontin mule into the woods
it may lead you nowhere,
and that is where you may stumble upon
a flying beast so rare
that it exists only on the edge of itself.
The Cherokee name them Thunder Birds,
pterodactyls for sure,
their large leathery hides loop and swoop.
Rarely are they found nesting,
but are said to be everlasting.
O West Virginia, land of the hoped for
and the hopeless,
we honor your ginseng farms,
your fields of pot, but forget you not
the beasts that seek your moonshine
by the light of ancient eyes,
they often surprise us –
quite a lot actually.
We sat on the porch of your best friends apartment
Passing the time with cigarettes and conversation
You sat on my lap in a proclamation of ownership
Never once questioning the rings in our swollen lips
Inhaling your breath like a cold, autumn wind
Marloburo reds and your darkness within
Despite all the secrets; spilling from me
You bought every line your heart would believe
Heroically spoken like words on a pyre
I needed you more, for curves to admire
Raspy alto tones in fallacies of the day
The ring of your voice; an angel's decay
The goddess within died a little more that night
Tight lips billowed smoke of suburban delight
The heat of the pyre fed the fire inside
A ghost was exposed, with nowhere to hide
I wanted to sway like your hips in the wind
Those cold, autumn nights, and my darkness within
Two agents of chaos in the coldest of nights
Beginning in earnest the march of my plight
I stand on the edge of a spectacular canyon
A river in the distance far, far below
With mountains rising above each side
Reflecting in the rushing tide, as though
One might miss the verdant foliage crests.
New River Gorge they call this place
A flora and fauna national preserve
Nature's playground at its absolute finest.
Far below in the foamy surging rapids
Are braver people, reader, than I am
Piloting canoes and paddling furiously
Taking their river ride quite, quite seriously.
One visit to New River is sure to win ‘ya
To wild and wonderful West Virginia.
Reposted on Poetry Soup
October 13, 2022
As kids growing up in the hills of West Virginia,
We were poor, but no one was any better off.
Halloween was a time we looked forward to,
But there was no money for the store-bought stuff.
Costumes and treats were always homemade
And so, we would scrounge around for things
Old clothes, cardboard boxes, and burlap sacks
From which we became scarecrows and clowns.
Late October weather was generally miserably cold,
Likely a mixture of rain and sleet or snow.
We walked miles for apples, a piece of candy,
Sometimes, a piece of fudge, or a popcorn ball.
Then, we trudged home, often soaking wet,
Examining loot the religious older folks called
“ill-gotten gain,” sharing the evening adventures.
We did not have to worry about being kidnapped,
Or molested, or having a razor blade in our treats.
We knew our neighbors well; they knew us, too,
So, for good reason, we dared not play nasty tricks
Because the new party line would be a-buzzing,
There were never any secrets in the backcountry!
[Dressing Up for Halloween]
Written September 7, 2022
Submitted to "Fall Flavors" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
I
My two daughters love Two States
Two ways, at least
They love Maryland & Virginia
They love English and Spanish
They love their dad and Mom
They love Democrat & Republican as American
They know the Constitution didn't make Parties
They Know G. Washington warned Parties
Divide anation, when electing should take best 'man'
For the job he refused to Name "king" - but Mr. President
II
My daughters proudly thank, work for America
We can't say much, dear patriots, freedom lovers
But they do data mining, sub-contracting for Feds
I have seen some AWARDS, we sleep well
And Jesus gives us a clean conscience as we 'talk'
'US Constitution,' "freedoms," national & global citizenship
About academic freedom
III
Those who "jingo" about nationalism, what
will you tell Jesus who reminded us:
You are a citizen of heaven, not of this world?
( Reference: Paul's epistles, and Peters Letters in the New Testament." We are not one-dimensional
"Americans" - but as with "hats" as a member
Of biological families: know all the roles u play!
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