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Rick Lawson Poem
Ghost Of Tsali Comes
Lost in mist and maze
Ghost of Tsali in the corn
River water runs
Colors of fall alive
“Til moon replaces sun
That’s when Tsali comes
Corn roots cling to bone
As he tends the empty weirs
This spot that was home
Kindling damp to touch
No sheltering from the cold
Tsali weeps alone
Laughing children run
Through the maze of corn as fun
Tsali seeks them out
Revenge, an embrace
Wringing breathe away from life
Corn maze in moonlight
The Truth About Old Jack
I’m standing on your grave tonight, Grandpa
So you will finally hear the truth about Old Jack
Now that Tom Bell’s dead, there’s no reason to hide
The truth about the night that Old Jack died
Remember how the full moon shown when Tom Bell drove up
Wanting to borrow Old Jack to sire him some pups
You turned him down, he drove away, seemed to take it well
But things were never that simple when dealing with Tom Bell
Well the moon is full again tonight here on Friendship Road
And I’m guessing it’s full in heaven for you too
I know you’re up on Long Mountain trailing Old Jack
That’s why I’m finally singing this song of truth to you
As Tom Bell drove away that night he looked me in the eye
He expected a boy like me to drop my head but I held mine high
He raised his fist at me and I shivered, scared to death
Cause it was well-known that Tom Bell was mean as hell
What Tom did next, I heard from his son Bill
Tom took a rat-tailed file to an empty bottle of beer
He ground that bottle into a pile of fine deadly glass
And he put a dost of it in Old Jack’s food stash
Well the moon is full again tonight here on Friendship Road
And I’m guessing it’s full in heaven for you too
I know you’re up on Long Mountain trailing Old Jack
That’s why I’m finally singing this song of truth to you
Now I hope that God has sent Tom Bell straight to hell
But if God somehow missed him that’s why I’ve come to tell
You and Jack best beware as you troll that ridge tonight
Tom Bell may be lurking there and I’m sure, even dead,
Tom Bells still mean as hell
Well the moon is full again tonight here on Friendship Road
And I’m guessing it’s full in heaven for you too
I know you’re up on Long Mountain trailing Old Jack
That’s why I’m finally singing this song of truth to you
Chanty For Ahmaud
The sunbeams and shadows thread through the Spanish moss
As the young men run under the live oak trees
It’s 1820 and all is well
Cause young black men know where they should be
At work for the master crushing shells from the beach
Making tabby all day, yes that’s the chore
Hang your head low and shuffle your feet
Building master’s big house on Satilla’s white shore (they sing)
“Ho. Ho. Scrape and pound.
Happy at work for the master
Ho. Ho. Yes scrape and pound
Crushing shells for tabby to build Master’s house.”
Now it’s two thousand twenty, see what we’ve lost
Young black men forgot their place in this world
They dare to run on Satilla’s white shore
Without a white man to set their course
Sorry to say it had to be done
Lesson well-taught with an old shotgun
Soon we’ll forget and go back to our ways
When young black men knew their place (and they’ll sing)
“Ho. Ho. Scrape and pound.
Happy at work for master
Ho. Ho. Yes I scrape and pound
Crushing shells for tabby to build Master’s house.”
Death Is Mine
In this waking dream I sit by the fake fire
Wife and I chat, the birds twitter spring
The interstate so close but unheard
The children off to school and the pets settled for rest
The lazy writer takes his time, sips his coffee
Tap tappa keyboard and all is well
And the Landing canal goes up and down with the tide
I think death must be the same
Another day rolling along
And isn’t it delightful…death can be whatever I want
As Wittgenstein said, “Death is not a human experience.”
So I say, “while I am alive I will make death anew each and every day.”
Today it is a spring day with tweeting birds and strangely silent transfer trucks
Tomorrow death can be a picnic when I was 13 years old
Or a cup of coffee
While I am alive, death is mine
Richard Lawson
111 Landing Rd
Brunswick, Ga 31520
9122233177
9125777064
rlawsonsongs1@gmail.com
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCa6SdF1JWe8nYbglCc0PyXA
Richard Lawson is a retired music teacher, 61 years old. He lives with his wife, Charlotte, in Brunswick, Ga. They have a daughter, a son, and a grandson. His work has been published in Fine Lines, Georgia Sportsman, New Verse News, Poetry Pea and The Sunflower Poetry Review
Copyright © Rick Lawson | Year Posted 2022
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Details |
Rick Lawson Poem
five homeless haiku
open door inviting
enter, search, touch, read, smell
coffee-stained words
from mother’s urn we draw
names for secret santa
ash blows away
new wrinkles daily
don’t despair
the dead won’t care
save whales and glaciers
polar bears and tiger cubs
humans not so much
here to view the corpse
should i smile or should i weep
what’s your view on sleep
Copyright © Rick Lawson | Year Posted 2022
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