Let Your Love Be Sharp

My friend, Sherman, passed his test today,
Renewed his license to pack heat in secret,
Concealed, hidden from wife, friends,
Presumably would draw if he were robbed,
Saw some stranger threatening. I assume he thinks
He’s safer with a gun. Ah, such delusions
We hold to shelter us from fear.

Perhaps everyone who loves should
At least have sharp knives, tenderly to
Carve with love at least a smile
Upon the thighs, back or face, cut deep
As though carving pumpkin on Halloween,
Celebrate The Day of the Dead with style.

Perhaps test the sharpness on your father,
Old tough skin might need a harder push…
Good kitchen knife for your wife,
Butcher when she harshly turns her back.
Let her bleed first, receive the hateful look,
Take the thrust the way you gave her children,
Concealed not by night, but in your darker moods.

As for children, let them all be evenly sliced,
Wounds pressed with love by father’s need,
Razor in hand always steady, their vanity
Becomes a consequence of veins slowly drained,
Nicking every artery to flow as love flows
Deep in loving hearts, secretly as one carries
Pistol concealed upon the body, always ready.

 

Just Beyond the Corners of the World

Even in the dark, I feel the lingering
Human presence of those now gone,
Those whose bones are joined with soil.
They walk our empty streets at night;
Miraculously they whisper among themselves.
No wonder my toes itch when I remove
Boots after walking alone in the snow at night.

Just beyond the corners of the world,
Forgotten names roll by under the trick of dim lights,
Familiar shadows moving in the wild, willing to meet….
Darkness swoons with heavy vapors washing air,
Chills the breath before it leaves the lungs,
Resolves and concentrates all desire for life—
Yet sorrow endures and illuminates the loss.

He Walked With Steady Gait

Old man sat there under the palm tree,
Weathered face as if chiseled in solid stone,
Dark skin and age spots evidence of
Too much time working, sweating in hot Sun.
Deep lines cast shadows on his flesh to testify
By hard steel his life has not be easy.

No prince of wealth has lived within his home.
Yet his wide brow, thin grey beard
Suggest an equality so constant with his years—
Simple, honest, determination has molded
Shape of soul that rich men have not found
Living as they do in warm beds and palaces.

He has known hunger, fear and darkness,
Walked for days in worn shoes with steady gait,
Slowly into future that, as is the case with all,
Remains unknown, unknowable
Yet put his quiet trust into the hands of God.
And that for him has been better
Than any light that promises
Known ways or bright boughs of flowers.

Directness of his eyes reveal he’s known
Grief and heavy sadness—yet the wounds
He’s carried have not made him mean.
Though he is no member of elect society,
He wears a curious crown of straw,
His gaze and straight lips give hint—

Perhaps of a rather common noblesse.
His woman, his sons and daughters,
His dog has known his warm embrace.
When winter winds sweep through his house,
He gives away his only blanket, rises early,
Admits to himself he does not know
Much at all but that a stone is heavy.

He admits his years are hasting away…
Soon his sight will dim and the tree
Where now he leans to take his meals
Will give shade to another man.
He will have a lasting rest under the grass,
Finally free of all the heavy cares,
Stone resting lightly just above his head.