Friday, March 21, 2008

Present Arms

As the shadows creep around the paint-flecked walls
There persists the calling of the faint echoes of years soft-passed,
Almost imperceptible at first, steadily creeping as sirens in stealth
Until entangled with secret, silent memories

    My swaddling of truth lies in patience, waiting

-- A flash brings it all back --

The persistent bass-drum beats
Fall into the arms of the booming bugle calls
Which cascade into a 21-gun salute
And as the silent smoke rises,
Not pope-white, but it still advises,
With the smoke rising and the shells falling fast and often
Onto the dewy grass blades rooted to their dirty coffin,
The infidel corporal shines from all corners of himself
As he sends all the death knell with hollow, bravo-foxtrot, notes

    My swaddling of truth lies in patience, waiting
    And some day will ensconce me as its lading

In the hall the major darts past portraits of commanders
Then pauses, mid-stride, allowing all the years of neglect
To be reflected in her chiseled face,
Realizing there was something pretty there, once

And the general hands out coins and prose
To all the soldiers he’s told are battlefield heroes
But the stand-to will still rise at oh-six
Regardless of how many hollow coins are flipped
The trumpet from the private was torn
Then bayonets and bullets flew
But the general’s flag remained in view
As two brigades were wasted on the lawn

  The wind whips gaily through the town square
  Perusing empty street and alley alike without care
  And by God, I am telling you, by God I swear

    My swaddling of truth lies in patience, waiting
    And some day will ensconce me as its lading
    But for tonight I fall by its warm glow
    And by some simple muse simply know.

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Thursday, February 28, 2008

Love On Top Of A Washing Machine

music player

Love On Top Of A Washing Machine

She was sunlight interrupted
    on the soft-wood floors of my mind.
She was a breeze on a humid day
    that blows itself into a winter
     gale force across your face.

She was the salt water
    surrounding the boat
     lost at sea for centuries.

She rose and fell with every breath
She sparked life and snuffed death
She captured the inmates and in stealth
Fed them bread and stories for their health

She was a white prom dress
    in the black breezy night

She was every footfall before the bedroom door opens
And she was the smoke rising from my cigarette

She was the dirt and the detergent,
   the goods and the money
   the race and the standings,
   the inspiration and the song.

It was love from the rinse cycle,
And now she’s gone.


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