Red Dust

Red Dust

On the steps behind the garden gate he sat, 

small dark eyed boy 

compact and steely as a newly minted dart 

coiled in the exile of his mother’s dubious fear. 

Outside others shouted, kicked unseen stones 

in the red baked earth – 

he watched as billows of joy drifted through the latch 

until a boy chasing a soccer ball came to the gate and  

waved him on - petulant, dubious, rebellion puffed his

sparrowed chest and dark eyes dancing he quickly 

lifted the latch and ran onto the red rousted dust 

as fuses sprang and all was glinting metallic,  

a boy arm, a shower of red rock, a sneakered foot,

that soccer ball, all collateral damage,

scar on the land – 

this now gone boy 

once safe behind the grated gate 

now mixing

with the red dust.

 New Myth  5-29-12 

Night of Ruins - Red Dust

Night Of Ruins

Into the petulant night of dubious rebellion she runs hair flowing, true as a

thin steeled dart on bare feet - lifting  the latch onto mistaken fields of

concrete freedom finding  endless exile in that sudden sense of metallic

staccato sprung fuses - she slumps but another anonymous scar her head of long

hair billows lifeless as any other  tumbleweed in the promised poisoned

pestilence of the Night Of Ruins,

Red Dust

On the steps behind the garden gate he sat, small dark eyed boy compact and

steely as a newly minted dart coiled in the exile of his mothers dubious fear. 

Outside others shouted, kicked unseen stones in the red baked earth - he watched

as billows of joy drifted through the latch until a boy chasing a soccer ball

came to the gate and  waved him on - petulant, dubious, rebellion puffed his

sparrowed chest and dark eyes dancing he quickly lifted the latch and ran onto

the red rousted dust as fuses sprung and all was glinting metallic,  a boy arm,

a shower of red rock, a sneakered foot, the soccer ball, all collateral damage,

scar on the land - this now gone boy once safe behind the grated gate now mixing

with the red dust.

PAD DAY 26 - 3 ANIMAL POEMS

 DAY 26 - 3 ANIMAL POEMS

Daisy in the morning – an elephant tale

I don’t know if she really was

named Daisy behind a narrow

moat she stood with liquid eyes

watching

My father young and peanut

holding locked eyes lifted his

arm and like a master sorcerer

called ” Up Simba ” and she’d lift

Her majestic trunk and rise

Like a lifting building

Throw back her trunk

And blare a smile

Eyes locked as she

Lowered herself back to

the golden straw swirling

at her ankles and reached

With the delicate pink of roses

As sound and passion

echoed bouncing from

the walls that melted

in my trembling chest

And she reached

To my.upturned hand

And eyes still on my

father gently, oh so

sweetly, picked-sucked

the peanuts away

with laughing eyes

tickling my wet palm

delicate as dew on a

blossom

regal Queen honored

me at my father’s request

and the walls melted

Maybe it only happened

Once, maybe it was happenstance

but still I see their eyes and

feel the tile walls melt

shimmering away and

Somewhere we stand

Daisy, my father

and I

forever

free

A glorious trunk

raised in blaring

welcome as birds

lift from the trees

and red dust swirls

about my ankles

in the mist of an

ever equatorial morning

“Black Beauties”

“animals” she called them

on first day driving

sighing sanctimonious

tapping red wrapped

fingernails against

her smirking teeth

“lucky to have her”

she sighed

these “black beauties”

these third-grade-children

in the long ago charge

of one red-lipsticked

hatred-heinous

teacher

unfortunately

no twilight zoned

signpost signaled

only a cancelled carpool

consequence

and time passing

an errant dodgeball

to her empty head

dangled snatched disability

discharging her

into the wild to

roam her jumbled jungle

of manufactured malice memory…

twenty-five children saved

not unscathed

but free

nonetheless

from one scathing

Serpent

fluff puff of coal smoke

drifted through the opened door

magic 

PAD - Day 8 - Violent and Peaceful

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She walks

before her the distant

horizon of Humvees

whirling red dust -

Behind her boyhood

playmates hurl rage

at her breast

a suckling infant

velvet skin, soft

hands stroking

the flow of milk

As Peace walks

Hope in aching

arms – Walks

forward

on and on

and on

still

leaving bloody

footprints

in the dust

~

Coffee Time

They spoke of poetry

she said something witty

over steaming mugs of

coffee in pottery cups

they bought together

at the outdoor market

They spoke of poetry

and his soft -sudden

cold eyes flashed as

back handed the cup

against the wall

coffee dripping in

dark streams

shards of bright

colors stuck in

her bemused cheek

sparkling in the sun

light – he shouted

sounds without sanity

words without meaning

as blood flowered

on her cheek

outside cherry blossoms

bloomed and

then

all

was

still

He bathed her cheek

with cool water on

a clean dish towel

she swept the floor

and he cried as she

watched pretty cherry

blossoms bloom outside

once

again

over his shoulder as he

clutched her close

~

Children Listen

They crouch in the dark

behind their shared bed-

room door and listen to

words that are too loud

to have meaning beyond

ugly – they can feel walls

shake with rage feel the

spray of spittle as parents

massacre each other – only

to live again -reconstituted

in the always sudden quiet –

the clinking of a glass or two

and finally the sound of their

tip-toed walk-to their softly

shut door and then the loud

inexplicable, creaking sighs

of bedsprings in the night

PAD - Day 9 - 5 "Shelter" Poems

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Gimme

shelter

just

a place to put

my head

for just a bit

out of the rain

that soaks me

through

~

They walk

the mothers with suckling babes

in slings against naked breasts

nipples cracked 

like the desert

under bare feet – 

they walk 

bare faced and free – able to vote- 

to free their hair to blow 

in the red dust – 

they walk 

bare-headed full faced –

 babes against dry breasts

there is no victory in a vote until

shelter surfaces – 

until then – 

they walk-

stopping not even when one

babe or mother – stills and stiffens

they walk – 

they walk – 

they 

walk

~

In the field

past the split

oak tree they

think they see

something

huddled together

doing just what

they shouldn’t be

doing – standing

under a tree as

lightning cracks

the sky and rain

runs like an upside

down river – they’ll

get whupped for

sure if they don’t

get ‘lectrocuted first

unless that really is

a lean-to on the other

side of the old oak

tree – lil fellah starts

that little hiccup

he always makes

before he starts in

crying and she grabs

his hand and make

a run for it

~

tomato plants bend

rains slashes to the bare soil

another crop drowns

~

Black circles in the night

The knock is quiet

almost a whisper of

wind against the door

She sits in her chair

in the warm kitchen

watching snow fall

and knows they have

come – one or two or

one time, husband, wife

a small curly-haired girl

and a baby wrapped and

still – they always have

smudges like ash under

their eyes – and she always

for just a moment considers

opening the door – then again

maybe it is just the swoosh of snow

whipping in the wind across her sturdy

closed door – and maybe when a siren bleats

and a black car crunches in the fallen snow it

will be just a passerby – waiting until the worst

of it has

passed