war hero

he flew beyond the hay fields
over europe
he made it back
though some of them did not

young men
who never saw their tiny children
who lives and dies is more-or-less
by lot

when he came home
he dusted crops and carried
the mail
around the town to everyone

an old man dying
when the old were still young
who left out here an extra

skeleton

A Different Type of Prejudice

Observe: the heart that knows the truth,
That sees the light, that feels the heat —
Who quiet in the study learns,
But still is welcome on the street —

Behold: the difference-maker who,
While much-respected where she goes,
Is like a river underground
Where no one knows from whence it flows —

But this — this is the barrier
Between her truth and everyone:
A different type of prejudice,
That sees no trouble, so assumes

There’s been none

Hearts Are Full Of Fields

You know her angry, critical;
A person certain, full of pride –
But once, there was another her;
From time long past and distance wide —

She loved a boy, who was her heart;
But he, at last, his love denied –
He left her on what should have been
The day that she became a bride

So now you see her as she is,
Someone who always seems outside;
Who keeps her distance from the team,
With comments both acerb and snide

But if you knew her as I do –
The love that never died inside –
You’d know that hearts are full of fields
Where flowers grow
That none
Have spied
 


 

(“Hearts Are Full Of Fields” – 6-30-2015)

Meanwhile, In The Real World

Cassandra writes far better than
I ever, ever could;
But keeps most of it in her mind
Where it does little good

Abiding with her cigarettes
And straight Crown Royal shots;
Anesthetizes her regrets
Picks off her straggling thoughts

For cynical and sexual
Is how she likes to be:
But yet beneath the skin and ink
Is pure humanity

She lives in an apartment
With a lingering touch of mold;
While I live in my luxury
Amidst suburban gold

She scorns me, but she’d do me
To submit me, to control:
As nightly, she must strangle out
The poet
In her
Soul