Lucy sat out in the sun
In cold and clear September;
She modeled for us her new life,
I always will remember
The pride she wore upon her face
As she soaked in the rays;
Not knowing pills and Crystal Head
Would soon cut short her days.
The pride of Lucy, young and full
Of beauty and its power;
The sharpened razor blades, so cold,
That hacked to death
The flower
(“The Pride of Lucy” – 12-27-2015)
The great book was unsealed, and I saw the sky torn in two. The rain gathered in flooding rivers on the streets of an anonymous suburb, where the poet, his old dog, and grandson shivered, although the last of those soon slept.
The barren winter calls across the lake,
But what they hear are very diff’rent sounds;
Each sees the world on their own chosen grounds:
Results of choices that they daily make.
For she sees death in winter’s every move:
The cold becomes a penetrating freeze
That brings her down, somewhere past mere unease
To having nothing left to give, or prove.
But from the winter, he gains buoyancy.
Its very barrenness, a type of cleanse,
He finds his warmth in family, and friends,
And loving all life’s rhythmic tendency.
The barren winter light brings in relief
The shadows of their moods; each soul’s belief.
… a Florida Winter. — Owen
They both were drunk when they had sex.
It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t great —
She woke to wonder what came next,
And took a walk to contemplate.
Her temples throbbing, in the mud,
She treads a road that’s headed east;
But takes some solace in the thought
That everything still works
At least
She only met him off at the Clandestine;
A fantasy she was, his every wish —
But pleasure came with pain, and hence a lesson:
That minnows will get swallowed by
The bigger fish
She considers herself an average girl,
Who’s led a sort of mundane life:
This model-scientist-dancer-preacher
Who I happen to call my wife —
She was an entrepreneur for years;
She’s a volunteer when she sees a need:
She’s been a mother, a grandmother now,
And there’s not enough hours for her to read
All the books that we have, or she wants to have.
She’s curious and inquisitive;
She defends anyone who is ganged up on,
And knows, and believes, what it is to forgive —
She loves to move and she loves to laugh,
And she always gives comfort to those who mourn:
She as wonder-filled as the sea and the sky,
And’s had love in her heart since the day she was born —
She loves to come up with a better idea;
She lives to watch dramas that come from Korea,
She worries about the strange man that she wed,
But after a day, when it’s all done and said,
She closes the eyes on that beautiful face
Having made the world, my world, a much better place;
And I think, every morning, as I move the cover,
I can never quite say just how deeply
I love her
born a beautiful cat in a world of dog packs that are all hostile, yet do want her -- for sport
