citing shadows

Tanka Sequence -5-

years out of sight
your name leaps from a message
I learn you have passed
gone the chance of reunion
but we meet within my tears

——–

cherry Swisher Sweets
and a cooler of Hamm’s Draft
driving one-handed
we fly past Deere-green cornfields
in your dusty Impala

drive-in theater
“Billy Jack” – third week running
girls in a Plymouth
glance our way then keep going
shot down, we get ripped alone . . .

——–

I sing your praises
to old friends who ignore them
you’d done something bad
shunned by the faux-righteous folks
of lily-white Redneckville

so you’re buried now
amongst those who don’t know you
my Schrödinger friend
dead to the unimportant
but alive behind my eyes

~ ~ ~ ~

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Tanka Sequence -4-

I take a cold walk
with my companion, the past . . .
I return older
having recalled details of
old sins and lost religion

——–

time seats harsh juries
drawn from the pool in one’s mind
predisposed to guilt
hard labor, life sentences,
and worst of all: wasted time

——–

no resolution
just slow-torture and what-ifs . . .
does God count time-served?
will He wipe the slate clean if
there’s been no ‘rest’ in this life?

——–

it’s the crimes no one
knows of – that you won’t confess
separating you
from a life of peace and freedom,
haunting you on a cold walk

~ ~ ~ ~

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Haiga -1-

Inspired by my friend, hugr5, at http://hugauga.wordpress.com/.

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Tanka -6-

train, fridge, and furnace

noises mix in the darkness

a presence sensed

an energy in ether

asking for acknowledgement

~ ~ ~ ~

Two souls occupied our house before us: an older woman with [respectfully] mental health issues, and a very quiet Native American gentleman who was her caregiver. The older woman lived in the house her entire life; a couple of years ago, she died here as well.

The old woman was a hoarder, a cat-lady, and the last of her kind. The house was bought cheap as part of an estate and the new, out-of-state owner forced the Native American caregiver to move out: even though he had nowhere to go.

We lived across the street for six years prior to July. After the old woman passed and he was forced out the caregiver stopped to talk to me a couple of times – as he lapped the block endlessly on his bicycle. He cried openly those times, but didn’t say much . . . only that he was sad about how things had turned out. After about six moths of this I never saw him again.

After the out-of-state owner had five dumpsters of “prized possessions” hauled off, his builders took the house down to the bones, rebuilt the original parts, and added on new rooms. We watched this unfold from across the street . . . and began to covet what we saw.

A large family beat us to the house. They occupied the house for a year and a half and were very hard on it; we don’t hold this against them because they were kind enough to clue us in on the fact that they were moving the house we coveted would be up for lease soon. We jumped on that information and no one else got a chance at the house!

There is an energy here: who it belongs to, the old woman, the caregiver – or the house itself – I don’t know. Honestly, it hasn’t been frightening or troublesome, but its presence ‘has’ been unsettling at times. As I was afraid to spook my wife, I didn’t talk about it much until recently. However, I have noticed that my acknowledgment of this energy has made me feel less apprehensive of it.

Perhaps acknowledgement is all it wants. . . .

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November 3, 2013

Tanka -5-

defying Death’s pull

pale blue eyes, wild hippie hair

granted extra years

to search for the right window

and know the beauty beyond

~ ~ ~ ~

I offer this verse in memory of a good friend who passed last Wednesday at the age of ninety-three. Four years ago she was given six months to live. My friend tossed out that verdict and lived on as if she was twenty and just getting started with her life.

Frances was a hippie who – thank God – never grew up. With the exception of her final month, spent in a nursing home cubicle, she lived her life free, easy, and entirely on her terms. In her last days she asked for nothing more than a window to sit by.

Frances donated her body to science and asked that there be no immediate service; she liked the idea that students would learn from her body then hold an appreciation ceremony for her a year from now.

I’ve no doubt that the heaven she’s gone to is tie-dyed, full of wildlife, and packed to the ceiling with thrift store finds . . . and that she has her choice of windows to sit by.

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