07 August 2007

Here In The Life Of An Unknown Poet


(Photo by Shirley Alexander)


Here In The Life Of An Unknown Poet

I'm not the woman people envy
in her confident got-it-all-together stride.
I'm not the person who is called to offer prayer
in a gathering of Christians.
I don't sing like an angel, or paint beauty
into hungry and inspired artists' minds.
I'm not that woman. I'm not destined for dizzy fame
or breathless stolen kisses.

I am the woman who smiles at grasshoppers,
and lifts her nose to smell rain.
I am the woman with hay in her hair
in the middle of a muddy cow pasture.
I am the woman who loses her giggles
in the quiet corners of inappropriate places.
I am the one who wants to chance wearing
purple with green, but chooses black.

I am the mother who knows a special child
is always on stage, and should dress accordingly.
I am the daughter and sister who visits a lonely hill
at midnight to confess my pain to headstones.
I am the jealous lover of time and
all the things I missed before heaven thrust me
wet, screaming, and angry into
the unprepared arms of my religious mother.

I'm not someone you would remember
seeing on a sidewalk in Paris.
I am the woman who drops her papers
in the crowded hallways of life.
I leave tattered bits of myself to be sorted
by future generations who will read and wonder;
"Who was she to find herself worthy
of a legacy of words and love?"

s.a.a.

Making Love With Music


Making Love With Music

At Shag Phelp’s birthday bash
In a small dark bedroom
on the far end of Alan's trailer
we found ourselves laughing and naked,
doing the dirty dance to a drum solo
and strains of electric mystic Iron Butterfly
"In-A-Godda-Da-Vida, baby…"

Flashes of strobe and heady weed
streamed through a carelessly ajar door.
The earth swirled and tilted
when I arched backward
just to hear you swear as my hair
tickled the bare tops of your thighs.
"Oh won't you come with me.."

Thirty years later a soft country ballad
is mingled with snoring before
the first verse leads to pause.
In the still darkness I walk
through this big house alone
while ghosts taunt from shadows.
"and walk this land…"

I put the album carefully in place,
turn the volume to an unfamiliar low,
and close my eyes to drink the music.
If I lean way back in a younger woman's arch,
I can almost feel the hair that is no longer there
tickle the skin of my bare and lonely waist.
"Please take my hand…"
s.a.a.

Ghost of a Blue World


Ghost of a Blue World

I dreamed I was flying
over the ghost of blue world past
the buffalo ran before me
thundering through the plains
and I heard a wail in the wind
like a thousand voices whispering
spreading the rumors of change
and all the nations were gathered
on the burial grounds of man
singing, singing, singing

I dreamed I was flying
over the ghost of blue world present
the people ran before me
through bloody fields of war
and I heard a sobbing in the wind
like a million demons howling
drumming the guns of hate
and all the mothers gathered
on the soldiers' mourning ground
weeping, weeping, weeping

I dreamed I was flying
over the ghost of blue world future
and the shadows ran before me
through the dry and quiet plains
and I heard a small wind mewing
like a newborn baby's breath
dying in the darkness of night
and all the ghosts were kneeling
on the charred and battered land
silence, silence, silence

s.a.a.