The Mountain

Lying so frail, so exhausted in a heap
And all alone, a soul of steel

There was a once upon a time
Wading through the water up to my hips
The warmth of your blue Thunderbird
Creedence Clearwater revives us

A smile, a glow
The scent of Oil of Olay wafting through the house
Was it a house? It was a cracker box.
It was home. You loved me there.

Afternoons were lazy
A short nap for you

Taught me patience
For the good times ahead

You are sweet and tangy
Everything I want to be.

The Mountain

We would wake up early
She would let me drive her
Maroon Crown Victoria LTD
Even though I was only 12

The fancy car had automatic seat controls
I would move it all the way up
And all the way forward
After all, I was only 12

The Skaggs Alpha Beta was 6 blocks away
I would make complete stops at every sign
She would give me a twenty
And I would leave the car running

I selected a 2 liter Pepsi and a dozen doughnuts

We sat at the kitchen table
(Bright white with silver metallic sparkles)
And enjoyed our sugary breakfast
She never mentioned she was diabetic

Dig, Dig, Dig
The sun is hot – it warms my shoulders
The gloves are tight – they protect me
The shovel is sharp – but still not enough
Blackland prairie – dirt becomes clay

The hole
is slowly
formed
wider
deeper
wider
deeper
Until it is done
The lemon water tastes so good

Wait, Wait, Wait
For the sun to go down
The twilight has to witness the burial
Putting in is much quicker
Than digging out

Water, Water, Water
And there it is
And there it rests
And there it lives

Exhaustion is the last thing on her mind
Headaches and hailstorms swirling there require her full attention
Reprimand from a higher up is not easily forgotten
But anger will push her forward one step at a time

Frustration continues to build in all corners
Yet she does nothing about it every day
There are not enough hours from sunset to sunset
To get things done and be as lazy as she wants to be

Anticipation is always there
Wondering where all these decisions will take her
If only she could understand why she constantly gives in
Maybe things would improve

No one knew exactly what they were for
Or who made them
But there they were - all alone
In a pasture full of nothing
The sun setting brilliantly in the western sky
Always distracted everyone

Besides, the people zoom past and don't pay much attention
But, if they were to stop and listen closely
They might hear the murmur,
The sound of rushing water
Or is that a voice speaking softly?

Stuck now in my head - those voices
Living below the ground
Do I really want to know?

I was standing on a corner in San Francisco
And watched as the lion dipped, dived, and roared past me

I was standing in a parking lot in Seattle
And the rain began to pour as fish flew through the air

I was standing on a frontage road in Austin
And I heard the fireworks boom behind me

I was standing behind a Toys R Us
And you asked permission to kiss me and I said no

I was standing in a midnight street in London
And I was told the hotel might be on fire

I was standing in a convenient store in Biloxi
And there was water puddled all around my ankles

I was standing outside my house
And I wondered if there was an intruder inside

I am standing still
And I am still standing
And I am

She was mermaid, and he was a pirate
Least that’s how the story goes
They fell in love; it was love at first sight
After many travels and woes

He asked the question, and she said I do
And off to the chapel they ran
Then many years later, along came you
A big part of their little family plan

They had a small house, small enough for a mouse
And maybe a friend or two
They built up and out and far and wide
They painted it pink, not blue

This story goes on, as stories often do
This poem only a small legacy
To continue on forever and ever
The mermaid, the pirate, and little Paisley…

a mistake in a title

that leads to poem...

always take a minute

to look at your mistakes

before making them right
you never know
what you might find

A fist blog

Coming fast, swift

Stopping for nothing

Except a memory

From the House on Poverty Hill