Dem Dominos

Shake dem bones acrosst da table,
mix 'em up real good.
Keep your wandering eye from knowin'
where "thousand-legs" is  hid.

Old men whoop it up all night 
with whiskey from a jar.
Playin' games and bummin' Luckys,
jus' like friends will do.

The liquor's strong,
the dogs are howlin'-
time for Shoot the Moon.

Deliverance

I bit my tongue

while you wasted your breath

on what sounded to me

like deliverance from

the bitterness

of just desserts.


Playing the devil's advocate,

you whispered in my ear

"All that glitters surely is not gold."

I heard what I wanted,

while you toyed with playing possum.


Without further adieu,

the cat was out of the bag

asking the elephant in the room

if he was ready to taste

the fruits of his labor.


"No time like the present," he said

but in no hurry to leap before looking,

reasonable thought prevailed.


Rhyme over reason was not to be

and we all lived happily ever after.

Amen

Cold Hope

January's lean wind
carries tumbling crows,
all flap flapping up to rearrange themselves.

Their typewriter heads hammer in the white snow
at forgotten bits of autumn.

Floating in the snow-globe field
the black hunters flail up into the sharp air
again and again.

Black wings flutter down this one time
each perfectly into place
spelling out the bold and mostly-still letters of,
"HOPE,"

A word that lifts me more than spring.

Dick Larsen

I got the close parking spot that morning.
There at the corner, the last one before the stop sign.
I drifted in, joining a friend on the stair.

" Had I heard,"she asked?

And in such few words Dick was gone.
No "Bon Voyage," or goodbye for me or anyone.
His death-words dripped from my ears and stopped my steps.
I heard my wail and felt the tears
burning my throat and cheeks. Gone.

The story replayed to me from different mouths;
it was so sudden, decisive and final.
He and his broad smile, full of teeth and kind eyes,
had gone to the coast when his heart rebelled and quit the job.

Smiles like his shed so much of the daily light
in the world I see about me. I am sure of that.
Someplace has been thrust into darkness
with no posted sign nor explanation.

That unlit spot could be a lonely stand of fir trees
or a small island or a small store,
now waiting out this blackened time of vigil
till another new smile comes to light the world.

Then the missing rays will be restored.
Casting those long, familiar, shadows
for all to see.
Warm wonderful light.

Be watchful for Dick's familiar smile
among new and passing faces
Seek it, greeting it in kind
smiles light our way

Weyekin

So the alone-days began.
My steps led up the valley towards the mountain. 

Under the narrowing sky
the cool air rattled the dry leaves.

Deep into the quiet trees I traveled, 

through the long shadows and cold streams.

Berries for my hunger led me to the higher land.

I sang my father's hunting songs;

his voice echoed in my ear as I climbed with his pace.

Chilled by sweat, my song chattered 

like the chipmunk into the long nights. 

A third day passed to the bright moon rising in the sky.

The night air bit my throat and tired eyes.

Blooming bear grass began whispering their old stories, 

chiding me to stop; to listen. Sleep soon held me warm and tight.

From my dreams I rose up, seeing far beyond the white mountain tops.

My outstretched arms flapped with ease

as I flew with many crows, each one calling out my name.

We all sang loudly and beat the air with our wings.

We soared over the mighty river, then east over the plains 

with my people sprouting everywhere from the land below.

Then a great blue wind rode through the Wallowa’s,
scattering all the people till they stood no more.
  

I can still see the proudest, deep black crow turning suddenly,

tossing a shiny black stone to me and laughing.

Fire bursts from the stone, warming me deep inside.

The bright flames burn brightly cradled in my palms.
Standing around the edge of the fire are all my people,

holding up their hands, chanting and waving good bye. 

Crow rises up in the middle with tilted head,
staring at me with one great yellow eye.
His wings held wide for all to see.

Once more he holds the black stone in his beak
and strikes the ground three times.
The sky suddenly flashes white and thunder beats his drum.

I awoke to rain on my face
and thoughts of the warm fires of home.
I feared nothing but the coming blue wind.

Oregon

Each wagon cradled another handful of dreams
through mud, fear and the endless seas of dusty buffalo.

They followed the ruts of those that had,
and the past graves that hoped
to find their way to Oregon.

Legions of fat beaver, mighty elk 
and even the land bid them, "Come." 

Offering it's timber, salmon and furs; 
all wild and good.

Here, to what was not yet America 
but home; 
the travelers from the north lands long ago. 

Here, to the misty green valleys of plenty, 
home of the mighty flowing Wimahl, 
provider for the many.

Here, to the last long shore before the far-setting sun,
where faded days bow their head
in songs of welcome for the rising moon.

Gathered in the final valley, 
the seekers finally revel in the face of plenty.

Here, all have been lost, then found the way.
Now is when we live again
and cry,
"Home."

A Certain Age

Random late September apples thud into the yard 
while the garbage truck, dressed in its squeaky brakes,
grazes down our street, stop after stop.
Early walking voices from the sidewalk 
slowly fade away.

The sun finally climbs though my window
and stretches out 
across the morning wall.

It seems to yell, " I'm back, did you miss me?"
at the top of its lungs.
I am never really ready for it.

My sleepless shoulders have tossed since 4am
but I did not give in. My conscription number 
to an age that rises extra early
only to water the yard
has not yet been called.

I see it coming though, wearing 
it's Members Only jacket of repeated stories, 
monochrome memory and dank gray hair.

Some days as I wander towards the comics
it stares back at me from the obituaries
with an, almost, unintentional gaze.

The projector whirs through action and not, 
past all the cameo's and out-takes
of my starring role so criminally short.