As Far As They Go
Their opinions spoken
by their eyes sometimes
and by their lips all the time
are as loud
as they’re misleading.
They know why my fence
remains untrimmed
three at last count
and why my Dalmatians refuse
to bark at cars.
Worry ceaselessly about my health
waning with each day’s passing
this cough dry
that rings hollow, loud
across the entire court.
They’re acutely aware of my inability
gross and utterly-disconcerting
to keep my sexagenarian husband sated
my bloody dogs warm
my bony, veiny self-fed.
They pray daily for my recovery
as they wine and dine
wish me well in their dreams
and debate my prognosis
from a safe, far-off distance.
But that I’m afraid
is as far as they go:
Willing not daring
Talking not doing
hoping not help.
Man In My Shed
There sits a man in our shed
His grey hair uncombed
His baggy clothes rugged
His knuckles bloodied.
They claim he is mad
Has been since he was a lad
Who watched his father hanged
And his dear mother maimed.
By a pale-skinned intruder confounded
Irked, amazed, and oh-so-perplexed
By a group crafty, dreadlocked
That had his new Chief slaughtered.
But the man I’ve watched
On rainy nights fed
Though weird and reserved
Is not at all bad, or mad.
He’s a good man haunted
A darkened mind now besotted
A kind soul somewhat trapped
Forcibly yoked in a yesterday marred.
A kind heart oaked in a past poisoned
By memories sorrowful and sad
That keep his vision forever blurred
And make him forever mad.
Forever Lost
In this Universe rotten and cold
gifts precious and rare
fall by the wayside
kind souls dispatched
in some haste —
to aid
to save
pass by unseen
unnoticed, unappreciated.
Fearful of misconception
hindered by our solitude
our hearts dark
they wobble away
one at a time
glide off like clouds heavy
with the promise of rain.
To be a blessing to others
beings in a different realm
ready to learn, to gain
persons progressive
and open-minded
who are not as mean—
not as vain
not as avaricious
not as ungracious
as us.
