A few new poems by yours truly written at a retreat led by Nevin Comptom Trammell.
The Irregular Heart
The irregular heart
knows not the confines
of chamber walls or rhythms
of the lub-dub doctrine
Look there, in the corner
where pigments swirl
birthing a fifth chamber
an irregular heart
made new
for a new way
a new day
a new doctrine
**********************************************************************************
Litter
A mirror image lies
beneath the soaring boughs
of a white oak tree
it's astounding,
the luxury of it all
as golden hues of fallen
and to be fallen
compete for my gaze
it's reminiscent,
the duplicity of summer
when crepe myrtles
drop their pink petticoats
on the floor
rushing into another season
**********************************************************************************
A Journey in Two Stanzas
on a journey
with words suspended,
between the lines
old thoughts upended
hands moving cautiously
left to right,
voices give wings
words take flight
Wednesday, November 17
Monday, November 15
Ma'am...Excuse me Ma'am
I'm standing at the Kangaroo Mart in Ashland City pumping gas, minding my own business and this disembodied voice floats over my head from behind. I don't know, I must have been daydreaming because I realized he'd said it several times before I turned to see an aged black man handing me a business card. His pea green cap was emblazoned with "Koren War Veteran" along the crisp creased side.
I look down at the business card. It read:
Like I said, I was daydreaming so it didn't sink in. It was the words "Beloved Pet" on the facsimile of a headstone that did it, sort of like a lightening bolt.
I looked at Mocha's sweet brown face peering out the open car window, looked down at the business card in my hand and a little piece of me died.
I look down at the business card. It read:
"PET"
Cremation or Burial
Like I said, I was daydreaming so it didn't sink in. It was the words "Beloved Pet" on the facsimile of a headstone that did it, sort of like a lightening bolt.
I looked at Mocha's sweet brown face peering out the open car window, looked down at the business card in my hand and a little piece of me died.
Thursday, November 4
Beaufort Ghost Tour
On our way to Beaufort, we couldn't resist stopping for this photo op at the Gay Fish Co. in Port Royal.
Have mercy! This Southern Belle is draped over the porch railing of the oldest home in Beaufort, SC. This is just one of the ghostly residents portrayed on the annual Ghost Tour. We traveled by horse-drawn carriage beneath ancient live oak trees dripping with Spanish moss. As daylight turned to dusk all manner of creatures greeted us with their tales of whoa and sorrow.
Unfortunately, we weren't allowed entrance to any of the stately homes on the tour. At the pace our horse took, we had ample opportunity to peak in the windows!
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