Photos Of The Web

Photos used to capture

A time

A place

Not alter one

Now

With the power of the internet

The power of computers

Someone’s photo is nothing more

Than an altered reality

An elusion

A mirage

Water only drinkable to the ones that are fooled

With the click of a button

All imperfections are removed

Wrinkles

Blemishes

Age

Weight

Hair color

The scars of life are gone

Leaving folks looking a lot like

Some of those TV evangelists in the 1980s

Faces plastered with makeup

Filtering what the camera would see

Plastic surgery

Facelifts

All done with the click of a button

So crisp

So perfect

No flaws

No truth 

This poem is from my book : Petals Falling

Lilith

Lilith took a stroll and never came back

Some speculate

It was for this reason or that

I think she was just tired

Of being stuck in that garden

Where everything was perfect

So much so

No one had to think for themselves

They would never see the beauty in mistakes

In flaws  

I think, she thought

She wondered

What was just beyond

The edge of that garden

Lilith needed more than Adam could give her

She needed to see where the horizon ended

And dawn begins in the morning

Like Kerouac needed the countryside

Like W. H. Davies needed a life on the rails

Lilith had to see where the rivers flowed and disappeared in the distance

Where the moon falls into darkness

And the stars light up the night

Where thunderstorms roll over the mountains

And lightning’s jagged lines split in the sky

Where the oceans are as blue as turquoise

And canyons echo your every sound

Like a perfect orchestra  

Yes, Lilith was not made from a rib

She was made to roam

This poem is from my book : Petals Falling

Looking Around

Looking around I see

Objects

From my past

A piece of broken brick

Picked up off a dirt road I once lived on

By my child

Now

Twenty years ago

A wilted white flower lies

Bent over backwards across its top

Like a ballerina balanced

In the hands of her partner 

A fired clay turtle

Brought back from the Bahamas as a gift

From my neighbors

For watching their house

Years have drifted by and I’ve lost track of them

Three families have come and gone over there

And now the bank owns it

Cobwebs in the window and stringy grass in the driveway

Frogs have taken over the green-tinted water of the pool

But the clay turtle still stands guard on my mantle

My old jeweler’s saw hangs in the corner

The engagements I cut through with its jagged teeth

Sealed by god but cut by me

Sized for another couple’s hands

Another couple’s hopes of making it longer than six months

A twenty-five cent figurine of a bear

Stands with a blank expression 

My baby shoes sit beside it

Given to me by my mother

They were once a keepsake for her

But now she’s given them to me

She’s given a lot of things away these last few years

Experts would say she’s in the last quarter of her life

I think after seven kids

She has too many damn knickknacks to dust and keep up with

One day

I might feel the same

But for now

I’ll keep looking around

This poem is from my book : Petals Falling

Hank

He took a ride with Coe

Jackson heard his voice blowing in the wind

Both happened on the dark roadways of Montgomery

But I don’t believe this is the only place you can see him

For Hank

Is more a feeling of defying the wrongness of the world that surrounds us

As much as when it surrounded him 

Yeah, you’re more likely to see him

On the mud soaked streets of Montgomery

Leaned up against

The crumbling brick buildings of that city

Waiting for the fog to fall from the night

But really he’s everywhere

If you just take the time to look

Look close within the depths of your soul

You know

Inside

Where most are too fearful to go

You will start to see him

More and more

Yes, Hank is in spirit

But wasn’t he always living his life

On the edge of existence

All while knocking on Death’s Door

So the next time you have warm whiskey flowing

Like fire through the center of your heart

Listen for the train wailing in the distance

Look close as the boxcars

Lazily lumber past you down that two-rail track

Look, look inside and he will be there

Playing his guitar

Singing the blues for the ones that are down

Pushed down by the world

Yes, the ghost of Hank Williams still tilts his hat

To the ladies of the south working all night at the diner

So their families will stay afloat

He’s there with his middle finger pointed upwards

When the boss puts you down

To make himself feel like god

He’s there when the bottle runs dry 

And the last cigarette is smoked for the night

When the whippoorwill throws its calls

Through the dark tree shadows of the pines

Yes, Hank is right there beside you

When you embody the spirit of rebellion

And stand up for the less among us

Hank is right there beside you

This poem is from my book : Petals Falling

Harvesting Bones

“Harvesting bones is a good job!”

At least I’m told this by a lady in the break room

She wears Docs or something close

And has a ring in each side of her nose

Once

I asked her if she was into punk rock

She said, “No, I’m into nature.”

I liked her answer

It was the most punk thing she could have said

I thanked her for the job info

Then made my way back to the time clock

As I worked, I thought

Anywhere would be better than here

Or would it?

Plenty haunts me in my sleep

Without adding to it

Somehow

Harvesting bones from the dead

Pulling bones from body parts

Does not sound appealing

Sometimes

The fear of stepping away from the familiar

Is worse than the first step away

Ten minutes into my shift

I’m ready to pluck bones

This poem is from my book : Petals Falling

His Feet

I gave my shoes to a homeless man

The other day

For I knew

I had another pair at home

And

He had no home

What covered his feet

Were not fit for wearing

Much less walking

I’ve seen the look in his eyes before

I understood his gaze

More than most ever will

For

The gaze of the hungry

Cuts through

All the red tape of humanity

Of the presentation from the presenters

That all is perfect in this world

Yet

All is not perfect

But if we help the ones less fortunate

Things will get better

We are all burning stars shackled to this place

At least

For the moment

So make the most and help another

For

We won’t be shackled forever

We will be burning bright someday

In the sky above

This poem is from my book : Petals Falling

Uncomfortable Smile

I see the young men and women

Coming back from the war

They all have that uncomfortable smile

My uncle had it

Korea gave him his

The war somehow froze his face

Gave his eyes a sometimes lost stare

An old friend of mine took a bayonet in the stomach

He was also shot in the back

Vietnam froze his face, as well

He said, they used to place an Ace of Spades

In the front pocket of the men they killed

He said, the ace symbol meant death in their world

He said a lot of things

But talking about it didn’t unfreeze his face

They come back, but they’re forever changed

What innocence is left from their childhood

Is gone

Never to return

For the bullet

The bomb

The tank

The grenade

All of these things have burned it away

Like a fire to a plush landscape

War has torched all that they were

And given them that uncomfortable smile

This poem is from my book : Petals Falling