Midnight Ramble

It begins in cold darkness
and the thick solitude of a quiet car
splashing through the empty streets of town.
Flashing traffic lights, Christmas lights,
porch lights left to burn, water streaked vestiges
of a brighter world I missed while asleep.
This is the time for me. It’s all so clear,
a silent symphony of subtle revelations
otherwise muted by the daylight clamor
of horns, sirens, and screeching wheels.
But even now, there is little time to savor.
Work begins in two minutes.
A few more gulps of hot coffee
to burn the lingering fog away.
There are deserts to cross and mountains to climb
before the light of day.

Last Standing

High, sprawling, and audacious in the sun,
older than the country it stands in,
bare boned against the November cold
wind whipped, stripped of its summer clothes,
the tree reaches the attention of every eye that passes,
commands respect by way of fact that it still stands
resolute as a statue, welcoming the open sky,
the rain, the snow, the wind, for yet another try
at tearing its broad grip from the hardening earth
branch by brittle branch, root by sinuous root.
It seems to be saying, come now, take your best shot,
I’m still here where the others are not.

Wind

The wind is a feral animal tonight,
moaning, circling, lashing out –
random acts of violence in our midst.

The little lights on the front porch
rock about maniacally, glittering against the glass,
a ghostly mirror ball inviting us to dance
to the wind chimes chilling melody.

The dog barks incessantly,
issuing stern warnings to the invisible intruder.
Perhaps she is telling it what we are all thinking.
Leave us. Leave us in peace. Leave us now!
Just please, don’t leave us in the dark.

Your Former Self Calling

Empty out the past.
Hold fast to tangible things.

Give up the ghosts
that haunt these silent rooms.

Give up your reasons
for not turning back

toward that distant land
of high hopes and deserted dreams.

Easy to say, it’s true,
never so easy to do,

and this is why I’m calling you.
“Wake up, wake up! Begin again.”

We Push It Down

We push it down
to drown the sound
of that seductive
(if not slightly unhinged)
inner voice, inviting us to jump the rails
into a deliciously wild country.
Yes, we push it, push it, pack it down,
this is how we move around
the world in a straight line,
gain respect, become
upstanding citizens,
obedient animals in the field,
when sometimes all we really want
is to drop to our knees,
drown in our memories,
or take a quick dive
just one more time
into a massive pile
of freshly raked October leaves.

When We Were Young

We weathered every storm
never stopping to consider how or why,
took what we were given
and knew not to ask for more,
did what we were told,
(sometimes grudgingly)
swallowed each and every lie,
couldn’t wait to be free.

Then one day we became our parents.
One day we became the lie,
repeating over and over
old programmed routines,
never trusting we could fly,
never imagining the day to come
when the only thing we’d wish for
was a time machine.

Flood

Rain fell.
Rivers rose.
Dams burst.
Bridges crumbled.
Roads vanished.
Homes were washed away.
Lives were washed away, too.

Some heeded the warnings.
Others never got them.
Some found higher ground.
Others drowned.
There was no negotiating.
No launching of missiles.
No military force great enough
to poke the eye of the angry mother
in her warring hour.

Regarding Grandpa

Grandpa claimed to be a time traveler
in the first paragraph
of the last book he ever wrote.
The marked-up manuscript
labeled memoir on the title page,
was thick, musty, and terribly heavy.

Later, we snuck into his abandoned study once more,
searching for clues to corroborate his claim,
but all we found was a rusty pocket watch
and a peculiar pair of shoes.

One night we summoned the courage
to bring the thick ream of pages to father.
He winked and grinned at us, conspiratorially at first.
Upon further reading, however,
his eyes grew wide and serious as if
he’d just remembered something.

Desolation Road

This empty road interwines
with the ghostly landscape,
melting behind the fog
and the fields and the twilight.
The accelerator does nothing
to soothe your nerves.

There are miles of bare nothingness
in all directions
and you are all alone out here,
highbeams piercing the void
of oncoming darkness.

Then, over a rise,
the phantom moon appears,
low, but there, a buttermilk haze
floating through the trees
as the car coasts down
into cold valley mist.

The GPS has been silent
for countless miles,
and suddenly you think how
there is something lost and beautiful
and terrifying in that –
not missing the mystery
of where a road leads,
where a road ends.

Last Day At The Fair

Thinking of a day at the fair,
some closing Sunday years ago,
late August heaving
its last steamy breaths,
farm animals being led away
from their tents,
some by children
not a quarter of their size,
and how that reminded me
of a bible verse I’d once been taught
but could no longer recall.

I remember loud crackly voices
echoing over the speakers
announcing the final rounds
of the tractor pulls,
how I’d seen them once
when I was twelve years old
and left terror-stricken by the tragedy
of a man being ejected and trapped
under the spinning wheel
of his own machine,
later overhearing someone say
that the man had died.

I remember the midway,
all those sweaty faces,
humanity in all shapes,
sizes, and ages, and suddenly
I just want to be that scrawny kid again
walking alongside my older brother
and uncle, ignoring the hustlers
who call out to us
“Five balls, five chances! Right over here!”
Wanting nothing more from the world
than a fat dripping red snow cone
and just enough tickets for one last ride.

Something

Something strange in the air.
Something dangerous. Something close.
Something beckoning you out
into the warm summer night
with bare feet and unruly hair.
But then, under the motion lights, nothing’s there.
Nothing that can be seen.
Nothing that can be shouted at
or scared off with bluff or bluster.
There are only the crickets,
your own rapid breathing,
and a strange, uneasy feeling
that follows you back inside
to creep along beside you
across the starless desert of night.