Rite

Rite

This is no mistake --

And cheaper than butchering 

A beast.

The river reels;

Wheels stick in the mire,

The ox's tail gets wet.

Be still.

This offering is equal 

To your neighbor's.

Listen: 

Pipers pipe the feast.

Cherries

Cherry Jam, anyone? This poem is my contribution to June 13 Poetry Jam.

Faithful chef NanU is stirring the pot again, and this week's challenge is to choose a picture and see where it takes us.This one takes me back, back to an innocent time before I knew where else I'd go.

To read other takes on the Poetry Jam prompts, go here. Why not join the Jam? It's sweet!


CHERRIES

I remember the longest branch
of the black cherry tree,

how we swung bare feet
to the music in our heads

and shot round stones
as far as we could blow.

I remember dreams we had
of the places we would go

and kisses in the leaves
as warm and sweet as summer,

as full of promise as the juices of the fruit
we plucked from that young tree.

Summer in Vandalia

This week's Bus ride brought me straight back home to West Virginia and the summertime kick-off festival in Charleston, the Vandalia Gathering. The festival features traditional music, storytelling, dance, arts, crafts, and food, and a way of keeping the old ways alive for the young. I t is always held on Memorial Day weekend and feels like the beginning of summer.


To see where this week's trip took the rest of the passengers, visit Bill at Usually Confined.



By way of explanation for the title:

In 1768 Benjamin Franklin and the Great Ohio Company proposed the creation of Vandalia as the14th colony. It would have included almost all of present West Virginia, except for the Eastern Panhandle, and much of Kentucky. The name was a gesture to Queen Charlotte, wife of George III, who proudly claimed descent from the Vandals through her birth to German nobility. The plan almost came to fruition in 1772-74, until the deteriorating American political situation made the British government back off.

The word Vandalia became synonomous with the desire for a free government in the mountains of West Virginia.

Summer in Vandalia

the fiddlers tune their fiddles

the neighbors spread the straw

the children hunt for lizards

beneath the scented boughs

there’s a hush of empty churches

the pansies still survive

the birds are stalking berries

old men are telling lies

stories for the children

who kiss their sunken cheeks

banjoes pluck at heartstrings

up and down the streets

hearts are valves a’leaking

mountain music in the air

it’s summer in Vandalia

my senses take me there

ripe summer

Let the juice

Of this ripe summer

Drip from your chin

Onto your crisp white shirt.

The vine grows full

And no amount of tying

Can hold a weighted globe

From its determined fall.

Slice these days

With your sharp knife,

And sink your face

Into the sweets of time.

Only your breath,

The blade you wield,

And your crisp white shirt

Will remember

The red, ripe seeds

That bled from

This abundant

Summer vine.

At the Teenage Corner

White socked boys

in rolled up jeans

slick their hair and

sway and preen

while teasing,

petticoated girls

swing their skirts

and twirl their curls

in time

with the music

at the Teenage Corner.

We belly crawl

the littered path

clap hands on mouths,

try not to laugh,

beneath the porch

we quietly crouch

to watch them court,

making time

with the music

at the Teenage Corner.

Danger circles up above

flipping dimes and

keeping time,

brushing multicolored skirts

against bare legs

that tease and flirt

as they roll

with the beat

of the music

at the Teenage Corner.

We hold our breaths,

and cover our faces,

fearing and longing

for the days when

we will own

the summer nights

and the magic jukebox lights

and the dreams

of Memphis kings

and the mystery

and the music

of the Teenage Corner.

Summer Night

Taken by an evening chill,

I leave my sun-soaked seat,

Forsaking hummingbirds

That trouble trumpet vines

And bumblebees that startle

At their sudden rise and fall.

Conceding feeders to

The scrabbling squirrels

And serviceberries to

The reign of mockingbirds,

I force my trembling self

To pause as life,

Unshaken by the coming

Of the night,

Grows dark against

The purple evening sky.

Swinging Summer Street

Spinning, spinning,

the pavement tilts and settles,

tilts again; music drums a beat, colors

whirling faster and faster to the thrum

thrum in our ears, our veins, our feet

on the hot Kentucky street.

Strings of summer rise with heat

as we turn, turn, heads back,

eyes sliding sideways, hair whipping cheeks,

mouths stretching wider and wider

until only the sound and the color

and the beat of the music course

in our ears, our veins, our feet

on this swinging summer street.