The Long Way

THE LONG WAY

Today, the road is muddy,

Rutted.

I recall it smooth, 

But was it?

Always there were stones.

I bear them in my flesh. 

See the blue 

Under ropey skin?

That's hope I carry with me.

Who says you can't go home?

Photo prompt @magpietales.blogspot.com

Thanks, Tess!

One More Day

Blue as the sea, Sierra Madres rim Bandaras, bay of flags. 

Mist bruises the mountains not yet burned by sun.

Time for us to go, even though the colors hold like glue; 

magnolias and wild flowers beckon.

One more day, you sing. 

One day more I sing in chorus.

In days, the sea will be a spectre,

pirated colored glass the only reminder of paradise,

fossil, flesh, and sand.

Winter Sonnet

WINTER SONNET

Pushing through a snow as deep as weeds
Or sand that blows and swirls and falls in mounds,
I follow cloudy breath across the field
Then turn my gaze back to the lighted house
Where cheerful shine the windows on a night
So clear that crystals hang upon the air
And catching in my lashes make me tear,
Or is it from the welcome waiting there?
Beneath the clear black sky so far above,
Amid the weight of winter's icy hand,
My nighttime winter walk, this lonely stroll,
Reminds me of my need for fellow man,
Till then I turn from solitary roam
And seek the blazing heartfires of my home.

My Name is West Virginia

When I asked my three-years old grandson if he knew my name, he answered without hesitation: “West Virginia.”

“No,” I said. “Grammy’s name is Karen.”

“West Virginia,” he said with a smile. “You are West Virginia.”

I am dirt road hollers

and creeks without bridges,

glowing piles of coal

and coal black, lumbering bears.

I am Black-eyed Susans

and sticky, silky Milkweed,

swelling and bursting

in Autumn scented air.

I am whispered family secrets,

kisses beneath windows,

blanket-covered porch swings

and promises made there.

I am born of revolutions

and wars against my brothers;

I am apple faced women

and men who try and dare.

I am pinto bean weekdays

with iron skillet cornbread;

I am fried chicken Sundays

and sweet'ning if you choose.

I am Onward, Christian Soldiers,

on prayer meeting Wednesdays,

embossed zippered Bibles

and patent leather shoes.

I am Mother Jones marches,

the passing of the torches,

and American dreams

that somehow do come true.

I’m the boys from the coal mines

and the girls who learned to write lines.

I am West Virginia -

a majestic mountain Muse.

my cathedral

My cathedral, green,
buttresses a deep blue southern sky;
my cardinal, red,
sings hymns that raise a host
of finches, gold.

before

Before the pale faces,
before the elk vanished
with songs of my brothers
and spirits of bone,
rang the charge of painted waters
between the mighty mountains
beside the burning spring
in the land of salt and stone.

In Country

I long to be in country.

Not for me a pot of plants

Reaching through a slant

Of rails to stretch for sun.

I feel no city comfort,

Complain of concrete, censor

Brick and shun a windowed

Wall, a steepled church.

My gods are forest deep,

On shadowed, mossy altars

Made of peat; my prayers,

The flowing streams, the rocks

They shape, the poetry they speak.

I know my self on woodland paths;

Their lore runs in my blood,

A rustic mapping through my veins

To find my heart in woods.