Wood

 

Wood

Wood

And the bugs climb

The blue scaled thing

Looks at me and I’m

Afraid to sing

At night the wall

Makes a funny sound

And that’s not all

The monster’s not around

To whisper fire

And paw your hand

To make you higher

Like a happy man

Wood, wood,

Remember that cold day

The fence kept me out, you in

And the sky was gray

But I didn’t think of sin

The blue scaled thing

Looked twice at me

Did anyone sing

As a wall grew quickly

Leaves were blowing then

Wonder if many eyes

Counted me among men

As the blue scaled monster flies

Wood, wood, wood

Would you like

Would you even chance

You don’t have to fight

You don’t have to dance

The blue scaled monster

Has a heart of gold

But recedes even further

As it grows old

The fiery eyes stare

From the blue scaled thing

Do you think it’ll care

If I sing?

Sandscape

Sandscape

I

Vast plains of sand,

Stretching to my right, to my left,

In front of and behind me.

I know not east, west, south, or north.

II

White sand,

Glittering and made of black

Brown, and gray grains.

Dull, but bright,

Soft textured under foot,

And at the same time hard.

III

Great nothings of sand

Broken by puddles of water;

Some dark, dank, stagnant;

Some clear and inviting,

Mirrors in the sun

Beckoning the thirsty with pleasure,

But too shallow to be scooped and drank,

Little more than drops of dew.

IV

Great distances of sand,

Unmeasured and free.

Feet moving but still

The sandscape fails to change

And offer help, relief, a sanctuary.

Had I sat, I would still be

Where I am -

Nowhere.

But trails of footprints shooting out behind me

Are a monument to my wasted energy.

So I sit

And close my eyes to hide them from

The scenery of nothingness.

Fire

Fire

A wall

with a picture

and a mind with a thought.

The earth turns,

its marbled self,

a crust of clouds

and a people baking

and stewing.

A black child

warm brown in the sun

turns his ivory eyes

to see his belly.

A white man in a white shirt

on a white porch

thinks of his son

at war

killing people.

And the black child

falls in the heat.

An elephant

downed in one shot

lies in the bush,

a white hunter over him

and a black man

carrying the rifle.

Triggers pulled by the fingers

of each of two men

in a hole,

one black,

one white.

The heat rising

as the battle rages,

each shooting a fluid

stream of bullets,

searing hot

into the bodies

of others.

The man on the porch

goes into his house.