Before the screaming critics rise,
Before their winging anger flies,
The morning glory’s silent hue
Explodes in iridescent blue.
7/28/1987
Month: September 2016
Morning Glory Blue
Green fingers lace the weathered lattice work
In quiet desperation, weaving like
A mixed-up skein of grandma’s cat-pawed yarn,
Afraid of falling, tired of holding on,
Living for embraces only now,
Dying for a daylong kiss of light.
Is it heaven, morning glory blue?
3/17/1987
Small Town Boy
Small town boy,
Small town name.
Small town poems,
Small town fame.
2/4/1987
Vagabond Veil
Silencing, silencing, shivering shroud –
Cowering, cowering, cat-creeping cloud –
Slumbering, slumbering, soon to set sail –
Vanishing, vanishing, vagabond veil.
2/5/1987
The Big 4-0
You’d think the ‘Big 4-0’ would bring
A measure of respect –
That men would bow and ladies blush –
That’s just what you’d expect!
But friends all love to make you squirm
And watch your agonizin’.
They’re long on jokes and jabs and jeers,
But short on sympathizin’!
I, too, walked the road you’re on
And felt the bitter pain
Of corny cards and ‘crisis’ quips –
I thought I’d go insane!
So let me give some free advice,
Quite worthy of my mention:
Ignore the ridiculing gibes
And prize the fond affection!
12/12/1986
When You Get an Itch to Go
My dad was harbored in the war
And had to miss MacArthur’s roar.
My sister went to Germany
And found how cold that it can be.
My brother went to Viet Nam,
But didn’t drop a single bomb.
My mother went to Tennessee
And wished she’d never seen a tree (not really).
But California’s more my speed –
The bestest place I ever see’d.
So when you itch to romp and roam,
Remember, there’s no place like home!
2/8/1986
David King Rowe III
Morning grass, like supple prairie cord
Would sweep us clean with drenching dew and shine
Our tennis shoes. The path of words and weeds
Soon disappeared with winter’s vapored breath.
The sun would chase us slowly for awhile,
My shadow dancing on your bundled back.
In all that world of time, we never thought
To ask about our royal middle names.
2/8/1986
Shell Struck
O, nameless wonder of the deep,
What ageless secrets do you keep?
Did you ever have to sleep
Upon a bed of sand?
I know you never won a race,
Considering your snailish pace,
But now you win a prize for grace
While resting on my hand.
A diver saw your shining shell
And knew that you would quickly sell
And have great mysteries to tell
To children here on land.
Six spiraled arms, a galaxy
In miniature found in the sea.
I hear you whispering to me
The secrets of the sand.
1/22/1986
Stockton – Winter
She screams at night between
Her icy sheets
And bleeds until the darkness
Sounds retreat.
Then, up before the mocking birds attack
With shower smiles and songs
To please her cat,
She’s ready for another
Day of grace
Behind a laughing “Someplace
Special” face.
1/20/1986
This Old House
Oh, I admit it’s looking sad,
This little piece of real estate
That I received from Mom and Dad.
I’m glad they didn’t hesitate
To help me keep it whistle clean
And landscape proud – but that was years
Ago, and now the evergreen
Is dead, and cobwebbed spiders leer
From walls. The sagging glass has blurred,
And every nook is quite a mess.
But even so, I find the birds
Still love to sing and trim their nests
Around the place in spite of all
The fixing up I’d like to do.
(But where would be the wherewithal
I’d need to hire a fix-it crew?)
And anyway, I’m waiting for
Another house to warm my anxious heart –
A home where windows, walls and doors
Will never, ever fall apart.
1/16/1986
Field of Vision 