Take a Knee

abcnews.com

Photo by abcnews.com

When my son
Was little
I’d tuck him in
Assure him
There were no monsters

Only to fall in bed
To fight the ones
In my own head

War torn villages
Stench of death
The buzz of flies
Cries of a lone child

I worked hard
So my son
Wouldn’t
See the horrors
I saw nightly

Now in my seat
Of honor
A young man
Turns and waves
I wave back

“Oh Say Can You See …”
I watch him
My white son
Link his arm
With his black teammate

They take a knee

I begin to cry
Tears of pride
I grip the railing
Arthritic joints creak

I take a knee

Back straight
Proud I raised
A good man
Who understood
What I fought for

Wild Thing ©September 24, 2017

 

 

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Halloween Night

Skeletal Tree

SKeletal Tree – photo by Wild Thing

Witches ride wild
Under moonlight
They fly on brooms
To Goblins delight

Oddly shaped gourds
With gruesome smiles
Light the way for
Jack’s weary miles

Bats fly above
Owls hoot below
Eerie noises
Walking slow

Down the road
In the haunted manse
Spectral visions
Do a macabre dance

At the boneyard
The gate groans
Spirits singing
Their ghostly moans

Wind picks up
To add its howl
In harmony with
The hoot of the owl

Shadow shapes
Are monsters waiting
To grab you quick
Your fear pulsating

If you find yourself
Filled with fright
Have no care
Tis Halloween Night

Wild Thing ©October 14, 2107

The Witches’ Spell

SuperMoon

SuperMoon – photo by Wild Thing

Foreword . . . At this time of year, what could be more
perfect
than a reading from the bard himself?

Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.
Thrice and once, the hedge-pig whin’d.
Harpier cries: ’tis time! ’tis time!

Round about the caldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights has thirty-one;
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first in the charmed pot!

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

Scale of dragon; tooth of wolf;
Witches’ mummy; maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark;
Root of hemlock digg’d in the dark;
Liver of blaspheming Jew;
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For the ingredients of our caldron.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

by William Shakespeare

Spirit Freed

Villagers gathers
All come
Mourning begins

Honoring
That life

No matter
How meager
Or great

Sending it on

Old loves
Grudges, debts
Die with it

The Spirit
Now free
Of pettiness

Through
Laughter,
Song, stories,
Love
Fills
Empty hearts

Wild Thing ©July 29, 2017

Body and Soul

Stacked Rust

Stacked Rust – photo by Wild Thing

He saved everything …

Phone would ring
Often as not
It was family
Friend or neighbor
“Jim, my . . .”

It was always something
Car, sink, furnace
What have you
That was broken

He could fix anything
Nine times out of ten
He had the part

Back then
It was always about
Keeping body and soul
Together
Food on the table
Clothes on our back

He’s gone now
The parts rusting away

Wild Thing ©2017

My Daughter

Light in Dark

Light in Dark – photo by Wild Thing

My darling girl
If I could
I would bear
This sadness
For you

Comfort
I would offer
With open arms
Healing your
Bruised heart

As I hold you
Crooning softly
Telling you
Of your ancestors

How the pain
You feel
Not different
Than the women
Before you

Those tears
In your eyes
Are tears of
Countless others
Stifled at night

Whispered advice
I would give
Borne of wisdom
From these
Strong women

In your veins
Flows courage
Tenacity . . . Power

When adversity
Or death calls
The backbone
Of your heritage
Will be there

Close your eyes
See them
Standing firm
Behind you

Callista, Elizabeth,
Veronica and Ruth
Margaret, Bridget,
Mary and Frances

These women
Keened their loss
Then stood up
Pushed on

You . . .
are never alone
With you
They stand
Forever

This heritage
This lineage
Of endurance
My daughter
Is my gift
To you

Wild Thing ©August 3, 2017

Only One . . .

Only One

My Father and I . . . Ft. Hood Tx

There is
Only one man
In my life
Who has never
Let me down

Hard … troubled
Often dark times
For him
Still his presence
A strength

When all others
Have failed me
He’s there

He gets angry
At times
Rebukes me

Praise for me
Is a smile
A short phrase
Not much more

But . . .
Shares with others
Beaming bright
With pride
He tells of me

I never hear this
It’s told me
Via grapevine

Heaven help those
Who hurt me
Through lies
Or betrayal

The God’s wrath
Mere child’s play
His Fury
And vengeance
Is swift

A love for me
So great
It shields
And protects

Only one man
Is all this . . .

He passed away
May 18, 2006
No one has ever
Filled his shoes

Wild Thing ©May10, 2017

Laurie

Bright Morning

Bright Morning – photo by Wild Thing

Shared memories
Joys . . . sorrows
Late night giggles
Life passages
First bras
Boyfriends too
Drivers licenses
High school job
Santa’s lap
Shopping for birthdays
Arguing
Forgiving
Gladys Cravitz
Three cent tip
Laughter . . . tears
Prom disaster
Marriages
Drifting apart
Finding each other
Real friend

Wild Thing ©May 3, 2017

Promises*

autumn-burdocksm

Autumn Burdock – photo by Wild Thing

A promise given
Received
With joy
Gently placed
In a basket
To be savored
Until its arrival
With expectation
Hopeful days
Pass
It never comes

Another promise
Arrives
In the basket
It goes
Believing again
Only to see
It curls up
Like the other

Soon the basket
Fills with
Withered promises
It’s put away
With the pain
Of being forgotten

More promises
Arrive
Like butterflies
Beautiful
Then flutter away

Leaving behind
Wistful
Knowledge
That it will
Never happen
Which is
Better than
Expectation
Unfulfilled

Wild Thing ©February 18, 2017

*This poem was written for the Prompt 2.17 for the Writing Rebels.
It must suck to have promises made that are never kept. I mean we all know what it’s like, but to be an entire race of people? I think of Standing rock … being Black … Hispanic … all the broken promises made to them & then I am ashamed to bemoan any that have been broken to me. Anyway, I tried to capture that feeling & don’t think I came very close to it … but for what it’s worth. This was my attempt.