draft
Poet at Fifty:
Let me write myself
in a corner
and, dare to call it my own:
Its textures were dimpled at birth;
and, the eyes have always had it.
Let whatever wisdom carried
refashion
more stately clothes.
**
Let the Light that shines on all
be ever in my grasp.
**
I praise this day
and my lonely soul
and whatever
its captured;
its worth.
WHB~copyright: 02/12/09.
A Foot in the Stream:
A Foot In The Stream.
***
I’ll tell you I’m working on it and you’ll know I’ve never lied;
each small step
sends ripples, circles, outward from this place.
There is no better comfort than boldness in times like these;
times, bespeaking, unsteadiness.
There is also the age factor to be wary of:
On solid ground,
your footfalls are leaving small traces
of your Soul.
[Do you not know this? The path widens your perspective, Child. Open your eyes, breathe.]
Do not attempt to pull me back. Daylight shall find me older today…
…The water is stirred, no matter what words escape my lips…
…Only circles of Time perceives them. I’ll carry myself, straight as the Dutch Elm,
a mirror of growth;
a foot,
in the stream.
[copyright:02/03/09]
W.H.B.
Validation:
There are moments, I know, when nothing can be expressed;
no words spoken, aloud. The failure of language becomes completely exposed
like the maple tree in my front yard,
leafless and cold.
**
We set such a premium upon the spoken word,
little knowing the history its seen:
Old, black men, on porches
have taught.
Even, in the pause
and taking in of breath,
silence has its place.
**
When my silver-tongue ceases to speak
I’ll take my cue from these:
Bound and boundless
are words.
Only love
can find them.
Lessons from Group Therapy #1
[for my Nephew, with love]
Have I said to you everything
that’s needed to say?
**
While the words pull at me,
a spent ciggarette smoulders in the safety-tray,
a car moves, screeching, up the road,
and, somewhere,
a kid confronts the probable conflicts of the street.
**
Have I told you of all I worry about?
All the worries of my mis-spent youth,
calling back to you;
recalling the presence of doubts
and fears, with a tingle up the spine…
…visions of a dead man, lying next to a coffee table..
**
..I’m clasping my chest, recalling the absence,
the shock, I felt on a day like any other:
That empty chair,
tugging at me,
in loss.
[copyright o1/26/09~5:49AM]
wHb.
See me fall.
Left to my own vices
I entered uncharted water.
The nightly news didn’t help matters.
Each morning,
I’d awaken, unshorn of warmth;
more of the same, spent,
feelings,
fallen
to
the
floor.
Tomorrow:
Loneliness
pushes past the settled–
coming to rest
like a fallen leaf.
**
Eventually, we might see
an expansion of riches:
**
Blown bits of our
misfortune;
lifted by Angels
or, an unknown opportunity
crying for
tomorrow.
W.H.B.~01/03/09.~revision~11:59AM.
