September 5, 2012 “born a Southerner”
“born a Southerner”
***
it’s one of those evenings
thick, heavy, nearly liquid
familiar in the south
to folks down here
lying languid beneath magnolia and mimosa blossoms
and a colorless low hanging sky
straining with distant thunder to release cooling rain
a handful of drops at a time
scattered by a teasing breeze
a yellow moon and steam
rises off still warm fields and tarred gravel roads
the din of a million jarflies drowns the song
of the mockingbird and the whippoorwill
the phwup, phwup, phwup of a back-porch ceiling fan
offers relief
not from heat
but from night bugs
I crunch another ice cube
it melts on my tongue
I’m at peace
and thankful
to be born a Southerner
©tlh 9/4/2012
July 7, 2012 “june bug”
“june bug”
*
june bug buzzing to and fro and to
like he’s wandering crazy without a clue
of where he’s going or what to do
when he arrives
if he does keep his buzz
buzzing and that hum humming
as he circles and dives
risking the lives of himself and the others
his june bug brothers
bumbling and tumbling
in the humbling heat of southern july
the june bug dodges through wavering mirages
in a constant veer
a wild career
staying right side up out of the grass
and out ahead
of a lad or lass with nimble fingers
and a length of thread
©tlh 7/7/2012
March 20, 2012 “evening”
“evening”
.
as I reclined on the porch
watching the mountains
relax from green into purple
evening sidled up on a gentle breeze
wearing pale coral and azure
with the fragrance of springtime
.
she softly slipped into the old chair next to me
left vacant by the setting sun
in the heat of day
she breathed a quiet sigh
of feathery clouds
and cherry blossom
.
we sat for a while in silence
contented to listen
to a mockingbird wooing his love
and a chorus of spring peepers
serenading down by the creek
we spoke not a word in our peaceful repose
.
serenely as she arrived
she arose to leave
as she went she asked
“shall I get the lights?”
I nodded sleepily
night fell to the rising moon
I slept
tlh 3/20/12
January 24, 2012 “hushed” (on the passing of my mother)
“hushed”
(on the passing of my mother)
*
a light has gone out
.
the candle that glowed in the window
is burned down to grey smoke
spiriting toward heaven
.
the path darkened
the way unlit
the door is closed
and the chair empty
the hearth no longer warm
the blush faded from the rose
.
muted is love’s comforting voice
beneath folds of white
and soft closed eyes
laughter is hushed
.
in a brighter heaven
we are greater for knowing that star
the world lesser without it
.
tlh 1/24/11
January 17, 2011 “winter’s reign”
“winter’s reign”
*
cold gray
bleeds from a lurid sky
trickling
over boney skeletons of black trees
standing
in murky pools of dead earth
and winter’s reign
tlh 1/17/11
January 12, 2012 “winter” Haiku
“winter” Haiku
howling wind spits snow
gnawing at hard frozen bones
ravenous winter
tlh 1/12/12
Posted from WordPress for Tracy’s Android
December 17, 2011 “Oh, Christmas Tree”
“Oh, Christmas Tree”
****
Fraser and Douglas trussed tight
lying on the sidewalk
bound prisoners with no way of escape
stacked like cord wood for a fire
price tags or toe tags
to trees they’re the same…
Merry Christmas!
tlh 12/17/11
December 11, 2011 “star-crossed”
“star-crossed”
+
today I chased the westering sun
to see him set once more
in a blazing sky and watch him race
to rise on a distant shore
to warm a face in twilight waiting
as he ascends the dawning day
to shed his light on a star-crossed lover
and drive the shadows away
but the racing sun outraced me
and slipped silently out of sight
to leave me in the lonesome shadows
of a star-crossed silent night
tlh 12/11/11
August 28, 2011 “a dozen nails in a coffin”
“a dozen nails in a coffin”
hope
stolen by indifference
happiness
forfeited to gratification
truth
to ambiguity
kindness
to avarice
possibilities
given to doubt
decision
to ambivalence
knowledge
sacrificed for convenience
triumphs
swallowed by fear
tomorrows
bartered by yesterdays
love
lost in pride
life
exchanged for existence
somethingness
faded to nothingness
nothingness
is death
©tlh 8/28/11
July 3, 2011 “back alley blues”
“back alley blues”
*
a slash of diagonal gray
slices through a thin crack in the skyline
dirty sunlight seeps down
dingy back alley walls
dripping between black buildings
dark spaces
with filthy faces
lazy, sleepy eyes
of half open windows
look through cataract curtains
half blind
pain lined
weeping sooty tears
of faded flowers
and the faded laundry
of real life
over jagged scars
of fire escapes
offering no escape
from life behind the curtains
acrid
oily air
crawls heavily along narrow passages
oozing over stained floors
behind chained doors
bearing the murmurous din
and stagnant sin
of a living city
and faint whispers
of far away
consonant strains
as a blues guitar wails
and a blues man sings out
for a better day
©tlh 7/3/11
Photo: tlh
June 22, 2011 “soup on sunday afternoon”
“soup on sunday afternoon”
________________________________
she
sits at the table in a dream
sleepy-eyed
snugly wrapped
against winter’s brrrrs
her face
behind a veil of steam
rising from a bowl of hot soup
he
sits opposite her with a gleam
satisfied
night-capped
his eyes steady on hers
his face
peers through her veil at a dream
as he asks if she’d like some more soup
she
sighs
and grins a knowing sheepish grin
he
sighs
and smiles a lazy loving smile
she
has more of his soup
he
has more of her
_________________________________
©tlh 6/22/11
April 27, 2011 “the painter”
“the painter”
***
if I were
an artist with brushes and paint
and a canvas of white
if I knew
how to mix the colors
to certain perfect shades
if I were
skilled in all the strokes
and techniques
of drawing the lines and curves
that lead the eye
to the image in my artist’s mind
I would
paint a masterpiece
from a picture of you
alas
my hand
was made to fit a pen
not a brush
for the page
not a canvas
I cannot
mix the colors
for the perfect shade of your skin
alabaster tinted with sun-kissed brown
or the subtle shadow under your soft chin
the sun on your face
when you cock your head to the side
for a coy glance in my direction
how could I
draw the silky fineness of your long lashes
fluttering over the deep indigo of your eyes
as you wink in your fashion
how would I
sketch the lines of your loving hands
and long feminine fingers
the arc and bow of your sweet red lips
the perfect fullness of your firm breasts
the gentle lines of the small of your back
the curving shape of your hips
your smooth thighs and calves
the length of your legs
to your ankles
and ten flawless toes
I wish I could
paint you
in perfect shades
with loving strokes
on the canvas of my life
for the world to see
but I am
no painter
only a poet
tlh 4/27/11
Listen to this here:
April 4, 2011 “early spring rain”
“early spring rain”
*
winter’s remnant
hangs from a lifeless sky
a thick gray veil
over the black trees
sweeping its sad feathery fingers
over the pallid face of melancholy earth
heavy
on the pale cheeks of dour hillsides
the cloud
weeps misty tears of hushed silence
broken only by whispers
of drip-drop-dripping
into dreary puddles
and muffled murmurs
of muted songbirds
silently shifting on their perches
shivering beneath ruffled feathers
as they disappear
behind a shadowy curtain
of cold fog
©tlh 4/4/11
Listen to this here:
March 19, 2011 “silence”
March 19, 2011 ” silence”
balanced on a precipice
above the blazing black of a world
that was mine
staring over the brink
into desolate, destructive silence
without a sound
my mind is visions and remembrances
vivid and obscure as looking into the sun
or a fire
a momentary blindness
yet still seeing
spinning, swirling
vertigo
irresistible force draws me to my knees
before a wingless angel
reaching, I search for solid ground
overthrown by a lesser god
without words
falling
into nothingness tumbling
tumbling weightless
through blazing black
blacker and blacker
falling
wondering why, why
falling
wondering why
tlh 3/19/11
February 27, 2011 “wax and feathers”
promises of flying
into the blue
beyond the clouds
released from shackled chains
buried deep in the years
held fast in the bones of life
reality
of sadness and desolation
darkened dreams
of dreamlessness
hope in a smile
sounds of a voice sighing
go
fly
come
lost in the cacophony of wind
rushing over wax and feathers
Icarus flying toward the sun
tlh 2/27/11
February 10, 2011 “Eight Razors and a Bad Shave”
February 10, 2011 “Eight razors and a bad shave”
I have worn a beard since May of 1992…motorcycle crash had me down to just one good arm for about three months, so I just let the fertile field of my youthful face grow wild with soft, thick, luxurious whiskers. It wasn’t until 1996 that I cleared the field completely in order for my four year old daughter to see the true landscape of her father’s face for the first (and only) time in her life. Since then there has been a beard of one sort or another adorning my plump cheeks without interruption. I have, on two occasions, gone from a full face beard to the more streamlined and fashionable goatee version; the second of those two goatees was designed and implemented just last week. The only problem with the goatee is there is more face real estate to keep shaved smooth; less close trimming and edging, but overall, more shaving, and more area that wants to get scruffy and scratchy (not really a big problem considering I’m sans a significant someone that might actually be in a position to find it scruffy and scratchy), but nevertheless, one can’t just go around with a bunch of scrub growing beyond the verge now, can he? Therefore, I must shave all the extra expanse, and do it more often these days, to keep my face spiffy and smooth on the off chance that a particular someone might appear on the horizon and be inclined to brush her soft hand across my manicured mug…though I’m a damned good looking fellow, I think my chances are much better if all the face around my goatee doesn’t feel like a cat’s tongue.
Back at Christmas I received a brand new razor from a member of my family, and until today I’ve had no reason to use it; however, my normal beard trimming razor had gone dull, and as I had no replacement blades I had to change my standard operating procedure. The new razor was wrestled out of its ridiculously over-engineered plastic retail container and put into service, but not without a great deal reservation on my part and on the part of my face as well. This new tool is not from a manufacturer I’m familiar with, and certainly not from one of the major companies, but really, what do I know about such things. It wasn’t the name brand that gave me such pause, it was something much more sinister about the razor which gave me the heebie jeebies…it was the SIX! (yes I said 6) glistening, stainless steel blades that first got my attention as the bathroom lights glinted off their sharp, shimmering edges. And then there’s the way the razor looks…like some tiny, robotic, alien death machine, all chrome and black swirled together in sensuous elongated curves giving the eerie suggestion of a dangerous otherworldly insect…with six razor blades in place of a mouth! So, I think you can see the source of my trepidation…this thing is just plain scary when you think of letting it touch your face or glide across your neck. I mean, my god…the damned thing looks like it could go all Sweeney Todd at any moment, and shave just a little “close” if you know what I’m saying.
So, I’m shaving my tender cheeky cheeks with a six bladed alien demon of unknown origin, wondering what my head will look like as it takes a roll down Fleet Street if I’m not extremely careful. I gingerly guide the menacing razor over my tender face. I expect a shave at least three times closer than my twin blade…you know, 6 divided by 2, and all that. But there was a problem, this high-tech little monstrosity, which should be giving me the shave of my life is, instead of deftly slicing through the tiny whiskers of my beard, pulling them out one at a time by the root, or so it seems! It’s brand new! First use! And it SUCKS! Heck, this little six blade gift could just as easily suck the beard out as well as it’s cutting them…Dang!
Six sparkling new blades in a sexy, 21st century handle, and I have to resort to my used up, dull, twin blade model from the last century to get a shave that’s even passable! It goes to show you…the name brands get to be name brands for a reason, and using a no-name brand only adds up to…Eight Razors and a Bad Shave!
©tlh 2/10/11
February 2, 2011 “passing storm”
“passing storm”
don’t fear the storm
my love
the dark and looming clouds
the whistling wind
the thundering sky
the crashing lightning
are but for moment
hiding the sun
the blue
and yellow
rainbows
and songbirds singing
only for a moment
don’t cry in the rain
my love
lest the raindrops steal your tears
as the storm passes
and I kiss them not away
©tlh 2/2/11
Listen to this here:
Love isn’t my enemy…love is the one sustaining hope in a world of disappointing realities. Love is the one inspiration that seems to be an epiphany at every turn, no matter how it goes, for better or worse (maybe that’s why they put that phrase in the wedding vows). Nope, Love, even at it’s worst, is a marvelous thing. Sometimes I think it’s going to kill me, and at other times I can’t live without it. Life, on the other hand, can really be a bastard…not BEING alive, that’s almost always a winning hand, but life can be such a killjoy when it comes to love; the two are so inextricably connected. Life and all its issues can really screw up a perfectly wonderful love. But we have to play the hand we’re dealt in life, and love is usually in the ante. So we keep our cards close to the vest and play it cool, and once or twice in a lifetime, we find ourselves holding four hearts…waiting on that fifth card from the dealer, knowing the chances are slim, but raising the bet anyway we can to stay in the game…because sometimes, if we’re patient, and skillfully play the cards we have, we can stay in the game long enough to finally get that last heart, the one that makes it a flush…and we get the girl, or the guy, or the 143.00 in the pot.
Just Say’n
tlh
January 25, 2011 “simple as that”
*
“simple as that”
*
when the chains fall away
and the blinders
the dust is settled
the slate is cleaned
and stark revelation
is realized
when only one thing
is the only thing
that matters
a single point
is the point
that points the way
when there is no question
that the answer is unquestionable
simplification becomes simple
simply one
only one
answer
there is no
choice
because there is
nothing else
no
other
substitute
direction
voice
thought
vision
breath
touch
fall back
plan B
proxy
kiss
outcome
only a singularity
in a velvet room
with a window
facing eternity…
simple as that
©tlh 1/25/11
Listen to this here:
January 23, 2011 “t-iming”
“t-iming”
one heart missed a beat
in silent syncopation
love’s timing lost
©tlh 1/23/11
January 20, 2011 “unwanted”
“unwanted”
where do they go
the dregs
the loveless
undesirables
when hopeless truth
is all they know
when they live at the bottom of a glass
a ditch
or the desolate grave of their own despair
forgotten
alone
unseen
unknown
where do they go…
the unwanted
to find peace
where do we go
©tlh 1/20/11
January 16, 2011 “courage” (post #300)
This marks the 300th post to my little blog; I would never have thought I had 300 things to say. It’s turned out to be mostly poetry, and most of the poems are of the Romantic variety. I certainly never thought I would be writing so much poetry, much less, Love poetry, but here it is… I’m a romantic at heart. Through my experiences with love, and my observances of Lover’s hearts, I found, in reality, Love is a difficult business. At best, Love requires a little bit of luck to be successful, but successful Love is divine, life giving, and affirming. At its worst, Love can be debilitatingly painful. In either case, Love requires…
“courage”
have the courage to be…
the one who does the crazy thing
that takes a chance
a crazy chance
who believes good things can happen
and goes against…
the wind
the grain
the odds
popular opinion
the stars
most of the gods
the one who hopes beyond…
the physical
the literal
the tangible
the knowable
the unknowable
the one that dares
the rapids of disappointment
to ride the river of a dream
the one who goes out on a limb
throws caution to the wind
hangs on til the end
that doesn’t see
too good to be true
but too good to be untrue
the one that stands
up in a crowd
out in the cold
for the right
not the right now
the one who has courage
not to doubt love
or be without love
but to trust love
and let love
be everything
©tlh 1/16/11
January 3, 2011 “Art”
I’m in love with this painting…The Great Wave off Kanagawa, by Japanese artist Hokusai (1760-1849)
You can see Mt. Fugi in the background. This piece is just one of a larger work called Thirty-six Views of Mt. Fugi.
I think a framed print is in my future.
tlh
November 24, 2010 “Thanksgiving Day”
“Thanksgiving Day”
*
Be thankful
that’s what it’s all about, we try to attain
the state of mind , we seek to obtain
on this Thanksgiving Day
Thank you
is easily said or thought at the least
as we stand at the head of a bounteous feast
on this Thanksgiving Day
Thankfulness
in a land of plenty is well understood
but it slips our minds more often than it should
on this Thanksgiving Day
To know true Thankfulness
is to find the peace to lift empty hands
at the head of a barren table in a desolate land
and say…Thank You
on this Thanksgiving Day
©tlh 11/24/10
To each of my friends across this small world,
whether you’re American or not,
I wish the happiest and most blessed
Thanksgiving Day
Sincerely, Tracy Harris
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