playground…
we wave at airplanes
heading home
by James Brush
Poems written by me.
playground…
we wave at airplanes
heading home
ghost of a daytime moon
leaves blow morse code scratches
across the pavement
(photo by R)
cool evening
jack-o-lantern thoughts
in August
Hypnotizing wheels rumble the empty
space between night and dawn.
A world transformed—
grey ocean resting on the plains
deep, impenetrable, broken ghosts
signs manifest mysterious
and vanish.
Punk rock radio,
sonic wind, pushing ever outward,
a star core against the smothering
pressure of staying.
Silencing fog—infinite escape
routes when all directions
are equal.
Roads disappear into the mist,
curtained destinies: farm and field;
town and school; fast food
off ramp, neon light—
Wichita Falls.
—
A summer re-run of sorts. I posted a very early draft of this back in 2006 and kept tinkering on and off over the years. It was eventually published by The Houston Literary Review in February 2011. Sadly, they seem to have disappeared. Such is the way of the internet and its e-journals, I suppose. Anyway, here ’tis. I’ll post the other poem of mine that they were kind enough to publish in the coming days.
I drag my tired, sweating body high up Enchanted Rock, gaze out through the wind at what surely thrilled even the Comanche in their wildest cowboy fighting days. From this rock in the sky, I can see the ancient highway binding the horizons. I remember oceans on each end, all the stories written in the asphalt and the sky between. Civilization so long gone, only the old man in the ranger’s hat remembers anything but vultures, yet home lies just over that hill, down that endless road.
—
And with a prose poem, that’s the end of another year of napowrimo. I managed to write poetry every day: 22 small stones and 12 long poems including 2 ghazals, 1 pantoum and 2 prose poems. I’ll write something more reflective of the experience in the next few days, but for now I’m happy I managed to do this.
Now for a shameless plug: the paperback edition of my book is still on sale at Amazon through the end of the month, which is only a few more hours.
Mexican hat
and fields of thistle
a still sky
baby bird
struggles for the sky
wheels crunch bone
—
Sometimes I wish I couldn’t capture these “fully engaged moments” as Fiona puts it. Or that I could disengage. Or that I could have done something. Or that the driver was more engaged, though I doubt he even knew the bird was there.
sitting in the tub
my son
grasps at water
rivulets
through
tiny wrinkled fingers