My mom and Dad. Young and in love. These are memories of family and friends – loved ones. Sadly, loss is part of life. None of us get out alive, but there are so many joyful memories.
My Father Sang to Jeannie (also song)
My father sang to Jeannie
With the light brown hair
Darkness took his love from her
No way back from there
And she cried for love
I believe in it I do
She cried for love
I believe in it I do
Lonely little boy
Lying still in my room
On the wrong side of midnight
Waiting for my mama to come home
I whispered for love
I believe in it I do
I whispered for love
I believe in it I do
She was a gift
I opened in the dark
She spilled out like sweetness
She poured into my heart
And I sang out for love
I believe in it I do
I sang out for love
I believe in it I do
I believe in it I do
And when I dream of her I sing I love you
Went looking for Jesus
Under the steeples and sin
They said, slip on our sandals boy
Or you’ll never walk with him
Still I prayed for love
It’s a dark road to nowhere
So my pearls light the way
I squeeze them like sunshine
And the darkness peels away.
I feel their love
I believe in it I do
I feel their love
I believe in it I do, I do, I do
I believe in it I do
And when I dream of them I sing
I love you
My father sang to Jeannie
And she loved to hear him sing
They’re standing on the front porch
Calling me home again
Now I understand love
I believe in it I do
I understand love
I believe in it I do
I do I do I do
Loss
Silent, innocent, two-day wind
Whisked into yesterday
A sweet-bitter wisp
Not forgotten
Mostly unspoken
The pain, loss, and anger
Sleeping beneath the disbelief
Of an impossible day
We still breathe the sadness
For Michael Our Son
Precious Stone
Grief is of a weight
Words cannot carry
I was eight years old
Safe under a tranquil sky
When a bolt of loss struck us
My father died
Repression grabbed my mind and
Cloaked all my memories of him
Everyone told me he was
A good man
A good father
His loss
Molded me
Folded me
Wrinkled me
Left our family with
An unhealable wound
I still hear my mother weeping
Somehow love showed me
The path
But not how to travel it
I was often a poor caretaker
Of this precious stone I carry
Yet blessed by the love of many
Through deep and fast waters
Deserts and trees
Over gravel mountains
Heat and freeze
Near the end of my future
Ancient waters are now
Washing my thoughts into
Honest corners
I must deal with my life mirror
To ask and answer life questions
Time is running faster and winning
A race it always wins
Still I carry the gift
Made on a cold December night
With the purity
Of my Mother and Father’s love
When
When I cannot run
I will jog
When I cannot jog
I will walk fast
When I cannot walk fast
I will walk slow
When I cannot walk slow
I will limp slow
When I cannot limp slow
I will roll
When I cannot roll
I will ruminate
When I cannot ruminate
I will fly on the wind of memory
A Better Place
Six times standing on the same bleak hill
The dull drumbeat of “God’s will” and “a better place”
Pounding my ears like blunt pins
Each time came a scream louder within
This is not the will of any love I know!
Has my brother’s soul like billions before him
Been shed from our blue ship into the well of space
Disappearing for memory to find
Or have one-and-all gone ahead to discuss God with God
Six times I slumped down that family hill
Searching without a bridge in sight
My blue eyes have lied before in ink and voice
Ideas skipping across the water like flat bullshit
What am I to make of myself
Paddling here against the current
Why should I write another word
I stand on this round stage mostly unheard
This pity trek is not as hopeless as it sounds
The scribble still dribbles down my arm
Being loved by so many here and gone
Is a joyous life-kiss to behold and cherish
This I owe them
If my every ode gets used for tinder
I will start over awake and in dreams
Floating words on paper boats
Down the same muddy stream
Ongoing
When we lose those we love
It pummels and strangles our hearts
That ache is ours to keep
The sorrow
That deep in the bone sorrow
It gushes and spills out
It claws out like razor wire
Ripping holes in today and tomorrow
Time doesn’t heal us
It peels us
Into nothing at all
Loss hides in us like puzzle pieces
We find mindful sanctuary
In music
The sea
A burger
Glass of beer
A good book or movie
Flowers and stars
We are the keepers and tellers of those gone
In reverence, reverie, and love
Until we too
Take our place in fragmented memory
When the Tracks are Gone
How do they remember to grow straight
those oiled trees
that blink by
while you and I
dull to the changing sky
ride the same invisible tracks?
Word is,
they're being tore up
the tracks led to dirt wandering.
The rails forgot the way…
the same places have new names.
We’ve been parallel too long:
never able to travel left or right
eyes shaped through gaps in the boxcar
the last of the wheelchair hobos
squinting
at the wildflowers.
I’ll remember this song
when the tracks are all gone
to ride the uncertain breeze.
I will fill my sails
made of rusty rails
and sing it to the rhythm of my wheels.
Fickled Muse
Fickled muse
Seductress
pretending in on holy ribbon
then running off like a horny harlot
You told me you were a god
And my words flowed down my arm
to the page like the waterfall wisdom
of unknown dead prophets
You exhausted me with your nonstop lovemaking
I needed a rest
a break
a breath
Not abstinence!
What kind of two-timing god are you anyway
Stay wherever there is
Go make love to the next Gauguin
I can scribble pseudo philosophy
into this man-shambles of a world without you
You are a figment of a figment
a soft-skinned
hard-edged illusion
Who I need
like oxygen
Yellow Line (poem/song)
followin the yellow line down the road
green signs sayin i'm lost again
movin down the road movin down the road
she's in my mirror, she's everywhere
the touch of her skin, the smell of her hair is in me
i'm movin down the road i'm movin down the road
movin down the road
it's been so long since i've seen the sun
there's nowhere to go when you're on the run
i'm movin down the road movin down the road
a crazy old man is yellin turn around
she's everything you lost and everything you found, go to her but i'm movin down the road i'm movin down the road
movin down the road
the night scatters lights into my eyes
it shatters the darkness and i crumble inside
i'm movin down the road
movin down the road
both hands on the wheel in a blinding rain
all i wanna do is just see her again and hold her
but i'm movin down the road movin down the road
followin the yellow line down the road
green signs sayin i'm lost… again
Sail Away
Sail away young woman
Take your island with you
Take its truth and its gentle breeze
Take the love your sandy days provided
Sail into the calm and stormy seas
Be yourself
When you get angry
Don’t let hatred take the wheel
There are pirates dressed as holy men
It’s your soul they want to steal
Carry freedom
Like a suffrage banner
Carry kindness like a sword
Carry the wild wind inside you
Take your love to every shore
Brave your wings
To hug all those around you
Leave your goodness on every windowpane
Take all your mothers and sisters with you
They will guide you through the rain
They will guide you through the rain
So Sail away
Sail away
A Radical Lass She Was
I confess
I believed the holy men lies
The ugly TV and print voices
branded her crazy
I stopped listening to
Her angelic peace voice
And
Her angry howl
A radical lass she was
Retro hero she is
Painted villain by villains
But she had eyes that knew something
Looking out
At fickled souls who cheered
But never saw her
Fans (not all) became spam
got swept up in the mob’s
Dirty dustpan
(yes, me too)
We couldn’t believe
Holy men could do such unholy things
The lashing of children’s souls
One by one lash by lash day by day
And then other holy ones
Cloaking it under their blessed robes
She channeled her truth
And burned holes in the holy
The boos rained down on her beauty
Like savage blades
She sang through and got past
The depressing stabs
Searching, like us all…
I want to be bitter for her
But this “too little too late” poem
Is a selfish apology
No communion was served
Yet all 64 inches of her did not yield
She sang on as the Celtic banshees called
Sinead’s lovely wail was that of myth
Of wild angry gods
And now I am really listening…
Sinéad O'Connor
Pieces of a Hero
Part I
He was a quiet hero—
an unknown superstar.
The earth knew him, though,
when his footsteps thundered
respectfully over it.
He kneaded the soil,
felt the dirt's lungs,
and prepared them to breathe.
I look at the furrowed rows—
new plants peeking out...
the birds tipping their wings
and forgetting to sing,
flowers facing the sun—weeping,
the dog wandering
beneath the cherry tree…
searching, like us,
for what made it all whole
Part II
"It's junk," someone said.
The rusty tools with wooden handles,
old bottles, hammers, bolts, saws, wire,
and God knows what
strewn about with at-the-time purpose.
They were artifacts.
Proof!
He knew war, sweat, honor, and self.
I spoke exactly how he would have said it,
"It's my junk."
Part III
Yet who am I to define grieving?
The little pieces we own:
our memories of another's being
explode like bombs in our heads
sending hot shrapnel
to slice a chunk of us,
and why we continue.
Now, as the dog stops to stare long at the house,
I think of Iggy dancing his garden dance,
and I look at the salvias shining red.
It's just like that
sly,
mischievous,
giggling,
old dirt-wizard
to take the wilt
and
leave the bloom.
Cindy’s dad. He had a huge garden and a bigger not-to-be-trifled-with heart. Smart. Trustworthy. Honest. Loyal. Decent. Honorable. Kind. Resolved. Veteran. American.
With love, for my friend, my hero, Iggy
Parting of the Ways
I don’t know where it’s at
The key is gone from under the mat
There’s no light left beneath your hat
What have you been looking at
Your eyes are stained with marmalade blood
Staying drunk on the lying flood was your decision
I don’t want to fight or talk
I just want to walk in the other direction
So, I don’t know where it’s at
The key is gone from under the mat
There’s no truth in an empty sack
What have you been looking at
Don’t stand so close to my face
Your space smells too much like poison
What you are selling I cannot eat
Even Jesus showed his teeth in the temple
I don’t know where it’s at
The key is gone from under the mat
What was there we can’t get back
What the hell have you been looking at
No, I don’t want to fight or talk
I just want to walk in the other direction
Isla
leaves lie quiet in the yard
like soldiers young and dead
on old white men’s lush red lawns
cars hum on a nearby road
the birdsongs paint faintly on my ears
three shots break the air
i jerk! jerk! jerk!
my startled bones hear
a mother’s screech
shatter the afternoon
echoing to Sandy Hook Elementary
and back
just six
Isla lies dead in her yard
the leaves shift
as a soft wind blows the frill on her light blue dress
the gun gods again shiny and appeased
I Know, You’d Rather Be Dead
Hallway whispers still echo
long after the pain was dragged off
and locked away in my mental stairwell.
I’ve heard your mezzanine words
fizz from my own mouth,
spilling out like warm numbing beer.
But death speaks a hot humid language
that forces the suck of air from a stone.
You see me happy and loved
like a birthday puppy,
yet you wonder
if it’s a frothy mask;
mumming the screech of depression.
You must think me a fortress
to defend such a veil,
or see me more a carcass
hanging fish-dumb on life’s hook.
My muscles are atrophying
and I gag on every bent walker
I ever swaggered by or thought to banter.
But Death?!
Do you imagine me happily wheeling
into a square silk-lined box,
needing but two pallbearers?
Or do you know they’d lay me out
the same as you or your brother George—
somehow dislocated from my round spoked legs?
Quadzilla Man
I’m a quadzilla man mama
Rolling into the wind
Quadzilla man mama
I'm in this to win
if you try to stop meeee.
My wheels ‘ll roll you thin
I’m not your bowl of sweetness
I’m not a bitter soul
Not your bowl of sweetness
I’m not a bitter soul
You think you know me
But that’s not how I roll
So open your doors bossman
Cuz i’m comin on in
Open those doors bossman
I’m comin on in
Don’t think you know who’s coming
You don’t know where i’ve been
Now if you think that i’m a cripple
Think I’m sad and small
If you think i’m a cripple
Who makes you big and tall
I’m here to tell you mister
You don’t know anything at all
Repeat First Verse
Hope and the Slaves of Squalor
I thought I heard a sunflower laugh today
or was it just smiling while turning its head
Hope will stand on its head for you
Do tricks for you
Juggle truth and lies for you
Paint dreams for you
Just ask the slaves of squalor
who get crucified daily
by the nails of greed and cruelty
They love hope
It lights the dark spaces
with faith of something greater… much later…
only to get drowned out by tsunamis of pain hunger and sorrow
as they run toward higher ground
Hope’s spring is eternal though
even after tears gush the well dry
we still seek the star we came from
to fill our hearts and eyes again and again
You know dogs and cats don’t care a scratch about salvation
Maybe afterlife is a wind-tossed blank piece of paper
we chase down a winding street… Maybe not
I don’t know about you but my legs are cramping up
So I stare out at the sunflowers and laugh with them about tomorrow
And hope humanity can somehow turn and face the sun
Angry God
An angry goddess knocked on my door
She was both tall and short
Had a smile that moved in every direction
A gorgeous hag
Dressed in beautiful rags
She said stop your grab of familiar rhymes
Do you remember where we used to go
Down to that glow in the old picture show
Silence
I felt the power of her wild grace
My eyes popped open in high definition
I saw a man who was drunk inside of himself
Was it me slurring or someone else
She said you’re a nail all covered in rust
Your dreams are yesterday’s dust
Was this goddess a god I could trust?
She carried in her own chair
We talked at the table for hours
Then she jumped up and started to dance
I didn’t know gods could dance
She swayed as her voice pitched and devoured
We’re going down to where we used to go
To that glow in the old picture show
I noticed she had the tickets in her vest
We jumped on the last train headed west
She stared right at me
I pretended not to see
The popcorn was the buttery best
I Can’t Write Poems No More
My pen breaks
again and again
Like memories
of a long-ago friend
My ink dreams are splattered
all over the floor
I can’t write poems no more
The words you read
jangle on the page
They embrace the joy
and stab at the rage
The letters are stick men
bleeding and sore
I can’t write poems no more
You’ll never know me
I never you
Verse is a wisp
a moment or two
We all swim here
and then wash up on shore
I can’t write poems no more
Read my eyes
from now on
They look like the truth
you could be wrong
My life is a peephole
through an open door
I can’t write poems no more
Light a candle
and think of me
Speak what you feel
not what you see
The melt is what’s left
of the flame’s weary whore
I can’t write poems no more
From the Backseat
From the backseat I can see
Many shades of me
Dancing like confetti on the floor
I can't believe I had the time
Bad jokes and bad rhymes
Beer cans on highway 29
I tell this story to remember
I retell it so I don’t forget
The corn is growing
The wind is blowing
The leaves aren’t golden quite yet
Summertime in the park
Playing tag in the dark
Making out on old country roads
War gods wrote my number down
Woke up as the plane touched down
Cold truth six feet underground
Jungles and the bloody rain
Trying not to go insane
Far from the games I once played
The young men with vacant eyes
Mother’s and their frantic cries
Old men’s dollar-sign disguise
I tell this story to remember
I retell it even when alone
The scarecrow is watching
The blackbirds are talking
Waiting for me to come home
Time is but a quiet thief
Don’t you dare fall asleep
You’ll wake up wondering where you are
The road will be keepin’ time
The trees stand in line
Out on ole 29
I tell my story to remember
I tell it cuz it must be said
There’s truth in my history
Tomorrow’s a mystery
The road’s still winding ahead
Come To See
I
I do believe
In you and me and something greater
Yes you
know who I am
Here I stand
In your doorway
Life is so beautiful
Life can be so kind
Every step along the way
Our love will make it shine
I’ve come to see
Yes I
have come to know
A flake of snow and your soft skin
You
you understand
That I’m just a man
Out on this highway
Life is so beautiful
Life can be so kind
Every step along the way
Our love will make it shine
I’ve come to see
Yes I
I do believe
The road for you
Is the road for me
Our Love
Will fill the air
With what we share
Now and forever
Life is so beautiful
Life can be so kind
Every step along the way
Our love will make it shine
I’ve come to see
What am I Thankful For
What am I thankful for
Oh God, where to start
Well, God would be a good place
Where do I send the prayer card
To a street number up high
Or cast my grateful breath to everywhere
How much beauty can one mind hold
Family and friends are jewels set in my heart
Reflecting precious love
Nature brimming green and gold
Four Sand Hill Cranes march by like I’m a nuisance
They don’t want to thank me or peck me
Those beaks dig down like stilettos
The geckos look on thankful they are not on the menu
Clouds are in a cool hurry
Pushed by Northwest wind
The blue-sky peeks out to say hello
It seems to know the stars have its back
The sun finds my face and closes my eyes
A quiet breeze reaches into my childhood
And says thank you
Epilogue
The complete audio playlist of Sand Pebbles is available on our Poetry Yes website (poetryyes.com). Take your time. If you find some you like, come back to the website. You can follow along with the lyrics in this book while listening to the recordings—the songs are there too. Also www.facebook.com/poetryyesEdGene/
This final page holds a photo of my two brothers, Don and Fred, my sister, Cathy, and me. All my birth family is gone now. It feels strange, almost wrong, to write those words. The memories—clouded and imperfect as they are—still tug at my heart and mind, and they undoubtedly shaped a lot of the work you’ve just read.
