a poem in my pocket

“The isolated Model T truck bears the weight and pride of a hundred years of rust, becoming prairie art and sentinel.” 

– quote and photo by Glenn Buttkus at South Sound Minimalist Photos

cousin billy jo’s family
left kansas in dust bowl;
packed worldly possessions
headed to californ-I-ay
to live under a palm tree
but truck broke down in dry
gulch county of colorado;
abandoned it right there
hiked to nearby town
where billy jo’s daddy
found work in a mine;
rusted dreams sift sand,
no palm tree for miles.

as grassy ditches burst

with sunshine of

dandelion smiles

while sweet lilacs coax

honey bees to hum

and wee apple tree happily blooms…

when spring sings everywhere,

then hope rides the air!

Linda challenges us with paint chip poetry…I used them all for the fun of it!

In breezy conversation
at the Indigo Cafe
our waiter recommends
the special for today:
tostados rancheritos
smothered with
habanero sauce
“I’ll try it,” I responded
not thinking of the cost.

My hot tongue pricks
with pins and needles
my gut it churns to mud
consciousness is quicksand
I fall to floor with thud
my friend now questions waiter
how four-star menu rates
We fear those rancheritos
may lead to pearly gates!

loud bawl of mourning

wide-eyed cow calls to dead calf

udder full of milk

death is pond ripple

concentric rings pulsing out

mark place of impact

grief is rogue sea wave

turbulence serges higher

wipe-out on beach

death is empty egg

hope’s promise of life deferred

only shell remains

grief is thick blind slug

vulnerable on mud path

unaware it’s stuck

I write these haiku one week after my father’s funeral.