Submissions by dfwtinman
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
57, I have taken up the pen (key pad) after a long hiatus. My focus in writing now is on having a clear intention and then realizing that intention.
Secret Supplicant
Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee."
Sometimes on summer evenings
I knelt beneath the open windows
of my neighbors' dining room,
soundless and motionless.
"Blessed art thou amongst women,"
Betty fed Bob and their nine kids
all together, every night, without fail.
Each meal began with a prayer
which eleven voices chanted as one.
"and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."
Contralto convocation,
the chanting transfixed me
as their voices slipped ...
Sometimes on summer evenings
I knelt beneath the open windows
of my neighbors' dining room,
soundless and motionless.
"Blessed art thou amongst women,"
Betty fed Bob and their nine kids
all together, every night, without fail.
Each meal began with a prayer
which eleven voices chanted as one.
"and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."
Contralto convocation,
the chanting transfixed me
as their voices slipped ...
52 reads
0 Comments
Arlington Cemetery
Did he ever sleep--
on that couch with five children?
Ear to Dad's chest the catbird seat.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Until one day, his heart stopped.
We first learned of the Korean War
from a few posed pictures
of dad in uniform-- leaning on a jeep,
lipping a cigarette casually.
But it was nothing we spoke of.
At the end, he just flat froze,
skin cool as Murphy marble-
with immutable alabaster eyes.
Monuments bear witness
to countless abrupt endings, when
soldiers metamorphose from ...
on that couch with five children?
Ear to Dad's chest the catbird seat.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Until one day, his heart stopped.
We first learned of the Korean War
from a few posed pictures
of dad in uniform-- leaning on a jeep,
lipping a cigarette casually.
But it was nothing we spoke of.
At the end, he just flat froze,
skin cool as Murphy marble-
with immutable alabaster eyes.
Monuments bear witness
to countless abrupt endings, when
soldiers metamorphose from ...
44 reads
1 Comment
The Day Before Tomorrow
Today I husband hope--
sugar in a time of war.
It's past noon and,
for those scoring at home,
trusting yesterday's cream in today's coffee
counts as my ranking test of faith.
I am (de?)composing in bed,
un-showered and unshaven,
an old warm-up suit my one concession
to burning daylight.
The day marches on
less and less in the shadow
of Parkland Hospital.
"Euthymia trumps relapse."
Perhaps I will write tomorrow,
less self-indulgently,
with more vigorous hope.
Perhaps I will feel less
like a...
sugar in a time of war.
It's past noon and,
for those scoring at home,
trusting yesterday's cream in today's coffee
counts as my ranking test of faith.
I am (de?)composing in bed,
un-showered and unshaven,
an old warm-up suit my one concession
to burning daylight.
The day marches on
less and less in the shadow
of Parkland Hospital.
"Euthymia trumps relapse."
Perhaps I will write tomorrow,
less self-indulgently,
with more vigorous hope.
Perhaps I will feel less
like a...
45 reads
1 Comment
Percy Lee
Snatched up with his good left arm,
I fluttered with fear.
That he suffered was plain enough.
But "stroke" was beyond my grasp.
To my child's mind, Percy Lee
was a man of two halves,
sewn straight down the middle
by a cruel seamstress.
I learned to leave my left eye unfocused
for, on his left side, he was the grandfather
any child would wish for.
But he was not half a man,
and the whole of him frightened me.
As if formed by wax, the right side of his face
appeared...
I fluttered with fear.
That he suffered was plain enough.
But "stroke" was beyond my grasp.
To my child's mind, Percy Lee
was a man of two halves,
sewn straight down the middle
by a cruel seamstress.
I learned to leave my left eye unfocused
for, on his left side, he was the grandfather
any child would wish for.
But he was not half a man,
and the whole of him frightened me.
As if formed by wax, the right side of his face
appeared...
36 reads
2 Comments
Note To Self
It's a peculiar knife you've wielded.
You've come at a thousand wrongs
done you.
But while you've whittled at the hurts,
what of the harms
you've done?
You've abraded the initials
carved into your trunk.
Yet you've left untouched
the countless leaves shading
your transgressions.
When the target
is the unwept wounds you've made
where is your righteous aim?
You've come at a thousand wrongs
done you.
But while you've whittled at the hurts,
what of the harms
you've done?
You've abraded the initials
carved into your trunk.
Yet you've left untouched
the countless leaves shading
your transgressions.
When the target
is the unwept wounds you've made
where is your righteous aim?
46 reads
2 Comments
Mist
On my way to her room I pass
a petrified forest with sickly limbs,
the air heavy with sleep and solvents.
"Will Ben be coming?", mother asks.
"Yes, he'll be here", I confirm once again,
speaking of my son.
"I don't remember much. I don't try to."
My childhood is among those things she does not recall.
Or even try to.
The burden of this loss is mine.
There are words I would like to say, but to whom.
There are bones I would like to pick, but with whom.
As I search her face for a face...
a petrified forest with sickly limbs,
the air heavy with sleep and solvents.
"Will Ben be coming?", mother asks.
"Yes, he'll be here", I confirm once again,
speaking of my son.
"I don't remember much. I don't try to."
My childhood is among those things she does not recall.
Or even try to.
The burden of this loss is mine.
There are words I would like to say, but to whom.
There are bones I would like to pick, but with whom.
As I search her face for a face...
63 reads
0 Comments
Faith (new version of Orbit of Disorder)
New Version
Faith
How I find myself aboard the Soyuz
is the least of my questions. In any
case,
all the answers are scripted in Cyrillic.
From this low earth orbit I can see everything
and nothing. The earth appears an
ornament,
without any sign of swarming souls.
Gravity binds me to the earth, which sums up
my faith. I do not feel its soundless
embrace.
I offer no prayers to compel its grip.
The reentry module is my tacit
salvation.
Is it a question of pushing buttons
in...
Faith
How I find myself aboard the Soyuz
is the least of my questions. In any
case,
all the answers are scripted in Cyrillic.
From this low earth orbit I can see everything
and nothing. The earth appears an
ornament,
without any sign of swarming souls.
Gravity binds me to the earth, which sums up
my faith. I do not feel its soundless
embrace.
I offer no prayers to compel its grip.
The reentry module is my tacit
salvation.
Is it a question of pushing buttons
in...
49 reads
0 Comments
Forgetfulness
the full week passes
before memory's low tide
just half-remembered
before memory's low tide
just half-remembered
57 reads
1 Comment
The Undiscovered Country.
Months since that stillborn morning
when they pulled me ashen from your arms.
I did not ask to be delivered
from the endless evening to the dawn.
In truth, I asked for nothing,
beckoning across the Acheron.
Still, there was no promise in your eyes
that nothing was the only thing in store.
So I wait confirmation
to reach me from that eidolic shore.
Honor my body like a temple, while
the devil resides in the details.
when they pulled me ashen from your arms.
I did not ask to be delivered
from the endless evening to the dawn.
In truth, I asked for nothing,
beckoning across the Acheron.
Still, there was no promise in your eyes
that nothing was the only thing in store.
So I wait confirmation
to reach me from that eidolic shore.
Honor my body like a temple, while
the devil resides in the details.
35 reads
1 Comment
The Viewing
Didn't he part his hair on the left?"
I'd known him for many years, but
the mortician's skill had created doubt.
Yet, the fact that he seemed to be
sleeping peacefully marked him for a corpse.
He never slept. Well, hardly ever.
A loop of 36 photos and 3 songs played
in a continuous time warp, with both the
songs and the photos more than a decade old.
The two ballads I could understand, both sad
enough to suit the day, if not the dead man himself.
But the hymn, definitely the mortuary's touch.
His warm laugh...
I'd known him for many years, but
the mortician's skill had created doubt.
Yet, the fact that he seemed to be
sleeping peacefully marked him for a corpse.
He never slept. Well, hardly ever.
A loop of 36 photos and 3 songs played
in a continuous time warp, with both the
songs and the photos more than a decade old.
The two ballads I could understand, both sad
enough to suit the day, if not the dead man himself.
But the hymn, definitely the mortuary's touch.
His warm laugh...
71 reads
0 Comments
Time and Reminiscence
I've laid here for some time
trying to locate an old wound.
I cannot gauge its depth, nor
trace the jagged edges of its corruption.
Still, but for the sepsis and fever
I would stand.
The failing sight of this mind's eye
holds out little hope for correction,
little hope for ablation of the growing
cataracts on my consciousness.
But for the sepsis and fever
I would kneel and pray for anamnesis,
for the reassembly of these dusky shards
of remembrance.
I've laid...
trying to locate an old wound.
I cannot gauge its depth, nor
trace the jagged edges of its corruption.
Still, but for the sepsis and fever
I would stand.
The failing sight of this mind's eye
holds out little hope for correction,
little hope for ablation of the growing
cataracts on my consciousness.
But for the sepsis and fever
I would kneel and pray for anamnesis,
for the reassembly of these dusky shards
of remembrance.
I've laid...
82 reads
4 Comments
Shadow House
Most current version:
_________________
Outwardly passable, this house
has known better years—
seen more visitors
and much fairer weather.
The Cimmerian presence
is pernicious. Even pestilential.
It waits in the caliginous corridor
on the upper floor. The room
where they do the ECT.
Ashen hues at hallway's end
on architectural sconces long
in disrepair—I stare down
the length of that hall. Sight
narrows. My pupils constrict.
From here, all warnings forgotten,
all is dark except for the...
_________________
Outwardly passable, this house
has known better years—
seen more visitors
and much fairer weather.
The Cimmerian presence
is pernicious. Even pestilential.
It waits in the caliginous corridor
on the upper floor. The room
where they do the ECT.
Ashen hues at hallway's end
on architectural sconces long
in disrepair—I stare down
the length of that hall. Sight
narrows. My pupils constrict.
From here, all warnings forgotten,
all is dark except for the...
44 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by dfwtinman