~Quodlibet (XLIX-LII)~

By WordWulf, 19th Apr 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/16dmyr61/
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Poetry

~ old people in love ~ sitting on a bench kissing ~ former strangers ~ radio voice falling ~ politicians win wars ~ nobody else does ~ does it matter where we die ~ maybe so ~ I quit going to the bar ~

~Something Deep & Knew~
~XLIX. Two Die Once More~
~L. Radio Man Trippin’~
~LI. Pizano~
~LII. Cemetery~

~Something Deep & Knew~

~Quodlibet~

A couple of decades back I was leaning on a shovel, waiting my turn. There was a cold wind blowing that January afternoon in Colorado. The pipes on our Harleys blew dragon breath into our wakes as we rode to this time and place of burying. The sermon hadn’t affected me much but this part, this part was something deep and knew. If there are words to describe the sound of a shovel-full of dirt landing on the hollow of that final door, I am unable to find them. Maybe it has something to do with taking the place of the digger. There were thirteen of us, leather long-rider coats, eight degrees, ninety miles an hour, no wind chill to compare to the task before us. Ice tears frozen to our faces and beards, no one said a word. We took turns filling that hole, jumping in and stomp-tamping it down. The mortuary hands stood around a back-hoe smoking cigarettes and watching us. Later that night, like a roving band of gypsies, we attended a wake with citizens, family of our departed friend. We told stories about the way of his life, how well he died. There is no book written to adequately describe dragon breath and brotherhood, how they enter a man and fly him away. I will always remember the leather wing of my friend, the good monsters I rode with, something deep and knew.

~XLIX. Two Die Once More~

They are as two died and offered rebirth
each into the arms of the other
their hearts are old and their skins are cold
they may find warmth
as of youth awakened
spirits aflame and flesh ignited
a couple of children alive
in the hollows of their past selves
wink at them and giggle
Each moment of life is a prayer
we are participants all
willing or otherwise disposed

~L. Radio Man Trippin’~

She got eyes trippin’
she is Sunday afternoon
she got dark window
a deep gone glassy moon
she got lip smackin’
a take me home too soon
there is a man on the radio
his hands a flat white window
pressed against the dark glass
he can’t see the hundred stories
and is sure to fall, his foot
catches the beat, kicks out
he follows it through

~LI. Pizano~

They went outside to smoke
to stand watch over chromed beasts
the smell of oil and rubber and leather
sweet and familiar to their nostrils
the tall one squinted his eyes
spoke about the death of farmers
loud music from the whiskey bar
problems with old guns and new punks
“We the cowboys now, outlaws,
and only one-percenters know...”
the first shot caught him high in the chest
he slumped against his machine
watched his life run out

~LII. Cemetery~

We went to the cemetery one day
had some friends inside
if you read the markers
just part the weeds, you’ll find them
wishful sentiments of relatives
laid end to end in layers
no mystery, the clinician
an eye on the bored
it is pinned through its pupil
watching this creation of masque
peace pretend, horror’s face
so the museum surreal
a lay-me-down, a shroud

~Tom (WordWulf) Sterner~
~No Guts/No Glory~
~Nevada Bill/Eating Bugs~
~Howling Dog Press/Omega~
~Quodlibet (XLV-XLVIII)~

Meet the author

WordWulf
Tom Sterner lives in Redding, California and Arvada, Colorado with wife Kathy. He has been published in numerous magazines and on the internet, including Howling Dog Press/Omega, Skyline Literary Review, The Storyteller, and Flashquake. His interne...(more)