08/6/14

The Day that Robert Newhouse Died by C.K.Baker

The news today this twenty-fifth day of July, Twenty Fourteen.

“Man”ing up in Texas

Geldof overdose

Needles at the bed stand

Starlet comatose.

California dreaming

Killer meets demise

Hurling in a taxi

Puke fee on the rise.

Fighting in the Gaza

Jordan’s Holy war

Rebels on a mission

Jihad underscore.

The North Korean riddle

Pales in grand design

Crisis on the border

Planes fall from the sky.

Cooking on a deadline

Tempting tapenades

Herbs are in the spotlight

Wines that give a nod.

Brewers fill the beast

With pork a starring role

50 shades of gray

A freckle and a mole.

Google maps the body

DOW at record highs

Uber hits the market

Corn is on the rise.

Apple on its earnings

Caterpillar dead

European sanctions

Banks have shit the bed.

Clippers threaten boycott

Longhorns follow purge

Lynch is out of training camp

James is on the verge.

Leinarts taking pot shots

Coughing up a lung

Lions take a licking

Fans are throwing dung.

Another day in Vegas

Primm from A-Z

Rolling out an ankle

A flying SUV.

Quiet tempting spaces

Made better by design

Multicolor pea coat

Silence fuels the mind.

Stabbing in the subway

Goat caught in a well

Apes are selling tickets

(but leave behind a smell).

Puberty on trial

A man without a head

Teachers feel alone

(Take them to the shed!).

Jonah’s tomb destroyed

Wreckage in Mumbai

“Sugar Daddy” sites

Freedom 85.

The immigrant debate

Russia’s mounting toll

Unions on a mission

“heads are gonna roll”.

Beaches for the nudist

Hotels are on the cheap

The best generic brands

A list you HAVE to keep.

Planning your estate

Questions from the camp

A mansion up for sale

Where once they filmed “The Champ”.

Midwives threaten action

Aboriginal act

Truckers want a “push”

That train has left the track.

Sharks are found in Fundy

A prized but perilous catch

Food we love to hate the most

An irrefutable batch.

A family on the brink

“I want my kids to fail!”

Politicians drains all hope

A ban on Israel!

Follow out each headline

Let media be your guide

All these things did happen

the day that Newhouse died.

10/21/13

The Lost Mahout by CK Baker

the lost mahout

black cat in
a white wicker chair
pear leaves
strum
the high wire
creeping vines
on the hedgerow
root ferns claw
the sun drench bank

picket wall stained
on cedar
sow bug jumps
the grated  worn step
four legs
on a foot path
biscuit brown
trailers
fill the pipe

spiders march
on dew web
knots and rivets
cut at the seam
maples wide
on the canopy floor
sap balls ping
the front gate

dandelions drift
on west breeze
berries plump
at shepherds grove
wood sill holds
the broken stained glass
letter box lined
by the shoe scrub

delft ware
on the snap line
numbers drawn
for the promising guest
junior poised
with mouth agape
birds and squirrels
whistle their jovial tune

gold finch
darts the sea ranch
mountain steam brisk
at lush green pass
crafters window
in the alpine
follies await
the days task

copper roof on a
mud wall
airedale set on
woven front mat
watchmen of the
hollow…
earwigs and mites
scurry under
rustled wet leaves

frogs leap at corner creek
shutter bugs sit
at gryphons lair
still water ripples
at the deep pool
the folding tips
and fingers
on fishers bridge

brother bear
on the cut shelf
silver fish
come to life
whiskey jack high
on india green
elijah and xavier
pause at the days end

fin

———————————————————————————————

©CK Baker, 2013

 

07/30/13

“Alzheimer’s” by Owen Kavanagh

 

Words from the heart. Written about the author’s 93 year old former College professor, mentor and friend, who unfortunately now lives under the fog of Alzheimer’s disease, and who now needs to be reminded of his past, and how wonderful a man he was and still is.

 

I know a man who lost his way – his dearest things were gone

He searched the pockets of these clothes, given to put on
he scoured his mind to find a route back from his foreign war
scorched earth was all the proof he had of what he’d been before
he wondered at this place he stood and what he’d come here for
weights hung down where memory should recall
only space where once his pride would hold up every wall

Each face along the road he searched, “are you family?”
some said straight out that they were not, some pretend to care a lot
but one young fellow saw the man he’d known from long before
remembered him as one who’d walked the cliffs by park by shore
a jaunty chap with yapping dog, then arm-an-arm his grey haired wife
and finally in those last few years, hobbled, cane and hunched up life
Youth had yearned to know him then, this teacher from all time
but never had they passed a word, their seasons out of line.

Now chance, the youth reflects to show respect upon this day
so walks beside that bent old gent reminding him his way
oh what great tales lie so near, what happiness may dawn
if eyes be bright to see again, if voice be raised in song
Youth took one wrinkled hand in his as lurched along the street
toward the elder’s home, their passage to retreat

That night was as a prodigal son returned to kith & kin
rounds made, cups raised, the photo passed, stories roused within
that night each youngster crept from bed as first the tales begin
none left to feel alone that night, not when their gramps sat in
his start was slow but soon he spoke the secrets of their birth
stories only he would know, a life full-share of worth

He spent his youth in far south lands where folks drawl out their speech
recalled both the kindness done and cruelty of their reach
remembered child’s thistle wound salved in a black man’s spit
once hid his friend behind the sacks when Ku Klux Klan had hit
and all those tiny black girls in church basement bombed & burned
recalled he’d joined the walks for them, the peace for which he yearned

But stories and the night must fade as all are half asleep
youngsters carried off to bed without a single peep
The rest of us reflect on what our elder had to say
the worth of a man, is strong as the stance, he took along the way
and crystal clear it came to us who hear just why he hurt
why need he be amongst us here, so far from southern dirt

Next morning deformed hands to move, groaning and with sighs
shook out his snowdrift locks and glared from rheumy eyes
“I went to sleep back on the farm … with mule’s rein in my fist
… sister guiding plow’s deep bite … the cracker dirt adrift
and yet I wake in stranger’s house … with no one that I know
I’ll dress and leave you here in peace and trouble you no more”

I know a man who lost his way – his dearest things are gone.