Burn his body back to ash and bone
Wait for a perfectly windy day to throw
What's left of his teeth clicking dusty gossip
Over bean fields curving under high summer sky

The red wooden fence on his land lived an enviable life
An impartial mediator between two perfectly worn running lanes
Arabian stallion against country collie every evening
Dirt packed as hard as beating hearts
A bedroom window, its brave face
Always heard everything

The couple could never agree if the sounds the runners made
Outside their bedroom wall
Were trash talk or inspirational quotes
The four of them parted ways
Some more suddenly than others
Our lost man bode his time
Until memories drug him under
His eyes anchored to the ether

Surely he prefers to be the wind in falcon yellow flowers
to a hole in the ground, dirt pushed over his head
Knowing folks would wait around a day or two to make sure that he's dead
Knowing every morning could be worse by every night
Until the sun rises blackout red to soften scorching moonlight

Unless you take stars and constellations as your only consolations
They will sail over your dry hands between sister horizon and mother mast
leaving you turning in the sheets
deep sea rolling sleep into the sky
just above and just around soil coated with a glowing, growing green cloud


Views: 1263

Comment by Arthur James on October 3, 2015 at 3:27pm


off-line read...

see 2- whirls...

many worlds...

Vast Cosmos...

Universes, see, 

and Sense thee

Unseen. Solicited,

and it okay to go

fly off into skies.

Spoke Word, and

Beyond Word. I

savor off line &

no feel guilty if I

sip 2- flyingdog

Season -Pumpkin 

Local's - Brews


In morn we can

view Raven and

sense Breeze, a

Wind Flutter and

Birds Soar Aloft.

`~.-` Nice Bed

Time Last Read.

`~ ' Lo O snore.


Lo Lignee? huh?

Lighten Up Lo. 

Pure Heart Ah!


Comment by Zanelle on October 3, 2015 at 3:35pm

Oh my, this was beautiful.  I want to read it again and feel all the colors swirling around the life and death.  Woo.

Comment by catch-22 on October 3, 2015 at 4:30pm
thanks for understanding, Art James, how a bean field can also be kinda cosmic. I heard that pumpkin ale can give you whirly bird dreams if you drink it close to bedtime. At least I hope that's the case.

thank you, zanelle! When my uncle passed away, we scattered his ashes on his farm. The wind swirled the ash but the teeth and bone fragments would not be silenced. I like to think it was my uncle having chuckle at us goofy mortals...had he actually seen us he probably would've said something like "as long as you young people are up and around, how about doing a little work to earn your supper?" He was cool like that.
Comment by Antoinette Errante on October 3, 2015 at 7:53pm

beautiful as always  dear catch :)

Comment by catch-22 on October 5, 2015 at 6:37am
obrigada, sras. MCS and Errante.
It's wonderful to see old friends here.
Saludos, gente fina ~
Comment by Arthur James on October 5, 2015 at 7:00am


I not sure how I'll die.

I could get free burial

hole at ` Arlington. I

sorta ( tesse? ) Entertain

digging my Own Hole.

not ( gross apology ) a

butt hole. no do that.


Then, when I feel I

might conk? lay in

burial grave? no

tell where? hole is?


But, I like the scattered

ashes too. Maybe I hop

in Hot Wood Stove and

Ask To Scoop all Ashes

Up. Then. caste Ashes

and Dust on Farm and

in the Wooded Red and

White Oak Hidden Roots.


Comment by catch-22 on October 5, 2015 at 8:31am
Maybe farmers especially ought to be scattered among hidden roots. But maybe those who choose to wander off to die, which is exactly what the collie in this poem did, have the 'right' idea...letting those left behind to more easily imagine them simply having gone to different land, nourishing mystery, enriching soil, soaking in sun and rainwater.
Comment by Julie Johnson on October 5, 2015 at 9:03am

Read this the other day, after coming home from a graveside service.  Just now again.  Gave me goosebumps, both times.  That's a good picture, by the way.  I was born in North Dakota and both sets of grandparents were farmers there.  More wheat than beans, but I like the way you captured the curves of the earth.    

Comment by catch-22 on October 5, 2015 at 10:49am
My condolences, Julie ~
It's always a pleasure to meet another prairie girl.
Comment by Arthur James on October 5, 2015 at 10:57am


... lately...

Death preoccupies

my Mind...


I choose * to

no expound in

long comments.

`~ ' it personal...

` smile ' and we

grin and be as a

bear in woods.

`~' big smile.

no ever smirk.


grin ... thanks...








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