Down In the Foxhole with Me

I caught you at the right time
with you tired of hollow words
and people trying to sell you.
And you not knowing where I have you…
Down in a foxhole with me.

I recently read a poem by a guy who wrote poetry in a foxhole in WW II
I thought…hmmm, that’s what I'm doing,
handing out the poems left and right
and you looking at me
smiling and saying well now this is weird,
but sending poems back my way without knowing it.

The guy thinking back to the war recalled thinking
the poetry protected him
Since apparently nobody would kill a poet in a foxhole.
Turns out there are all kinds of people and yes
some would knock off poets in foxholes
as easily as they would pop a frying chicken
All in the line of duty, of course.
Surely foxholes are protective and poetry is a sure thing

By the time the smoke clears, I look down and
realize my skin is still on
And then with enough irony to choke Alanis Morisette
I can’t come through for you
Talk about your fragile trust…

I have a love-hate relationship with words
I mostly love mine and hate the ones said by others
The pen is mightier than the sword
and the sword is sans a certain subtlety

But then on occasion I am reminded
there are those with whom you move to sacred ground
To where you need never doubt them again
now, ten years from now, or twenty years…
You communicate rarely, but when you do
you hang on their words
knowing they speak genuinely
And it sounds like poetry in a foxhole

Downsizing

A woman loses her job
What she had told everyone
Three years before was
“One of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities”
Stops by the grocery on her way home
Before anyone else in the family knows,
The husband is no doubt lost in work
The children safely at school
She has her cell phone but
That can wait
She wanders among the fresh fruits and vegetables
Down aisle after aisle of can goods
Fresh baked breads
cool dairy, cut meats
Something in her wants to stay there forever
In the safety of merchandise
She stays too long for
The little she buys
Enough time to catch her breath
Dry her eye
Steel her will…
Then she checks herself out
Gets back in the car
Heads toward home
Trying hard to swallow
Feeling her throat
Downsizing

You Know What Today Is?

You know what I absolutely adore?
Oh yea, of course you do
I forgot whom I was asking.

You know what turns me on?
Come to think of it
Sure, you would know that too.

You know what I love most about the morning?
Right, sure I forgot
We have talked about that.

You know what I want to do before I die?
You know what I want most for you?
You know what today is?

You know what I want to ask?
Do you know how much I love you?

Mirror Tears

When did I first realize
The smoke I call dreams
Could choke those I love

You see, time alone doesn’t teach
And a text ago, it doesn’t preach
Live by lakes, live by rules
Live by rich, live by signs
But live by God, today –

Then it’s like others are in the way
They aren’t but then suddenly they are
Somewhere back on the shelf
Crying mirror tears that cling
And crystallize in your thoughts,

How did they get there
How the hell did they manage
How long have they been there
Longer than you like to remember
What’s that Golden text….quote it
Quote it a thousand times and then
A thousand times it will come up
The question reared in a second
are symbolic selves tenable?

Sometimes two real selves meet
And find more the second time

How to Smooth Thru the Years

It occurred to me to wonder
How to smooth thru the years
When heart ones are beyond keep
They appear to happen
Though their cup is not drained
In upon solemn turf they advance
And out again without their flag
The claim they stake lasts long
But time seems to find them all
Searching and destroying by mission
Time should lose a friend so close

When my heart rules my world
Matters will be altered some
Those I love will cling like moss
Wild vines to a scaly tree
And I velcro-like will latch
My soul to them
Like a dream of an untimed hug
Either be it so or this…

Cause me to forget on sight
Each sweet smile or look
Before it impresses on my senses
Like a child from the womb
Forsaken and a bastard son

HR as Gardening

Consider the gardener’s role
As HR Manager
A thousand on the dole
Details to the integer

With human rights in the soil
The ground is more fertile
So even when the days boil
Lives bloom like Crepe Myrtle

Seeds of justice are sown
With concern for equity
When worker’s lives are their own
Their thoughts turn from iniquity

Healthy gardens require good plants
Well watered and weeded over the weeks
Workers too need such assistance
To produce the profits any firm seeks

Human gardeners produce the green
By building trust and not being mean

Two Gardens

Each morning she checked her garden
Wincing when bugs attacked precious leaves
Watering when soil looked dry
Blessing heaven for the bounty
Propping, pruning and picking

Then it was in the car and on the freeway
Down in the heart of Des Moines
Only stepping from the role she played
As HR manager for Principal Life
For fleeting moments of reflection

Her days were long and dotted with challenge
Harried office workers wanted more
Abusive customers created sad associates
If it went wrong with people she heard it
If it went right, it was seldom mentioned

But in the evenings, by the fading light
She returned to her green haven
And on the night in question
Raised a toast to “this peaceful site”
And to “those who need my patience”

Saying:
From this moment on, may I be mindful
Of both my gardens: one for produce
The other for money
But in the end, both
For the love of the living

Copyright Information

Gloamtoglimmer by Mike McCullough is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.