Blood

The Writers Almanac by Glen Creason Selected Poems) --THURSDAY, 8 February 2009Listen (RealAudio) How to listen

Poem: “Blood” 

 Bloody, bawling, bundle of anxious questions 

I held her up, our eyes locked in love

 Where would we go from there? 

Her jagged breaths were my own

 Sleep never seemed to matter then

 We held each other up together

 Constant as the northern star

 This glowing stellar child in my heart

 I held her up to see the monkeys in the zoo

 Upwards she made me stand in lines

 Thick paper mortarboards and ballet tears

 She held up to the lessons

 Sitting up proud in stale studios

 I’m the bedtime pony!

 I said Waiting for her teenage exhale 

Up she grew, past my concerns

 I held her up to scrutiny

 She held me up in mutiny

 I hate you she screamed

 I hope you die, the words cut 

You’re stuck with me I said

 Those breathes of bravado, masking dread

 I can’t, I won’t leave that upward look

 Years crawled past too quickly

 I held her up without feeling

 The ache she learned from me 

The old man, bending toward earth

 Broken hearted now,

 once more Thinking my road was again hopeless 

cul de sac dead end 

The once little one held me up 

Like once we craned upward, at monkeys

 Forgetting to do anything

 but Feel how wonderful the air Felt up there.

 Lifted up again

Ramblin Jack said

"Now a Ramblin' Jack Elliot said:

I got these lines in my face

Tryin' to straighten out the wrinkles in my life

When I think of all the fools I've been It's a

wonder that I've sailed this many miles..."

-Guy Clark "Ramblin Jack and Mahan"

Sparrow's song

This bird that sings, heaving her small breast Becoming something courageous, wonderful

 The song breaking the day’s stillness 

Sweetening the world as it softly winds

 Around the trees and into rooms nearby

 Even distracted by our skins

 We hear and exalt in the sounds

Expanding our slice of sky outside

These same birds, grooming 

Sitting silent on the deciduous branch 

A little brown sparrow ducks in ryhyme 

Making no mark in this morning 

Yet, when she sings it makes things right 

Ablution in the stone clean water

 Splashing the joy of notes over us

 Hearkening the new day and hope

 for The coming cacophony of the battle ahead

Where no such songs will be heard.