emerging visions

Dead poet

Head tilted back, cradled on unraveling threads
my gray mouth gapes inches below a sagging satin roof

eager to taste the tangy yellow mustard
on a fresh cooked dawg at the beach again.

I long to see the bright colored sport shirts
that Asian tourists wear on vacation

or smell the pines in a valley below
towering snow capped peaks

or listen to the loud clanking sound of manhole
covers when New York cabbies run over them.

I'm so hungry for lifes sensations
but all there is to experience today
is mockery.

In the green lizard shade of the churchyard
above me, people are snickering
and giggling as they view my gravestone

making light of myself, and many here
who dreamed of something better.

They boast about the good times
failed marriages
credit card debt

"What else is there?" (they loudly proclaim)

but chiseled words beneath my name
will temporarily suspend ridicule's
unerring tread

"He lived by faith"

A large man peers, then shrugs
leisure suited shoulders
and strides away

He missed out on everything.
Never deny myself pleasure.
Never.

I sift through hoarded nouns and adjectives
to honor someone special
but it's too late

a grinning melody with rolled-up cuffs
just skipped across the sky
extending an invitation
to me the way playful sunshine calls
to a kid on the last day of class.

ordinary dirt bulges and fractures
and mouths go slack
as many hop and stagger to keep their balance

I'm being changed by Love's alchemy and awake
to the hilarious belly hoots, and heads-thrown-back
heaven bound hollers of others like myself
whose lives have just been redeemed

I'll leave behind a tear stained legacy
of a faith embraced
through hard but shining years-

along with a few poems.

(c) Jim Cox All Rights Reserved

(c) Patrick Delorme

Two Realms to Rule
(c) 1982 by M. David Woodall

I went to get a glass of orange juice and found the pitcher empty of all
but a few droplets. As I took out the frozen concentrate, I felt an
awkward, drunken dizziness overwhelm me.

"Jeric, my son, someday all these will be your kingdoms to rule," my
father, the king, said with a sweep of his hand. As I looked out over the
countryside from the mountain top, I added three cans of water to the
concentrated juice and stirred, not wishing to wait for it to melt.
Somehow being two places at once seemed altogether natural.

"Yes, but I will not come into this power until after your death. Is that
not so, Father?" I poured myself a glass of orange juice and placed the
full pitcher back into the refrigerator.

"That is true, son. Hopefully my years of experience will benefit you when
that day comes." I listened to him relate battles of blood and battles of
bureaucracy, and as the sun set on my future lands, I placed the empty
glass in the kitchen sink and rinsed it out. "You are eager for the crown,
if not your father's death," he said turning his back to me and walking to
the edge of the cliff which overlooked his realm.

I looked out the storm window at the newly fallen snow and, wondering if
the car would start, reached a decision. I joined my father at the edge of
the cliff and put my hands on his shoulders.

"Yes, I am eager for the crown," I said.

"And hopefully I will not need your years of experience to rule
successfully," I whispered, shoving him off the cliff's end. Then, pulling
on my hat and coat, I prepared for another day of the old nine-to-five.

Copyright © 1982 by M. David Woodall
All Rights Reserved.

Originally published under one-time license in the
trade paperback anthology Channel X: Short-Short Stories.

(c) Jonathan Machen