Savor

Copyright © 2020 by Michael Nierste

All rights reserved. Nopart of this bookshall bereproducedor transmitted inany formor byany means:electronic, mechanical, magnetic, photographic, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, or otherwise be copied for public or private use without prior written permission. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Savor was published in the August 2016 issue of Flying Island Journal Red Mountain Freeway was published in Cowboys & Cocktails, Poetry from the True Grit Saloon The Way Home was published in the Winter 2020 of The Tipton Poetry Journal, https://issuu.com/tiptonpoetryjournal/docs/tpj43

Dedicated to those I love

To my wife and children. Introduction

Most of these poems are read straight forward but there are some that have built in contranyms a word which has two or more generally accepted meanings. These are used in Swallowed by the Wilderness and are italicized at the line ends. This includes words such as rock: meaning a stone, an immobile mass, or figuratively similar solid phenomenon or conversely a shaking or unsettling movement or action. Another example is dust: meaning to add fine particles or to remove them.

Likewise, the contranyms used in You and Jack have two meanings and are italicized to bring your attention to the double meaning such as; Apology: A statement of contrition for an action or a defense of one Bars: A place to drink and play - or used as a pen or enclosure to keep one inside.

There are also heteronyms used in one poem titled Close. In this poem each of two or more words are spelled identically but have different sounds and meanings. For example tear: pronounced TARE, meaning rip and tear pronounced TEER,meaning liquid from the eye or invalid: pronounced inVALLid meaning not valid and one pronounced INvallid meaning an ill person are used. In the Close poem they are used twice, once for each meaning and are also italicized for clarity.

Savor

A butter yellow sun for breakfast toast with juicy raspberries running

But I sit savoring the sight listening to the song resounding anticipating that first kiss of day loving this morning this moment

Rise

A wisp of steam curling from the cup Warming, slowly streaming, steaming up

A strand of clouds streaking Pinking, while sun’s peaking

A sprout of green surging Returning, emerging

Renewed for the day’s coming enterprise We rise, warmed, pinking, emerging, we rise

Black Raspberry Jelly

Raspberry juice

Dripping a purple so dark and rich it deserves the name black. Step by delectable step it oozes closer to completion surrounded by the berries’ sweet steam, a curtain rises and closes another season of picking

Stirring another scrumptious batch on the stovetop boiling sugared sheets roll off stained wooden spoons while on the counter, jelly jar lids ping as they seal, announcing the next delightful batch of ambrosia. Fruit of the harvest now sweeter.

Time

The hands on the wall Barely budge at all

A day passes by The wink of an eye Month and year are burned

Whole calendars turned Then decades fly by A lifetime gone bye

Delicious Nap

Warm blanket in a cool room a nest a rest for tired eyes a sweet coat of chocolate darkness curtains close but opens my mind to wander to a maze of free association

A nap so sweet so soothing the invitation cannot be refused

Soybeans

A house

A window, where we see Thousands of little beige bean balls

We climb in diving into the warmth of Thousands of little beige bean balls

Sunny room storage bin full of Thousands of little beige bean balls

Rolling in room overflowing with Thousands of little beige bean balls

Bodies bouncing, filling our senses with Thousands of little beige bean balls

Fragrance of harvest now toys for some boys

Thousands of little beige bean balls

Absorbing It All

A blanket of warmth soaks into a dark coat and warms a cool spring day

The dog comes up for another scratch behind the ears. A slow massage down her furry back fills my hand with fluffy soft curls

Daffodils, tulips, and just outside smelling range hyacinths are all in bloom

And here I sit absorbing it all

Those Eyes

those eyes mirrors of an old soul with a young heart a fool falls in love looking for those eyes mirrors of an old soul with a young heart

Those Hands

warm mine hold on reach out sustain with a touch rub and soothe ring bells plant seeds cut flowers, write thank you notes gather garden harvests pull splinters wait callous frame photos scrap book memories yes those hands

Skills

Before we were married

I noticed that my wife was very good at raising plants. She had special skills and would talk to them kindly, joking with them, saying “‘smiles’ is the longest word in the English language, ” or she slightly moved them to be sure they were in light that was just right, and in winter, she’d shift them to a special warm place.

I thought that transferable skill would help to raise children, and nurture me as well.

It could help make the many problems we were to encounter disappear like magic.

After we were married for many years

I finally noted that her cultivating successes were also dotted with failures and, perhaps in addition to having a green thumb, she also had a second skill.

Some plants were no longer met with a caring conversation. They sat for long periods in silence.

Occasionally, the withering, thirsty vine would be moved where the light was not quite right.

The frail plant would be left where it was a little too cool for comfort and when it fully failed, when no one is looking, she was even more skilled at hiding the evidence. Blooms that started to fail disappeared like magic.

It is just the two of us now. I am happy to report that the children survived, thrived, and are grown and gone. We’ve had many a success and failure that are behind us, aided by her special skills. But I have noticed lately that sometimes we sit for long periods in silence. Occasionally, she does not raise the blinds when we wake and the light is not quite right.

I am more and more often left in a house a little too cool for comfort. Now, I wonder if one day, when no one is looking, as I slowly start to fail if someday I might also disappear like magic.

My Watch Dog

When I wake up, she is right there by my side but she can never tell me how long I slept or help me remember my dreams. She alerts me to the arrival of every package not that any of them have been ticking time bombs or poisonous parcels. She snarls at the delivery person not that a single one has ever threatened me. When the neighbor pulls in at 4 AM she’s on full alert. She charges to the front door when the doorbell rings or someone knocks although it is usually on TV. Whenever she finds something in a field, she points instinctually. But I have no use for the squirrel or other flittering objects she sees in the woods or grasslands She strikes a pose so naturally, going on point to resemble the mascot of the American Kennel Club. Somehow my watchdog knows all she has to do is stand there and look stately while I watch.

Refrain

The ocean’s surge the pounding surf again again, the music comes

The roar returns bass and tenor again again, the constant roll

Always constant constant changing again again, the same refrain

Music in My Head

Where is it from? Why does it commence? Why won’t it leave? Is there no defense? I can’t get this song out of my head Insert anything else in instead Cutting the grass, walking back and forth In a rut, going from south to north

Oooohhh, I love you, you love me We’re a happy family Oh no, it’s the Barney song. Yankee Doodle won’t work long Riding pony can’t erase Barney's song that’s in this space

Desperate times, now I try Hated song from past, I cry Oh, I love a rainy night Oh, I love a rainy night Oh, I hate a rainy night Oh, I hate a rainy night

In it creeps, that sweet refrain Not so sweet, it drains my brain Please constrain that endless chain Sick song sung, again, again End sad entertainment’s reign Any more I can’t sustain

I love you, but you sure don’t love me We are not a happy family I say potaytoe, you say potahhtohh Let’s call the whole thing off. Just make it go Mundane tasks keep this body busy But not my mind; I’m in a tizzy

Slow Motion

In my backyard swinging on the swing higher and higher kicking legs forward to glide to the top of the arc. Practically sailing, enjoying the breeze, pumping so hard that I could nearly see the top of the swing set when I peaked at the top of the back of my arch. When for some reason I don’t understand, It may have been a slip of the hand I found myself airborne…flying… backwards detached from the seat and up in the air…

For just a few seconds but it seemed like a verrrrry long time as the view of the flight came to me frame … by …frame... Slow-motion observations…in my head… as I rushed … by … everything...

I cleared the fence… hands still extended… in front of me… flying free… the sight of the yard… and swing set… receding… till I landed with a thud on a pink ’57 Chevy Belair’s hood parked in the driveway ten feet away. Stunned to realize that I landed unharmed. The world around me returned to normal speed.

Freeze Frame

An icy road home made the drive treacherous. The car careening toward us in the opposite lane ahead slammed on the brakes and zigzagged out of control. Through … the … intersection … they… came And I watched them sliding happening in a sort of slow… motion… frame… by… frame.

just a few seconds, though it seemed very much longer, the view of the car

came

sliding

toward

us

came

towards me as if it was presented almost frame

by

frame

by

frame. A twist of the wheel

the front end of the car swings left

then right, the fish tail. In the other car I could see the driver trying to adjust the steering wheel slowly

the car slides to us sideways

wham … crunch crashed to a halt.

Perception returns to normal speed. We all survived unharmed, but the memory

replays

slowly. Burned in so clearly, remains so vivid.

Time restored to normal from the freeze framed perception.

Swallowed by the Wilderness

Glacial waters rock and dust wind up through a braided river forming sun kissed copper skin. In nature’s spectacles we spot majesty. Once overlooked we become the forget me nots and mountains that we left swallowed by the wilderness

Grand Canyon

Sunlight peaks in blazes of brilliance, shadows dance on the gorge’s magnificence, clouds enshroud the sequestered horizon: one more day passes to sunset again. Imposing images start to dissolve as glorious sunset colors evolve. Hues slowly blush, turn darker and deeper and as sun soaked, striped blanket wrapped walls grow colder

Dark veiling mists become my companion smudging this piece of grand colored canyon. I mutter unprompted questions aloud my mind is fogged like that gathering cloud. Haze comes and goes as I sit in this state, questions now mysteries I contemplate: Are these Are these enigmas impenetrable? Etched through eons … incomprehensible

Passage of years written on canyon wall reminds me my time is nothing at all. Leaning on ancient Grand Canyon’s shoulder, grandeur of this scope makes me feel smaller. Realizations make my puzzling irrelevant I’m just a small speck, insignificant. The world still revolves as panoramas evolve. My concerns are absolved as problems dissolve.

Jimson Weed

Georgia O’Keefe’s illustration

Is an artist’s fine construction

Using meaningful abstraction

Shaped by great accentuation

Literal magnification

Creams and green floral seduction

Draws particular attention

To a beautiful temptation

Deadly nightshade’s production

From a great imagination

Red Mountain Freeway

Driving into the sunset in a convertible 5.0 L Mustang sunbeams fall like spears of flame urging me to head west past that transmission line, across that horizon line to live on that edge or beyond in the wild Oh to grow my handlebar mustache and hop on a Harley growling and turn my ear to the whispers and howls of the earth to drive into hundreds of sunset shreds of red so they merge with my hundred hues of blues till mountains majesty emerge purple to fly into a desert rain and only stop to smell air filled with sweet Greasewood and Mesquite when monsoon is complete, to raise my armlike a Saguaro cactus to say goodbye, or hello to conciliations. Something, anything to rekindle the spirit of the unbroken wild

I watch one hundred hues of maiden’s blush glow and transform to shades of Indian paintbrush in wisps of clouds, but rain refuses to fall. I wait with Skeleton Buckwheat, leafless milkweed and Palo Verde for monsoon to bring back signs of life.

Instead, I return to the convenience and comforts of home. TexMex washed down with widow’s kisses listening to rock-and-roll from a dobro guitar downloaded from the internet streaming hot shower clean shaven turned downed sheets down comforter back to dreamland with my head pointed| west

Bluebird Box

Nestling’s mealworm feasts anticipated Chirping from the box calls the mother

Perched above the bluebird box a silent assassin awaits But mama knows… and waits…

From the sanctuary of the porch A slingshot fires and the tables turn

Matriarch returns home with a bountiful beak full Avoiding the Red-shouldered hawk’s guillotine plunge

Thankful to the anonymous hero The bluebird of happiness returns

The Poem that Will Not Rhyme

Who’s this wily winsome Woman

Inviting me in for a Pint?

Her dress colored brilliant Purple

Striped with lightning stripes of Silver Lifts in wind, raised to rousing Heights Breasts bouncing like juggled Oranges

Inviting gyrating Rhythms

Her dance a sensual Chaos

Stiffens my attention like Iron

A fine choreographed Opus Could I capture her dance on Film?

True North

Moving fast with spinning compass Need to add to my own opus

A whirling dervish gyroscope

Rotating, dancing zoetrope Spinning round but never knowing

Which way down the path I’m going Flying round to find some answers

Steer this searching earthbound dancer

Remember

Tonight’s Striking sights Recollected Stir unexpected I’ve found I’m affected We’re always connected

That moan You intoned At frenzied height In soft candlelight I recall with delight Please repeat it tonight

Soft touch Cresting clutch Now sought again You’re there on my skin Etched with tattoo blue pen Unoriginal sin Essence Of fragrance From perfumed hair That once filled the air I want more sweet sessions Of honeyed transgressions Traces Of tastes is Still on my lips And my fingertips I desire more sips Captured straddling your hips

These thoughts Of our waltz Linger inside Though gone from your side Come with me, stay with me Kindle new memory

Amazing Machine

Fine-tuned amazing machine Trim, firm and ever so lean Writhing and turning Burning and churning Bring on blissful ecstasy Drown me in that tender sea

We Never Knew

“I loved you when the seed was sown” But this was “just a life” unknown “Inside me” was this tiny guest But “giving birth” to such a pest “Is not convenient” my mistake “He was yours” but “I need a break” “I don’t need your damn permission” “No more” chance for apparition “I can end this” expedition “You’ve no rights” for extradition “So I put an end to it.”

Goodbye

This goodbye is not good Separation withstood Endured but my endeared Only briefly appeared Our love is not alive Unable to revive

Glass Hearts

If hearts were made of glass we’d see them brand and burn. We’d see sparks arc in night, a light, for those long blind to see.

If hearts were made of glass we’d see them fill with joy. And when our dreams, wild streams would teem. We’d watch while swept away.

If hearts were made of glass we would at last see why we only say goodnight, not fight, when we should say goodbye.

If hearts were made of glass we’d see them fill with tears, know when wildfires die, know why red embers turn to grey.

If hearts were made of glass we’d hear small pieces fall. When they mend, they’d show a glow and flow as pieces melt and fuse.

If hearts were made of glass

Close

We drew close Enough to know about which subject we could intimately converse those that kept our hopes alive, but we frequently sat quiet on the porch, in a cool wind in our wound down state. We were so relaxed, so happy, the only tear shed was from laughing too hard. You smiled, bending the Cupid’s bow of your upper lip, that perfect true smile that shone like a happy beam of joy. We recycled composted refuse and turned it, till it became a fertile field, and disintegrated any object that would block our perfect bliss. Till it left us to fill every minute crack and idle moment with optimism that permeated your affect rendering despair invalid.

Again

You close the door to subject me to one argument after another, changing what you say to express any converse opinion that crushes all hope of reconciliation again. We parade tirades of disgust till we wind up bleeding from another gaping wound exposing our differences that results in groans, grunts and a bear down tear down invective that makes me want to bow down and perfect the rebuttal until I give up, ending another argument. I refuse to object, reason, or explain for even one more minute because I know the affect that it will have as our relationship limps out the door like an invalid

Truth Truth

Can be

A brutal friend Elusive, evasive, equivocal Sometimes simple

Faith

Faith is a lie “Found” by those who Need a good cry And so, they do They breathe a sigh Convinced anew That when they die Salvation’s hue Awaits on high

Or raised that way For what it’s worth

It’s what “they” say Brainwashed since birth They’re saved today But hell’s on earth Sad endless fray Of endless mirth Endured this day

Salveation Souldiers

Superstitious souldiers soldier for the God squad Utter their beliefs in their awed, applauded God Annoynting, beseeching the weak to pray They offer false hope, these creatures who prey

Effacing the power of what individuals do They cry, “without God I am nothing” (and you might be too)

Better be leaving than believing this lie Start living, believe in yourself and fly high Don’t wait to be saved by your ethereal soul Instead be that special sole that’s already whole

Preachers

They assimilate

mitigate

implicate

’s wrong location

levitate

I Do Not Know

Why was I was falling like a stone into the eyes of the sacred saints? Toppling like a statue posed around the church into the abyss those saints denounced, I fell into a world not seen even though filled with blind faith. A world I do not know.

What caught my fall?

I do not know. But have my doubts that it was a prayer answered asked of Jesus and his most sacred heart.

Why did I leave?

I do not know.

Maybe it was perverting priests who changed churches into “celibate” whorehouses. It seems unlikely to be the view from the choir lofts filled with innocent boys instructed on new ways to sing by the organ.

Why was I spared the close brushes with that world where “Russian” hands and “Roman” fingers of the “International” monsignor found other vulnerable lambs waiting in church offices for the offering to be tallied?

Why did they listen while their other brother servers were molested? Some were spared, but why?

I do not know.

Why was I, an innocent un-altered boy?

Not an altar boy asked to shed his cassock and more in the sacristy

Was it fate that I was not asked to serve wine at the divine altar at a young age?

I do not know.

Where were the answers to my prayers? Questions came back with answers as whispers so faint that nobody could hear or maybe they were not answered at all.

I do not know.

I asked “Why are prayers unanswered?” The explanation came: not all are answered, or prayers are answered in ways we do not understand. At least that last part rang true as a church bell on Sunday.

I discovered early on that when I ask “Why,” it is often not answered, but usually I find that I do not know. Why believe?

I do not know.

Why did I leave?

I do not know.

kNOw

Unable to take one more step

I stumble I fall to my knees praying for faith that ended faith a journey that ended at the start but traveling on a road searching searching for timeless truth searching for answers to mysteries unanswered I find nothing save for the fact that these searches lead to one certainty: I know that I do not know

Just Crossed the Road

Superstitions faded like the empty threat of a black cat crossing the road but curiosity did not kill that cat. The Holy Ghost was supposed to fill him with the spirit but no longer haunts him.

Appearing in the haze of frankincense perfume, was a host held high overhead and consecrated, becoming God while he gazed into the grand delusion but he could see.

Whatever made him think this “gospel” is gospel or the “good book” is good? Analyzing the one true religion, he dug deeper than casket holes finding only what holes are filled with: nothing.

Hymns of praise in stained glass lights and confessions in dark closets, once expressed, both held him, now poised on his lips but are no longer voiced.

Ideas held fast are shaken, then fall. Noting the pain in his knees, he stood and one last time. That cat just crossed the road.

The Truth Before Me Lies

A simple sweet dichotomy Again presents itself to me

Through leaps of faith and slanted light What’s seen by day is lost in night With every new and old reprise I find the truth before me lies

I’ve often searched in vain for truth The things they taught me in my youth Failing’s not for lack of tryin' Many facts need clarifyin' Closer scrutiny magnifies That now the truth before me lies

Through my careful observation And in spite of education

What I have learned, although hard earned Is I don’t know what I don’t know

No matter how I gen’ralize Catalogue and characterize Or when the censors sanitize I find the more I agonize But even then, I recognize That now the truth before me lies

Through my careful observation And in spite of education

What I've learned, although hard earned Is I don’t know, what I don’t know

Grateful now for shadow’s doubt Is my response to those devout No matter how it’s oft revised What first seems sure and qualified Is only more or less implied That now the truth before me lies

The Truth Before Me Lies (as song lyrics)

Chorus: A simple sweet dichotomy Again presents itself to me Through leaps of faith and slanted light What’s seen by day is lost in night With every new and old reprise I find the truth before me lies (first set of verses)

Friends and ministers all have tried With faith, confirmed, vowed and baptized To lure me in with sweet church bell With promised heaven, dread of hell Not swayed by fear or sins delight I’ve found their logic’s not quite right

Grateful now for shadow’s doubt Is my response to those devout No matter how oft it’s revised, What first seems sure and qualified Is only more or less implied So many facts are synthesized I’ve often searched in vain for truth The things they taught me in my youth Failing’s not for lack of trying Many facts need clarifying Closer scrutiny magnifies That now the truth before me lies

(second set of verses)

I’m misled by premonition That’s a constant male condition Swayed by constant admonition And statistics sans inspection Imagination strings along I’ve found all senses might be wrong

Through my careful observation And in spite of education What I have learned, although hard earned Is I don’t know what I now know And more than once I’ve been deceived The truth is more than I conceived

No matter how I gen’ralize Catalogue and characterize Or how the censors sanitize I find the more I agonize I think that I still recognize That now the truth before me lies

(third set of verses)

As light creeps in it exposes How truth held dear soon imposes On what I know or thought tonight I find in time that’s not quite right New feelings instead nullify Showing us all the way truth lies

Opinions change, love fades and grows Facts change in time and that sure shows I thought I’d listen to my heart But find mine changed when we’re apart I thought I’d love you till we die But find again the truth’s a lie

All things pronounced by fools or wise, In anguished screams or sobbing cries Inspired or misled by muse Are subject to that cruel abuse With every new and old reprise I find the truth before me lies

Our Father

give us our daily bread, and forgive us, as we forgive, and lead us from evil.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Hope

Hope is my favorite virtue, a wish, the anticipation of a first kiss. Hope is

Optimism blooming, a new sun rise, a wedge to keep sadness from settling in. Hope is

Promises for better days and the courage to hold on, reassured that comfort and relief are on their way. Hope is

Expectation of consolation in times of pain and greater joy in times of happiness. Hope is.

A Wish

Faith is a mystery Love is a charity But hope if it’s sustained Might be a wish attained A possibility Turned to reality

One Small Step

The thrust of rockets propelling us skyward pinned our bodies in the ship. We soared away from earth. Lift off, indeed. The journey filled with so many technical checks it barely afforded a moment of reverie, but awe came in like ocean waves. I can hear President Kennedy in my head, although it was seven years ago, when he declared:

“We choose to go to the moon … we do these things not because they are easy, but because they are hard…”

I suspect he knew he put the weight of the world on our shoulders, but once Buzz and I landed on the moon, it did not feel as heavy. At this first moment, we are the only human beings to have visited another world. Even in this joyous moment, a wave of grief creeps in as the memory of those who died in this effort is recalled. But most thoughts are interrupted by mission control. We are in the moment, tending to all that needs to be done. But finally, after we arrive, I pause for one long moment at the top of the stairs, looking out at the moon! and recite my scripted line:

"That's one small step for man. One giant leap for mankind."

What a frolic one that ended too soon. Back to the module for liftoff from the moon. Another success, this time it is a wave of relief that sweeps over me when we rise skyward again and again when redocking to the mother ship is complete. Each step has been a marvelous accomplishment. “When the Apollo 11 ship circled awayfrom the moon, the sun formed a golden halo and the sight of a giant blue marble came into view. That was an astonishing spectacle.”

And now we go back to earth. The reentryplanned and rehearsed, but like so manyother moments also filled with risk that required concentration and calm in the face of the terrifying. When the command module roars back to Earth at up to 26,000 miles an hour:

"We are literally on fire, our heat shield is on fire and fragments of the shield are streaming out behind us. We are inside a dissolving ball of fire lighting up the sky."

We came in peace for all mankind and returned to the peaceful waves of the Pacific Ocean. And after, amazed that when we toured the world, those attending the celebrations cried:

"We did it. Crediting althea inhabitants of the earth, not just Americans imagine an accomplishment so fantastic that it superseded the boundaries we call countries.”

How many thousands of years has man looked up at the moon, finding it out of reach, hoping, dreaming, but not daring the flying? Now I look at the moon, knowing my footsteps are there, knowing that the nearly impossible, the almost unreachable, was attained.

(Persona prose poem in the voice of Neil Armstrong)

Amelia

As you gather souvenirs Wandering throughout the years

I hope you make a list of joys Like birthdays filled with dreams and toys

On your lips find tastes of honey Delightful in warm sips of tea And that you sit in shade of trees While listening to sound of seas

May you discover stars so bright That when you rest your head at night You wake from thrilling dreams of flight Refreshed as day again breaks light

May you be charmed by views in sight And warmed by touch of skin’s delight

To hold and be held just so tight Till you enjoy your last twilight

Wonder full

(Each italicized phrase or word is a line break of something hoped for a child)

May you know warm rays of afternoon sun, and see visions of colorful sunsets and sunrises.

May you feel the comfort of gentle rocking, rocking, rocking the tranquility of chanted soothing lullabies and know sweet joys of silence.

May you feel warm sand beneath your feet and witness the tides rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall as you hear the oceans waves dancing their song.

May you find deep restful sleep dreaming of discoveries under a favorite blanket and you wake to taste butter on toasted bread.

May you run in open meadows and find clover between your toes and then run again and again and again.

May you learn to forgive and be forgiven.

I hope that pain cannot find you.

May you walk at the edge of the woods Hear the who, who, whooo of the owl, the bob, bob white of the quail

May you note the mass migrations of creatures great and small look up to find sand hill cranes flying overhead and feel the call of the wild

May you see and be twinkling starlight shining bright. Discover all the astonishing beauties that I know and those I do not, till I know you by heart.

May you come to know you are more precious than the air we cannot hold. May you hold someone and be held just so tight till you know the joy of being loved deeply and completely.

May you always be my wonder filled grandchild

Sunrise

Looking through the milky clouds of morning We’re seeking hope in each sunrise display Till in sunshine once again we’re basking

Dazzling phoenix blooms splendid and blazing Brings fiery spears that warm up our way Looking through the milky clouds of morning

New days tell secrets before blue birds sing Nature calls out to break grey muted day Till in sunshine once again we’re basking

Creatures start stirring, some soaring on wing Blooms turn toward sun while night slips away As we look through milky clouds of morning

Gazing at pond’s reflections, we’re hoping That worry like moonlight wanes and won’t stay Till in sunshine once again we’re basking

Doubts like mem’ries of ancestors fading Are replaced with bright sights so that we may Look clear through those milky clouds of morning Till in sunshine once again we’re basking

The Way Home

When my sleep was steady and deep

I found myself awake and alone with only him peering out the windshield and back again listening to stories between puffs of Pall Mall cigarettes and the crinkle of cellophane.

We took a wrong turn. Chicago was a hundred and fifteen miles away.

I was hoping there was no place to turn around, that hours would be filled with stories of days gone by, hoping that this chance would yield some treasured time together. That was before toxins’ inflaming rage, before he could no longer break out of the Philip Morris cage that trapped his heart and lungs.

That was the time before eyes filled to flood stage.

Instead, we set our course for a short way home and early goodnight and agreed to turn off the lights. Now sometimes I leave the lights on at night because

I find myself awake and alone with only him.

I'm going to tell you the truth

(A poem composed strictly of lies)

I've never done anything like this before We’ll get to it tomorrow I can keep a secret

It was a war to end all wars Grow old along with me the best is yet to be We don’t need protection I'll respect you in the morning

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger Cheaters never win Trust me, I'll take care of everything You get this one, I'll pay next time

It's not the money, it's the principle of the thing I gave at the office Read my lips no new taxes Your check is in the mail

Drinking? Why no, Officer I never inhaled This won’t hurt It’s not loaded

We can only hope

Free Throws

1. Practice

The dance begins, standing at the line, feet pointing straight to the basket, rehearsing with concentration, thoughts focused, eyes focused on the front of the rim, dribbling the ball, only once, taking a deep breath, cradling the seam along his index finger, lifting the ball to his shoulder, eyes focusing on the rim, legs bending slightly at the knee, extending the arm, following through, wrist snapping, thumb and index finger rolling off last, then with the elbow straight, releasing the ball. Body forming a memory aspiring to an autopilot moment. The ball arcs, flies three feet above the rim, and falls in Again, again, until ten in a row go in, then free to go with the rehearsals complete like a thousand times before, practice is over.

2. The game

Victory lies in this one moment. Game on the line, he steps to the line, playing before a thunderous roar he cannot hear, with body on autopilot, dribble once, deep breath, cradle the ball, eyes focus, legs bend, arm extends, wrist snaps, thumb and index finger roll off last, the elbow straightens, then the ball releases, he shoots he hopes he scores we win

Ride

Tires inflated, mirror is set Filled icy bottle, I’m ready to ride. Quick wobble corrected, balance is back Toes pressed in pedals, leaving from home. Quick glances up show adventures I hope for on a cool shaded trail.

Hair blowing free with the wind at my back. And with a boost from a hill, it's faster I ride. Expectant with joy, I glide onto the trail. Looking for old friends with hope to find more. Like Mike whose f-stop is set snapping pictures of birds in their Sycamore home.

I pet a Golden named Buckwheat found off leash on the trail. But many glimpses of gold comeback like sweet honeysuckle breezes refreshing the ride. I stop at a trestle to make a wish at the creek. I hope as I pitch a rock in the stream and watch ripples set as floating tulip tree blossoms wave like guests headed home.

When I hit the trail it does not often hit back. A swig from a cool water bottle and my thirst is reset. But swarms of black bugs remind me on the way home to keep my mouth shut, a lesson I hope I remember and not just when I ride.

Destination reset, I’m turning back toward that blazing sunset and comforts of home where I can refuel for another day’s ride. More road lies behind me as I leave from the trail where I found time that restored both me and my hope.

Headlight on for safety with rear flasher set curving off from the trail, my heart rate drops as the bike coasts to home. Rolling up in my driveway, I made it back. Memories made fill me with hope and dreams with thrills from the ride.

Set for the evening, although I’m just home, I hope to head back to the joys of another great ride on the trail.

Shining A tree shines red and white signs of hope during darkest days. A sentinel radiates from a star topped beacon pointing to a few wonderful moments of silence that await on Christmas morning. Emitting light the night before, when all through the house no creature stirs. Those bright instances multiplied one hundred fold as theystay on one more morning, covering the gifts below like sticky snowfall. Twinkles illuminate children charging downstairs. Lights glow red on dimpled cheeks and tongues, out for a moment while a head tilts just a bit, contemplating the more difficult unwrappings. A pine tree lighthouse shows a place where families anchor in a healing ocean. Each blinking beam eclipses one more dark doubt. Trees, in thousands of households, are full of sprouting seeds capable of growing gigantic generations, and those generations growing again, and then again. Each tree capable of holding more shining lights and bringing another dayand night of hope

Across

we traveled the bridges they missed we were separated from family and friends held close and long we crossed rivers flowing through their own reflection over ponds winking glimmers of starlight

some dare to cross bridges, barely bound together, rocking and swinging some moving steadily, like a treadle on an old Singer sewing machine some tipping like martini glasses in Vegas all showing signs of wear as the clock of our years tick and creak

now we gather together now we return, across the lines we stepped, and back through crossed paths now we share the little matching rooms in our bodies and shared structures of life and then wonder about companions that might still join us

from the invisible from naked dark horizons from evening’s falling shadow to find the fragrances of beautiful flowers which we may not touch

Lighthouse

Evening forms an ashen pall darkening day to colorless night. We hear diurnal creatures call, they fade as dreams of morning light are conceived till morning’s virginity is broken by sunlight’s divinity

But on the shore where wonder waits the quiet stoic contemplates until the passing beacons shine to show a path along coastline as warnings come for ships at sea till morning’s luminosity

A Free Drink

There was a bar filled to the brink Where frequent toasts made glasses clink They lavished their praise As their glasses they raised To the ones who might buy a free drink

You and Jack

Stepping across the Mississippi could be easy if you know where to cross but you keep wandering up and down the banks of a mighty river in Louisiana. Off to rehab once again. You’re a puzzle solved in the scant daylight of a December sun. You’re sharing a disease we both endure, until we decide if one or both of us must bolt. Pitted against so many caught in your web, raveled together we weather wild drenching storms. You must keep drinking, drinking, drinking, till it’s gone, gone, gone thinking that it’s all downhill tabling this attempt. Your clearest vision comes when stars are out.

Fast on the draw you’re making a plan where you clear out of these bars. You’re just another blues player that fades to three shades darker than indigo. Taking a shot at making a break, but it turns out to be another round of our breaking instead. But it’s only another look at a target spotted through bloodshot eyes. You choose to keep wine by your side instead of me. Hoping alcohol kills the memory, excuses your ability or shuns all responsibility. Who knows what your plan is, or if it is a plan with a backup for when times get tough. How will we continue the fight? Cleaving through addiction. Is this just another apology? We hope we’re protected by prayers, by songs sung and chanted. But now I only recall the echoes fading on cold stone walls. No wonder we see each other so often in close quarters at funerals, and no wonder we will, till we are finished.

Prayers for more chanted into the night only stop after morning breaks light. When the stash dries up, addicts on the hook rise up like pilgrims from Lourdes emerging from miracle waters still lame, blind, and in need of another fix.

Addicted to Alcohol and AA

Barroom lights hardly serve as a beacon Easy to get lost playing in the dark at night Better head out to look for the bright light of sun Or look for a North Star in black heaven that’s bright Revisiting age old issues of alcohol AA is a distraction from the real problem The cure becomes a stair climb to an endless wall Constantly staring at their life at the bottom Wishing for time travel back into their own life And avoid repeating the path of their missteps Where they could rejoin their family, kids and spouse Hope they can escape from the treadmill of twelve steps

(a tribute to the twelve step program using twelve syllables and twelve lines)

Crystal Meth Cowboys

Crystal meth cowboys melt another spoon. Cooked to the core, but still wants more, more, more. Oh God, please let me shoot another, just one more time. He must keep going going, going till it’s gone gone, gone. Unanswered prayers for more chanted into the night finally stop when the morning breaks light. When the supply dries up the junkies rise up like Fatima pilgrims emerging from miracle waters still lame, blind, or otherwise uncured. The fatigue’s too real, reality’s too grim. Alive and slightly worse for the wear he falls into bed where he is unable to sleep He must keep going going, going till he’s gone gone, gone

Who’s right?

Who’s right? We fight

he strikes first, that gut punch bends me over then with an upper cut he knocks me down but I refuse to lose standing again

I wind upon the floor, and then when I can rise no more, he kicks me again, and again when I’m down.

Bruises form shades of grey, blue, red, and brown. but he leaves me alive.

An unforgettable beating. The taste of blood in my mouth, changed to blood in my eye. I tried to forget, but after five years, I gave up trying One day, quite by accident, while I was all alone cleaning out a place, I find an old ’38 buy a few bullets, and for a while longer, I wait. One night, finally, one night, I find him alone, in my sight. It’s last call and time to settle this once and for all.

I follow him out to see where he’s livin’ Armed and ready, I think to myself I’m gonna make things right. This time I’m ready for round two of the fight. He sees me coming. He starts running, but could not run away. At the end of the pier When I’m sure he can hear, I point my pistol and say I never forget … you’re forgiven.

How much blood must be shed till we see we share the same shade of red?

Why I Hate Gladiola

Congregations of gladiolus crowd the caskets baskets stacked mourners spiral to the door sprays of color line the room in a four hour parade

Believers and bouquets point to heaven, buds and palms pressed together with fingers raised praying for compassion for our hours of needs

Bounty of blooms and rosary beads. Hundreds of ear shaped buds hear the litany we pray for the living and the dead, directed above the grim reaper’s sickle moon to a place where we hope mercy and forgiveness await I wait for grief to leave, but it persists

Duty

We hate war but honor soldiers One takes and others give, and some gave all. Not all know courage, glory, or fame but all soldiers served. All wear the wreath of noble cause. Some lie in unmarked graves, others commemorated where we pause. And all find finally every cell’s shape’s forgiven as all form and bones release to earth But these graves, marked by wreaths and respect are worn well as they their duties served.

To Those I Love and Those Who Love Me

I am gone, I know not where. Release me. I have seen all the things that I could see. Weep you may, but don’t tie me to those tears. Be thankful for all those beautiful years. I gave you my love, you can only guess How much you gave to me in happiness. I thank you for the love you each have shown, But now I’m free and I must go alone. So grieve a while for me, if grieve you must. Then let your grief be comforted by trust. Please hold our memories within your heart. And share them with your dear friends as I part. My mem’ry won’t be far as your life goes on. Reminiscence of times before I was gone Although you cannot see me, I’ll be near, And if you listen with your heart, you’ll hear. My love around you warm and soft and clear. Then, when you must pass along unknown way I hope you’ll be able to hear me say I’m gone to a place with no pain or fear Thank you for those times when we were all near (a rework of a elegy from a long time friend’s funeral original author unknown)

A Marionette in Various Light

Walks in the glow of fluorescent lights, stutters down a hallway surrounded by greens, blues, reds, and purples wearing the same colors on crepe paper thin skin.

Wanders through a landscape marked by scars and bruises floating on skin that swims on a river with bony shores.

Numbs to the needle’s punctures and other abuses to this pockmarked body waiting for the final mercy.

Waits for a happiness measured by the absence of pain. Soon will begin the playing of a requiem of silence that now is only interrupted by the sound of breathing.

Settles into bed, pulling covers up to see what the darkness brings at night when the light goes out.

Unanswered Prayers (first version)

I prayed for peace there was war and then there was more, there is always more.

I prayed to end hunger children starved, then was more, there is always more.

I prayed for victory one side always loses and someone’s always lost.

I prayed for mercy someone died, and another, someone always dies.

I prayed for understanding it came in small doses or it never came.

I prayed for faith doubt crowded in, faith did not come, it never came.

“Unanswered Prayers” (version 2)

Sunsets bled to darkness and winds changed from breeze to winter’s stinging bite.

It drove me to my knees.

I prayed for victory one side always loses, and someone’s always lost.

I prayed for peace there was war and then there was more, and there is always more.

I prayed for mercy someone died, then another, and there is always pain.

But no matter my wishes and prayers fate is sometimes announced from the mouth of Petri dishes. Spoken through clenched jaws through the mask of a fake smile that can’t conceal what fate awaits.

I prayed again for mercy but superstitions can’t make a man bulletproof.

But sometimes death is a victory a peace a mercy.

The Next Horizon

A wave

Washes over. An unexpected white cap crashes. The same waters that passed from shore Flow back as they always do. Those same waters rise then fall again And rise then fall again.

Consolations spoken long ago Sweep back from watery depths to shore. Some words return... “In this time of misery You may not think You will ever feel better but You will.”

“There is no more pain For them now.”

“As for our pain, time slowly heals the wounds.” From some deep well those words come back As echoes in my head, Echoes in my head.

More words come back. “You will be happy again.” “Loved ones are always gone Too soon

But we can treasure memories” Treasure memories.

Memories And words don’t bleed But I do. Words don’t weep But I do. I do.

When waters rising shore and breaking waves have called you to their depths, When depths of sea and river Silence words of solace Reach out for that helping hand. I can be that helping hand.

When the next horizon seems too far, When recollections are only lonely Long roads Know that I will return. Words may come and go But I return.

When you are a dim ghost light in an empty theater Know that I can be with you. When you hear the whistle of a distant train Know that we once heard that distant whistle too. We’ve shared that light and sound. You arenot alone.

When days end And you do not care to see another, When the next horizon Seems too far Know that another better day awaits. A better day awaits.

Rhythm Rhyme

We’re turning the age where turning the page is easier than memorizing the music. The acoustic bass is filled with moans and groans from a body forced to submission as cracking joints provide percussion.

We’re playing a measured tune as we dance into night in the light of the moon on aching feet to a plodding beat. These autumn songs we’re sowing have rhythms that are slowing.

A Free Drink 46 A Wish 34

Absorbing It All 5 Across 44 Addicted to Alcohol and AA 48 Amazing Machine 20 Amelia 36 Black Raspberry Jelly 2 Bluebird Box 17 Close 22 Crystal Meth Cowboys 48 Delicious Nap 3 Duty 51 Faith 24 Free Throws 41 Freeze Frame 12 Glass Hearts 21 Goodbye 20 Grand Canyon 14 Hope 34

I Do Not Know 26 I'm going to tell you the truth 40 Jimson Weed 15 Just Crossed the Road 28 kNOw 27 Lighthouse 45 Music in My Head 10 My Watch Dog 8 One Small Step 35

Our Father 33 Preachers 25 Refrain 9 Remember 19 Rhythm Rhyme 56 Ride 42 Rise 1 Salveation Souldiers 25 Savor 1 Shining 43 Skills 7 Slow Motion 11 Soybeans 4 Sunrise 38 Swallowed by the Wilderness 13 The Poem that Will Not Rhyme 18 The Truth Before Me Lies 29 The Way Home 39 Those Eyes 5 Those Hands 6 Time 2 To Those I Love 52 True North 18 Truth 23 Unanswered Prayers 54 Who’s right? 49 Why I Hate Gladiola 50 Wonder full 37 You and Jack 47

Photo Credits

Most photos by Mary Nierste except photos of Amelia by Nicole Jasperson and Brittany Nierste

Mike Nierste was born and mostly raised in Indiana. He was a technical writer for over thirty years.

His poetry has appeared in Flying Island, Tipton Poetry Journal, and frogpond, and in the anthology Cowboys & Cocktails, Poetry from the True Grit Saloon.

He is the author ofa book ofcontradictoryquotes and contranyms titled Contra-Diction.