handkerchief
And walk from now on in confirmed non-belief.
August 30, 2013
Old Ben Cline
Ol’ Ben Cline, as bold as you please
Strolled past my house today
As usual, at noon, and blowin’ a tune
Just a grinnin’ and whistlin’ away
Like life is all fair, and he don’t have a care
Yet his jacket and shirt are still frayed
At collar and cuff, and boots all scuffed
From his years walkin’ streets and byways
That whistlin’ — Lord how it fractures my nerves!
Them old tunes that I used to know
And each one pullin’ some dead memory
Like a horse-drawn hearse passin’ slow
Bright little songs from smilin’ old days
When life was so sweet on the tongue
’Bout old mill streams and flyin’ machines —
We looked past ourselves when we sung
But the world grew so dark and went through that arc
Of war, and depression, and pain
Our lives went to hell, and there’s no way to tell
If we’ll ever see bright days again
But Ben all the while, never loosin’ his smile
Kept on deliverin’ the mail
And blowin’ so happy them sappy ol’ songs
Every day past my house without fail
I’d holler, “Pipe down! There’s people aroun’
Don’t like hearin’ notes that sour!”
He’d smile and wave hi, whistle on by
And return the next day on the hour
I ’member sayin’ “Someday we’ll be prayin’
Your soul to its heavenly rest
But I’ll see your lips cold and quiet at last
And feel like my life has been blessed.”
So wouldn’t you say that it should be that way?
Souls rise when death sets ’em free
So please tell me why, six years in his grave
That man just will not let me be
September 9, 2013
A Meeting in the Woods
I walked today
a cold long way
by wooded path
I knew of old.
Her voice was there
in lingering air,
an echo forest
limbs enfold.
I’d hoped to find
a quiet mind,
but paid instead
love’s bitter cost.
Where she once walked,
where we once talked,
I felt too keenly
all I’d lost.
While cold, frustrated,
feeling fated
to be love’s
sad orphan child,
I heard nearby
a sudden cry —
almost a scream —
one strained and wild.
Off to my right
in obscure light
a figure slight
amongst the trees.
Sobs overcame
her weakened frame
and she collapsed
down to her knees.
Her pain-filled eyes
whetted her cries
to such an edge
they cut my soul.
My own despair
was echoed there;
we were a pair,
and neither whole.
Had she, too, played
with love’s sharp blade
till wounds were made
by lover’s hand?
From opened vein
to bleed out pain
till what remained
one could command?
What then? To go?
To leave her so?
Like me, brought low
by heart bereft?
Mere courtesy
commanded me
to turn and seek
the path I’d left.
My wont had been
to shut grief in.
But had I found
an hour’s release?
Perhaps if bared,
by two hearts shared,
torments might ease,
if not surcease.
I drew nearby
to offer my
assistance to her
in her plight;
held out my hand
to help her stand,
and said some words
inane and light.
“Don’t think me rude
if I intrude,
but we should go now,
both of us.
“Dark clouds hang low
above this show.
They’ll soon make tears
superfluous.”
Dried by her sleeve
her eyes perceived
clear sight of me
and weren’t amused.
And when she spoke
her voice was choked
and angry, if
a bit confused.
“Seeing me here,
was it not clear
I sought no stranger’s
company?
“What do you gain
to see my pain?
Why seek you to
make sport of me?”
“Apologies
if I’ve displeased.
These paths to me
are quite well known.
“From time to time
I find that I’m
drawn back, that I
might walk alone.
“I, too, seek ease
’midst silent trees,
to vent some grief
where none intrude.”
Some mollified,
she then replied,
“Then both of us
seek solitude.
“You go your way,
and I will stay —”
“— What then? To drown
in nature’s tears?
“I would suggest
we find some rest
and shelter from
the coming storm.
“If so you please,
just past these trees,
I’ve house and hearth
might keep us warm.”
Her face, in flood
with risen blood,
now paled somewhat.
She felt the sting
of breath of storm
on her spare form;
my cloak helped ease
her shivering.
Reluctantly
she gave to me
her hand and we
regained the path.
I hoped she’d see
sincerity
in proffered help,
and cool her wrath.
As we first walked,
I little talked;
she little wished it
otherwise.
I formed a plan,
and so began
to scorn love and
provoke replies.
“Here love is furtive,
then assertive;
acted out, and
rote lines said.
“The actors’ pay
is locked away;
but later opened,
proves but lead.”
Though she had, too,
some cause to rue
love’s false embrace
had held her heart,
yet she averred
my caustic words
were ill-considered
on my part.
“You castigate
that which of late
was treasured while
it stayed with you.
“Do gold and gem
become dross when
the giver steals
away from you?”
I then replied,
“Love occupies
a heart like some
invading force;
/> like hungry savage
ravages,
then torches all
as it takes horse.”
But she deplored
my metaphor
for sanguinary
imagery.
“Such marshaled force
is not love’s course;
we freely give
it fealty.
“Without contest
it makes conquest
of all who would
subjected be.”
“But love, untrue,
will slice in two
the bonds owed that
false suzerain.”
“Then must we find
a lord more kind
and honest, if
by chance we can.”
By sidelong look
which I then took
I saw physic
in our exchange:
her thoughts, diverted,
had reverted
to Socratic
interchange.
Soon our discourse
veered from its course
and other subjects
were explored.
My cot was gained
before it rained;
a warm hearth brought
us to accord.
Now at our ease,
we dined on cheese,
some cold meats, and
uncorked a wine.
I toasted speech
that let us reach
a comfort neither
hoped to find.
Our minds, too grave,
contesting, gave
their melancholic
thoughts release.
Thus do storms vie
till eye meets eye,
unwind, and find
at last some peace.
The weather broke
and soon she spoke
of need to make
her way back home.
Her village lay
not far away
down that same path
we’d walked alone.
The rain, we found,
had muddied ground,
so that a stroll
was deemed unwise.
And so my chaise
by steady pace
soon brought us to
our last good-byes.
Though paths divide
some ghosts abide,
and memories
fast hold my heart
I do confess
I need redress
from sore regrets
that never part.
This memory
is haunting me:
her rose lips part
to sip port wine;
are parrying
and countering
every verbal
thrust of mine.
Should I pursue her,
open to her,
hope my hopes
in her are found?
Or hope that she
comes seeking me?
Between us lies
a neutral ground.
Two weeks, and more,
I’ve left my door
to make my way,
in sun or rain,
to where we met,
that fate might let
her steps one day
find me again.
October 20, 2013
After the Storm
I stand and see in ocean spray,
now pearled by the light of dawn,
a thousand friendly eyes that play,
and wink at me to urge me on.
I am the galleon risen from
the tomb of trough to crest of wave;
through the blast of storm I've come,
from a darkness like the grave.
I see by sextant I have veered
leagues past measure from my course
into strange latitudes I feared;
yet find no cause now for remorse.
And so I sing of long night’s end.
and listen to the water’s song;
though I had not an ear to lend,
these seas have called me all along.
From gulls that float above the mast
discordant notes are sweetly voicing
words that I can hear at last:
“We one and all share your rejoicing!”
October 22, 2013
About the Author
Daniel Daugherty and his wife Jo Ann are Ohio natives who have been living in Colorado for more than forty years with their children and grandchildren, all Colorado natives. He is a retired electronics technician who has been writing poetry (rather fitfully) for the last twenty-five years.
Her Life Is On This Table and Other Poems Page 8
