by Adam McFee
quietly
A river of calm
Flowing easily
Through the scene.
Never an enemy made
Or a bill left unpaid
He was benignly polite
And wouldn’t dream
Of being mean,
Like a shadow hidden,
In the shade.
A road devoid
Of twists and turns,
Lined
With pretty flowers
And polished urns,
Running straight
Into the grave.
Like most
I knew him slightly
At his service
Attended lightly
We paid our respects
With pleasant words,
Some dirt,
And a spade.
At the Border
We drove down to Mexico
In a sixteen year old Honda
And were asked at the border:
How much cash are you carrying?
Do you have any guns?
I thought to myself:
I guess if I had enough
Of one or the other
We wouldn’t be
Driving down to Mexico
In a sixteen year old Honda.
An Observation
Relatively speaking
It’s all about relativity:
Bodies in motion
And your heart beating
In time
To the wings of a hummingbird
Flitting
From flower to flower
In the fading light.
The moon rises on the horizon
In an everlasting courtship;
The seas captivated
By it’s cold embrace.
Reflections
He looks into her eyes and sees
-Beauty and Pain-
A little
Happiness around the edges,
Dreams and second guessing,
And the desire
To be everything
To everyone.
The nagging insecurity
Inherent in that impossibility
Interfering with
The only true want
Of others;
For her to see herself
As they see her.
Someone You Used to Know
Run far and run fast
Putting the past
Behind you don’t
Need me around
To remind you
Of promises broken
And lies
That were spoken
And hope the
True One will
Find you
One day I’ll be
Just a distant memory
That wishes you well
Never an enemy just
Someone you used to know
Or
Believe in the dream
That was even
When all wasn’t
What it seemed
Drive on through the night
Waiting for the dawn
That could be false
Afraid of
Being a pawn
And your whole body screams
This is wrong
But you wake up
One day
To find the light
Streaming
Through the blinds
Illuminating the man
Lying next to you
Seeing that time
Brought back
The someone you used to know
Sugar and Spice
She slithers
Through the tall grass
Cocktail glass in hand
Death
In a little black dress.
The smile on her face
By injection
Any warmth in her eyes
A reflection-
Pale moonlight and
Black ice.
Dichotomous phrases
Malicious and sweet
Flicked off a
Darting tongue
In concert with
Sharp teeth.
She works the room
Surreptitiously
Preying on the small and meek
Until the end
When she sheds her skin
Looking forward
To her next feast.
A Circle in Time
He crawls out of the hole
A man reborn
The sun shifting down
On his face,
A new day
A new beginning.
The streets before him
Clean
His path from here
Clear
He’s been this way
Before.
He leaves behind
A soul discarded
No use to him now,
He’s already selected
His next adventure-
The blood still drying
On his hands.
Virginia
Fireflies in a jar
Purple amber sky
Not quite night
The backyard soft
Under bare feet.
Sitting on the front porch
Cut cigar in a pipe
Smell in the air
Fresh watermelon
A slice of Heaven
From the A&P
Down the street
And tales of the coal mine
Harder times
Than these.
Some of my memories
From five to fifteen.
Old Photographs
So where do you think the lad
Has gone off to then?
You know I’ve only seen him
In pictures.
Not the sepia tones of old,
Mind you,
But you can tell
Those brown eyes
Have watched the years go by.
I wonder where he is today
And what sort of adventures
He’s had?
Could I pick him out
In the street
From a distance
Or in just a glimpse
Of reflective glass?
Would I recognize
In his eyes the child,
I’ve only seen,
In pictures?
A Florida Sunrise
Still waters in the bay
And a breeze brushes your cheek
Like a child’s kiss
Soft and warm
The sun shines
From above
Reflections of memory
In refracted light
Shadows of palm trees shimmer
On the still waters
Of the bay.
The Next Horizon
Broken glass on the highway
Flashes and flickers like
Shooting stars in the night sky
Hop in if you’re going my way
But never let anyone tell you
There’s such a thing
As a free ride.
Miles cost money
As do places
To lay your head
When you sleep
We live in a land of plenty
But you have to sow
In order to reap.
So stow your gear
Put your feet up
And your seat back
And enjoy the ride
As we chase the sun
Over the next horizon-
I’ll see you
On the other side.
A Stroll in the City
I donned my hat and coat,
for it was chilly,
to take a stroll
through the city
to see the people:
I saw
gulls-fighting for scraps at the market,
wolves-hunting the weak and the old,
blackbirds-drunk from too many ripe berries.
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Animals all.
Except
for the all-too-human
ice-blue eyes
of those who have
and the desperate soft brown ones
of those who need.
The Puppet Master’s Prayer
The world is my oyster
I shall not want
My callousness and avarice
Protect me.
I lie down on
Crisp and clean
Linen sheets
High above it all
In my spacious
And well appointed
Penthouse suite
While all you common people
Fight to survive
In your pathetic
Little lives
scurrying about in the streets
Amidst all the lies
About opportunity
And a better life
While people like me
Pull the springs.
Amen.
The Patriot
He looks at those
Unlike him
With eyes that
Stared out a little girl’s window
Of a certain house
In Amityville
At 3:15AM.
His expression
That of an
Epileptic slasher’s rendition
Of a sneer,
Carved into a face displaying
Piggish certitude and
Bovine delight,
Running with the hers
Bellowing platitudes
Of might and right
And Welfare Queens
Sucking on the teat
Of the Socialist State
The true patriot
And his bastardized vision
Of the American Dream.
A Game Well Played
Pick yourself up
-off the mat
-off the ground
-off the court
-off the ice
Stitch it up
Tape it up
Lace ‘em up
And get back in there.
Take the hit
But don’t forget
To give it back
As good as you get.
Play through the whistle
Run through the finish line
Finish your check
Make them pay
In front of the net.
At the end
Wipe off
-the mud
-the blood
-the sweat
And shake hands
Like a man
For a game
Well played.
A Description
You can’t breathe
You can’t run
You can’t fight
And you can’t make right
The wrong,
The damage done,
The scars run too deep,
Fury, pain, and what ifs,
Steal your sleep,
Dreams are nightmares
In the dark, and
No one to say to you,
It’s alright
Lying next to you
The cause, lit weakly,
In the morning light,
The dawn of another day
Together,
but still alone.
He can’t breathe
He can’t run
He can’t fight
He can’t make right
The wrong,
He can only try,
To atone.
Fun With Words
He was characteristically
Without character,
Deceptively earnest
And fastidiously unkempt.
She was honestly
Without honesty,
Diabolically emotional
And casually obsessive
About the company she kept.
They led a rigidly chaotic life,
She,
A fatalistically charming wife,
And he,
As pleasurable a sociopath
As one could hope to find.
They spoke expansively
Of narrow things,
Shiny cars and diamond rings,
And every day
Was randomly patterned,
In blissful strife.
Opportunity Cost
The rain is a reminder of tires
That should be replaced
But the car is fine
Really she’s grateful
That the payment isn’t too bad
And it gets her to work
Most days
And it’s just a blessing to
Have a job that pays
Most of the bills on time
And who needs more than that
Because a car
Is just a car
And a roof over their heads
Is all someone really needs
And it’s not like
They don’t eat well enough
Like those poor children
She sees on television
In some faraway place
And really
It’s a sin to want
More than you have
Right
We should be thankful
To live in a country
Where you can at least
Get by and to want
More than that is just wasteful
Pride cometh before
The fall and all
That and gosh
Look at those people
With their fast cars
And flash life
And really
That’s just too much
to ask for and just
Making it through
Another day on what you have
Is enough.
Economy of Scale
A thousand yard stare
And a lockjaw smile,
The taste of pennies
And cracked enamel.
Debits and credits
Wage war
On the calendar,
His suit of armor
And sense of honor
Sold on Craigslist
In the pursuit of dollars.
The rules on the battlefield
No longer matter-
The colors of his flag
Don’t run,
But they can unravel.
Ameritocracy
Pretty present promises
Wrapped and tied
With handcuffs of
Intricately woven ribbon
The contents of which
Are less than you paid for
But the tithe is just
The cost of doing business.
Hail to the creators!
The risk takers and profit makers!
The mercantile princes of industry!
Patriots of the world
Selling value and morality
To the lowly masses
And the classless,
Equality of opportunity
A small price to pay,
A little rent collectively
Going a long way to,
Maintain the plutocracy-
Manufactured diversion
And faceless enemies-
Made proudly
In the US of A.
Nostalgia
Like a warm blanket
Of long drowsy days
When it all cost less
And less was expected
Old songs on the radio
And the smell of summer rain
Pouring through the window
Driving down roads you’ve known
Forever
But don’t get to often
The shadows are safely buried
All that you see
Is golden filtered sunlight
A point of view available
Only in memory.
Blacktop
The road is black asphalt
Cracked by the sun
With telephone lines
Running down the sides
Heading to nowhere
I’ve been before
But like a brother
To others
I’ve seen.
Two lanes into nothing
It goes
And two lanes into nothing
It comes from
But someone
Somewhere
Drives it every day
And calls it home.
Time and Distance
In a time of connectedness
Is it wrong to feel
Apart
Separated by distances
Covered electronically
Immediately?
If I’ve been here
Seven years
And wonder where my friends
Have gone
Again
Is that wrong?
Years ago
Before I was born
We went to the moon
And yet
Was that a foreshadowing
Of years to come
Dirt running through
Gloved hands
There
But not really
A reasonable facsimile
Of life
In a suit designed
To allow one to live
In a place
Empty
Devoid of anything
That can sustain us.
Genealogy
I see you when I
Close my eyes
In snatches of memory
As I drive and
Sitting around with others
Saying remember when?
In the smiles and mannerisms
Of my son or daughter
Your ship having sailed prior
The waters in that
Particular harbor having
Flowed out with the tide
Replaced by others
Taking on the roles
You played for me
When I was younger.
My Religion
A line in the water at dawn
And a thermos full of coffee.
Sunset from a beachfront bar
Rum runner in hand
Acoustic guitar notes
In the fading light.
Greeting the sunrise
On the side of the road
The last vestiges of spring snow
In the mountains
Surrounding
The Mojave Desert.
Football on a Sunday
Chips and dip, wings,
And cold beer.
No stuffy sermon
In hard pews
An old man snoring softly
Beside me.
My cathedral
All around me
Every day.
The Rite of Parsonage
He wears the black frock
Of the Gospel
And the collar of a scholar
Of the Truth.
He leads
The Lambs of his flock
To the slaughter,
The sins of the Father
Visited on the Sons,
But never the Daughters.
Salvation lies
-In the Body
And the Blood-
The Communion of a Liar.
Death’s Head
Had they ever held
A breath of life
You could mark the contrast
But alas
His eyes
Have always been
Dead pools
Devoid of light
All the colors of the rainbow
Burned black in the
Fires of Hell
And poured into a face
Lacking any trace
Of humanity
Stretched tight
Across a grinning skull
Housing a ball
Of squirming worms
Electrified by the
Synapses of psychosis
Passing for a mind
In loose control
Of long strong fingers
And dirty ragged nails
Wrapped around
An old fashioned razor
Enjoying the lull
Between the screams.
The Play
Do you know your role
Have you memorized your lines?
When the curtains rise
Will it be worth the price
And all the sacrifice?
If life is a play
Do you play a part
Center stage
In the wings
In a seat
Or out in the street
Looking in?
And when the curtains fall
Will anyone
Anywhere
Remember it
At all?
Little Arguments
We yell shrilly
About small things
Cutting budgets
And clipping our wings
We’ve lost sight
Of the promise of
Eternal Spring
And the enhancement
That taking chances
Brings.
Romerica
The Blackwater is deep
Full of tentacles and teeth
Unseen by you and me
Flowing beneath our streets.
The cream rises to the top
Sustenance fed to us by drops
Until one day the charade stops
Information courtesy of PsyOps.
Are we the Pilot or the Son
The colors of this flag don’t run
Crosses high in the setting sun
Righteousness by the gun.
Some await His return
Yearning for the sinners to burn
The rack tightens turn by turn
Of course, none of your concern.
Would He find a home today
Or just get turned away
After all, Big Money holds sway
What would Jesus say?
The Houses We Build
Dust dances in the shafts
Of sunlight
Filtering into the room
Pictures adorn the walls
Old and new
In no particular order.
Mementos clutter the shelves
And desktop;
Words on papers
Scattered about
About what?
Endless hallways connect
Other rooms
Other doorways
Some locked
Some deservedly so.
There are places
Where the floorboards creak
And spaces
Of cold air
That shouldn’t be there,
But the foundation is solid;
The walls straight
And true.
Shelter from the elements
And a light in the darkness
And really
What more could you ask for
In a mind built
Just for you?
Miss Direction
Words on a page a blank sheet
Sun shafts pierce the clouds
Warming an empty street
Sounds all around
Canceling each other out
Like having connections
But not the clout
A bat smacks the ball
And no one there to cheer
Trees falling in the forest
Can anybody hear the song
Whispering through the static
Of the snow filled screen
Above in the attic
Trunks and boxes
Filled with yesterday
Warped and twisted
The contents rotting away
Tattered memories
Dissolving in
to dreams
Nothing ever
Is quite as it seems.
Ritual
I wanna burn the wood
Lying there in the dust and dirt
On the side of the road
Dried out and bleached
By the sun
Destruction and creation
Wrapped in one
Can you imagine the heat
And the light
Shining for miles
In a starless desert night
Coyote red eyes
And bats
Dancing in the thermals
In flight
As we worship the almighty fire
Wrapped in pyro-manic
Delight.
A Promise of Rain
Black clouds gather
On the horizon
Bringing the promise of rain
But rarely delivering.
And when it does come
It’s either a bratty child
That doesn’t want to share
Or a billion Chinese
Swarming over your base camp
In the bitter cold
Of a Korean dawn.
It’s so close I can smell,
Like lust and rust,
The thought of what I could do
With a cup full
Would make me drool
If I had any saliva left,
The sun burning that away
Almost as fast as
My sanity.
Just another day
On the dusty trail.
Defending the Line
I’ve got my boots on
And keep talking like that, son,
Soon
Guns will be drawn
At dawn we ride
Out of this town
Hat pulled down
The sun
Just a promise
Over the horizon.
In front of us
Darkness fades
Into shadows of light
As we leave behind
Those too slow
Defending the line.
History Lesson
I think about the roads I’ve driven
And wonder where I’ve been
Are all the miles behind me
Or are there still some within?
I think of all the words I’ve written
And all the words I’ve read
All the words I’ve heard
And everything I’ve said
Did they ever make a difference-
Or only in my head?
A hundred years from now
Long after I am
