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poetry by Patricia Golden

Dinosaurs

All that is left of them
Are Silent Fossils
And up from the silence
Came the terrible roar of Humans
And their Gods

 

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Corn Woman

The green field was a sea
Where the Wind made swells
Upon deep stalks of corn
The tassels fluttered
Like foam off ocean waves
And the rich turquoise sky rose
Upward from its    far edge

In the middle of the corn walked a figure
Against the Wind     against the waves
Listening..
A Woman     the color of the Earth
With long silver hair
Tossed upward     by the Wind

 

She was tall and strong like the stalks
Her eyes were closed
Her ears were open
She listened
As she walked slowly
And silently
Through the corn

Her face was sun drenched
And powdered with corn pollen
She stopped
Turned away from the East Wind
And through narrow eyes
Watched after the setting Sun

The Wind and blades caressing her back

The bright orb now flat on the horizon
Flashed a blue Fire     Then gone
The sky turned gray
The field was a dark blanket upon the ground
The woman    was but a shadow    in a shadow
That silently moved away ...

...then gone

The wind rolled over ...
And over ...
The black field,
Against the gray sky

The song of the corn
Rustled      and whistled ...
And creaked ...

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Blue Jeans and Bellies Over Belts

I stood there staring out
Through the screen door
At the setting pink sky
Watching the group of men in boots
Heading for the big gate to the corral
They were going to smoke cigarettes and shoot the bull

I could hear the clamor of dishes and silverware behind me
Chairs being shoved under the table
Voices giving commands to each other
Organizing the evening clean up
An occasional moan of how full somebody was
And how they wished they hadn't eaten so much

They ate too much
They always did
I began to feel uncomfortable
I knew I should be helping
But I wanted to be outside
I wanted to go with the men

The men would talk about the
Plows and plowing
Spring planting and harvesting
Sowing grass for the cattle
Cutting the herd
And castrating the calves

They'd be making dates
To meet at the Green Frog for coffee
Where you can still smoke indoors
Where more cowboys and farmers
Would gather and tell their stories
And tease the waitress and children
I did it
I broke the barrier between the kitchen
And the smell of Marlboros
I heard the screen door slam behind me
I imagined the look on the faces
Of the women inside

I kept walking toward the red glow of cigarettes
And silhouetted men in Stetsons
I parked right alongside one my size
I listened to endless tails of rugged rides
On horses and bulls in the olden days
Billy Weeks wore a copper bracelet for his arthritis

 

Twilight swallowed the blue and pink and clouds
Our shadows washed out against the metal barn
The crickets began to compete with the talk and laughter
Pretty soon the dawn to dust lamp by the shed came on
Moths danced around excitedly
And the bullbats dove in for their evening meal

An armadillo rooted beneath the plum tree
About five feet away
Nobody but me paid any attention
The stories just went on and on
Each man serious
Almost ready for a fight if challenged

Pete said by the time he was five
His Daddy had him on his own horse
Riding with the big men
Herding the cows
If one of them screwed up
He got a lickin for it

His cousin Carl mentioned
"Yeah, he sure was mean that way."
Harland coughed and spit
And said, "Shit!"

Pete once told me
That the first time his Dad ever told him
He loved him
Was on his death bed

The group got quiet
Just the heavy drags on cigarettes
The wind picked up and rustled through the live oak
We all sort of looked up at the stars at the same time
Then someone hollered from the house
"Pie's ready!"

February 25, 2000

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Earthman

I can feel your miles
They still travel through me
Bright warm sun strikes me
Clear and sharp
Followed by shadows from
Clouds,
Mountains,
Trees,
Birds,
Butterflies.

At my feet:
Water,
Sand,
Pebbles,
Rocks,
Moss,
Wild grass,

Native vegetation,
New and wonderful,
Old and dead.
Covered in
Dew,
Rain,
Snow,
Sandstorm,
Leaves,
Needles,
Seeds.

I smell the wind that holds all life in its constant breath.
Sweet fragrance of green,
Of flowers,
Pollen,
Fruit,
Wood,
Fungus,
Mold,
Moist dirt,
Invisible powders of Earth.

I hear the trees.
I follow the wind along sculptured lands,
Where rough boulders fall from high places,
Roll till round and smooth, and keep rolling to
Sand,
To shore,
To collide and crash with the ocean,
Where the fish jump in and out of the restless sea.

At the land's edge the seals bark,
And frolic,
And cry,
In play and in death's jaws

A shroud of gulls screech and call,
Joined by more birds till the sky is filled,
Swirling in birds and bees and flies.
They are all mixed up in the honey of life and copulation.

I feel the constant warm and cold of it all.
I cannot have one without the other
My lands mix with yours
There is a strange chorus of animals and insects
Dancing around me.
A blend of ancient and new.
Life, for a moment, passes in millions of years.
I can see both our vast worlds near and far,
In all its colors,
Shades of warm and cool,
Its smallest whisper,
Its loudest thunder,
Its sweat and tears,
Frozen rocks,
And flowing lava,
In and out of me.

I tasted this on your body,
In your mouth.
I see in your eyes the world turning,
The stars flying about the universe.
We are its brightest light,
Its darkest secret.
From us I hear the cry of the animal,
The touch of life.

November 23, 2003

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All poems on this page Copyright 1997 and later by Patricia M. Golden. All Rights Reserved.

 

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