My Sister's Graduation (and the trip there)

An attempt at looking red-neck.

Mt. Shasta

An empty graduation

A full graduation

A special graduate

Waiting for her name.

A Stationary, Amiable Grain

I the picnic table,
upon which you lay your arts and draw,
where you noted a grey tone,
it was reformed to green,
repainted to reflect your mood,
in my ingrained fancy,
I imagine for you the apex of my lush years,
their length cut short, by an eager axeman,
and came slowly, my parts lumbering in tow,
to your yard, to dwell there after,
furnished with ample art supplies,
to make me swell with pride as those paints dry and fade.

Party Line with a Ball and Chain

Collective order consists of tilted seesaws,
a constant weight in the favor of a single party,
keeping the opponent in an odd balance,
feet dangling down and head hanging forth,
a cold display of power paired with quiet surrender.

Illuminated by a honeycombed point of light,
a candle in a decorative cup,
with dark siren flowers displayed,
my tongue tilted up in silence,
thoughts held high and words dangling from them.

Man Hunt with a Twist of the Wind

Arms like that of a little boy's,
legs that clatter like old toys,
eyes that reflect the crashing of a thunder cloud,
hands that shake as a willow in the wind,
halted by fingers that stick back into the palms,
from where they came,

The feeling of a soaring bird topping a hill crest,
ahead of the pack, better than the rest,
within the ears resound the crack of a thunderbolt,
from a hunter gunning the sky,
and firing their game.

Oh mockingbird,
my heart goes out to thee,
for receiving what you did not sow,
for that you have my pity,
dumb as you were, you had no song to own,
but had another thrust in your throat,
one with a dramatic bang and whoosh of liberated feathers,
without them you fell too far, too fast,
so that I wondered: would you ever be found?