Poem: The Hubris of Angels

After a night of tortured sleep,
I leave the others to walk
Along the coast, just above Highway 1.
Through the morning mist,
Two silhouettes come into focus.
Two cormorants, perhaps,
Engaged in a romantic display,
But human voices seem to carry
Through the fog, echoing against
The coastal cliff. I become convinced,
Against reason, that these are angels,
Perhaps sent with a message of enlightenment.
I’m giddy, and I try to make out the words
That might make an insufferable existence
Worthwhile after all, but the language fails me.

I can only tell the larger of the angels seems
To be shouting his desperation, or warning,
or even despair, but his words are swallowed
by the wind and fall with a thud on the coast.
The smaller angel seems locked in vertical climb,
Racing to heaven on wings that slowly dissipate.

Surely his ascension is at hand.
But in agonizing beauty, this wingless
Creature begins a rapid descent,
Followed by a forlorn father
Racing to the depths of a pacific
And welcoming sea.

The sun is now high above the horizon,
The mist is burned off, and the village
Welcomes a clear day with hopes
For a bountiful catch and an ignorant
Faith in its own unrevealed destiny.

angel art black and white clouds
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Poem: Icarus at the Beach

At 12, I rode my first dirt bike.
Don’t go too far, he said as he
Helped me coordinate the clutch
And throttle and set me down
The beach. I could have turned.
In theory, it should have been easy
On a flat and empty beach,
But what does a boy with this
Kind of power for the first time
Know about turning back?

No one had explained this part,
And I just held on and kept
Twisting the throttle till
The sand seduced me,
And I helplessly sank under
A bike I had no chance of lifting.

And my angry Daedalus came stomping
Across the sand with furious reminders
That I had been warned. I had been
Told not to go too far.

And I imagine Icarus soaring higher
With no idea how to govern either
His speed or altitude—driven
By equal parts exhilaration and terror,
Waiting only for the comforting
Embrace of Poseidon,
The father who never
Lets us out of his grasp.
The father who can’t let go
And smothers us with love.

ocean under cloudy sky
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Poem: Seek Your Joy

adult affection bed closeness
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At an unprogrammed Quaker meeting
The spirit moved someone
To remind us to find our Joy.

After, a friend said she would
Find joy in a nice boy toy.
Or maybe it was a toy boy.
She said one is a boy
You’d like as a toy
And the other is something
A boy would like to play with.

We giggled at that,
And I was reminded of a joke
About a party where everyone
Was feeling Joy
Until she got mad and left.

We can no longer joke
About violating Joy,
And I am not bothered,
But then I have a passing reverie,
And I imagine I married Joy.

We became known as
Randy and Joy,
And people made jokes like,
“When Joy feels Randy,
It brings him Joy.”

I sort of regret it never happened
Just for the chuckles we’d have.

R Horton

Poem: Washed Out to See

golden vase with assorted flowers
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The vase had to be washed out

To see the inscription in the bottom.

I can only imagine the painstaking

Effort it took an artisan to create

This handcrafted and exquisite

Lettering all with the intent

Of letting me know that when

I peered to the bottom of this

Cylinder, this hand-blown

Translucent masterpiece,

I would be peering into the finite,

The end. I will have seen

All that there is left to see.

 

Poem: Delayed Gratification

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She had never known the pleasure
Of delayed gratification. She always
Said, “Life offers no promises,
So eat dessert first.”

And who could blame her?
She had lost it all in a flash.
Her faith, her hope, her love,
Her trust, and
Her innocence.

Still, he continued to promise
The congregants a better life
As soon as this miserable one
Is over.

Poem: Fair Wind and Following Seas

For Doug and Cindy

Your mother only knew the comfort
Of gentle beaches with waves that caressed
And never battered holiday bathers.
She only knew the pacific beaches of
The Great Lakes and idyllic Asian islands.

She had never experienced the brutality
Of the Texas Gulf Coast, and she would
Have assumed “riptide” to be a video game
Or pop song, not a lethal feature of
A holiday destination.

And what better way to spend Mother’s Day
Than with your children at the beach?
It’s the stuff of Norman Rockwell cards
And saccharine American traditions.

And you both swam like stars.
You loved the diving board, and
You never left the deep end. You
Were invincible. I remember your
Laughter as you always escaped
In a game of water tag.

It’s easy to nod off at the beach, or
Just break concentration for a
Moment as the breeze kisses your cheek.
In an instant, you may
Realize you no longer hear the
Joyous cacophony of childhood laughter.

In an instant, your sister is gone
Under the punishing waves and against
The unforgiving grain of packed sand.
I don’t know, but I think you tried to
Find her, giving your last
Conscious moments to her aid.

Somehow, your body stayed with us,
On machines, for three more days.
I can’t describe the unreality of those
Days, but it finally ended to the chords
Of “Born in the USA,” which your patriot
Father asked the radio station to play
Over the air as your body
Was finally permitted to lay at rest.

Through the tears, I still chuckled at the
Irony, as you were born in Japan, and
Your father had never listened to
The lyrics of that song.

R Horton

scenic view of ocean during sunset
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Poem: Momentary Bliss

analogue classic clock clock face
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He said he wanted to make love
To her momentarily, and she didn’t
Know if he wanted to commence presently
Or only share his passion briefly.

Some people think it bad usage, of course,
To say momentarily to mean something
Will happen directly, in the immediate
Future, but true pedants disagree.

The disparaged usage has been around
Since at least the 19th century,
And use determines usage,
After all, and it isn’t worth a wasted moment.

But still some schoolmarm types
Will judge our eager young lover,
Who wishes only to let go of formalities
And begin his partner’s pleasure forthwith.

R Horton