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

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Poem: Momentary Bliss

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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

Fiction: Seven Oaks and the Alcoholic Lifestyle

XIVScreenshot 2019-07-29 at 22.08.37

Someone said Jim lived in Seven Oaks. Now, to some people that might sound like a compliment or, at least, a nice comment on account of the fact that some pretty nice places are named Seven Oaks, but Seven Oaks, Texas isn’t one of them, and Jim didn’t own or rent any kind of home in Seven Oaks.

Jim lived in Livingston, Texas, which was a few miles south and happened to be the county seat of Polk County, which was a dry county, meaning you couldn’t buy a drink of alcohol in Livingston come hell or high water. If you liked to imbibe a drop or two of spirits, wine, or beer, you’d have to drive north or south on highway 59 until you got out of Polk County.

If you drove north on 59, you’d cross the county line and be greeted by a sign saying, “Welcome to Seven Oaks.” If you drove a tiny bit further, you’d see the Seven Oaks bar. I don’t think it is there anymore, but you’ll still find a liquor store there.

Anyway, that Seven Oaks bar didn’t exactly have a concealed parking lot, so your car would just be sitting there for God and all the world to see.

So if any of your nosy neighbors or family saw your car there more than once in a week, they might start gabbing around about how you lived up there or something. It was a not so nice way of saying you were a drunk.

I don’t remember anyone ever saying he was an alcoholic, though. In fact, his sister insisted that he most certainly was not an alcoholic, though she did concede that he made a habit of being drunk, so she was willing to say he was a habitual drunk, but he never got the DTs if he didn’t have a drink for a few hours or anything like that.

And he could clean up and get through a Sunday sermon all right if push came to shove, and alcoholics can’t really pull that off, so he just stayed drunk because he wanted to—not because he had to.

And I guess that’s all that matters sometimes, you know? We’re all just trying to do good enough to pacify the family and the neighbors. If you can keep that up, you might just have a pretty good life. And who knows, someday you might hit it big with one of those scratch-offs you keep buying at the Seven Oaks bar.

R Horton

Whispers of Dongpo in Bamboo Sway (#poem)

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The knocking of the bamboo
In the wind
Restores my awareness.

Su Dongpo said he could live
Without meat but not without bamboo.
Bamboo brings life, of course,
As meat destroys it, but
Dongpo had a different
Understanding (he loved eating meat),

Yet his words weave
Through the leaves
With warning and assurance
Of life whose end has not
Arrived so long as bamboo
Sways her promise to us.

 

I’ve Seen You With Other Lovers (#poem)

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I’ve seen you enveloped in passion
Entranced and wandering aimlessly
In all consuming lust as you fold
Into taut skin stretched over
A well-tuned bicep shimmering
With the sweat of ones who
Would possess you,
Confiscate your love,
Loyalty, lust, passion, devotion,
Breasts, lips, thighs,
And even your new mountain bike.

I’ve seen you capitulate to complete
Sexual abandon and forget
Your past, your future, and your
Unpaid mortgage. On some
Occasions, you switched from
Lover to lover in your bed
Like a child trying different
Ice creams at the shop with
So many flavours.

I’ve seen you soak the sheets,
Draw blood with your nails,
And shriek till the rafters shook.
You took it all in,
You put it all out.
You forgot who you were.
You looked through me,
Past me, beyond me.

You forgot I existed,
And when you remembered,
You laughed.

You laughed.
Then you shouted.
I had no business blocking
Your way to paradise.
I had no reason to be in your way.

But as you stroke my back,
I open my eyes,
And remember why I came.

No One Will Be There But Jesus (#poem)

statue of jesus
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As friends solemnly told him to call
On them if ever he needed anything,
Only his pastor was candid enough
To tell him Jesus alone would stay.

And so it was as it had always been,
Walking alone on the beach, in town,
Along the highway, and in the upstairs
Hallway with no memory of being carried.

He supposed Jesus was a faithful companion,
But a bit quiet, and not much help when
A flat needs fixing. He’s someone you can
Always talk to, but feedback is lacking.

And why should Jesus be different from the
Others? Why would the Son of God care
That he was lonely? Why would he look
For Divinity in the deep pools of loss?

Randall Horton

Leggett, Texas (#poem #lyrics)

Screenshot 2019-07-05 at 11.18.56You’ve been all over the world,
But you’ll never know where I’ve been.
The lonely street in this lonely town
Took me to hell and back again

If you’re lost in Legget, Texas
You must be broke down
Cause there’s only one road
In this ol’ one-horse town

You’ve seen more things than I will ever know.
And you’ve done things I’ve only dreamt about.
But my heart’s a path well trod.
The things I’ve seen make me want to black out.

You can find my family if you look
In the cemetery behind the church.
But you don’t want a complete history,
So I think you should just end this search

This town always had a story
That most are too afraid to tell.
Don’t ask too many questions
Or you might meet me in Hell.

If you’re lost in Legget, Texas
You must be broke down
Cause there’s only one road
In this ol’ one-horse town

Randall Horton