CREDIBILITY CRISIS
Steering through parched desert lands of
pointed poisonous cactus and creatures
I drive five hundred miles
to save my life.
Transporting my life-long weakness,
headaches, and muscle pain
to White Eagle, Shoshone shaman
renowned healer of all ailments
I seek solace.
As I approach his melting adobe hut
I notice a breeze snapping
white piece of notebook paper
bobby pinned to his torn door screen.
Gone to the doctor. Be back at one.
BACK TO MY ROOTS
In certain times and situations
I have written a poem
and in retrospect
it was my momentary scripture—my GPS
to organized thought and verbal expression
of a belief, an idea, an observation, or a sarcasm.
Speaking of sarcasm, I never openly ridicule,
but I can be so tongue in cheek
that the side of my mouth
is sore all the time,
and for days due to tongue spasms
I can only mumble incoherently.
WILSON’S OBSERVATORY
Ten thousand years ago
a Clovis man may have stood
on this very earth site
at this very moment of night
to view Your awesome,
definitive, consistent, dynamic,
stellar performance.
Perhaps a nomadic hunter
five thousand years ago,
a squaw and papoose
four thousand years later,
a buffalo soldier in the 1870s,
and a mountain biker last night.
But the variable
has always been mankind
never Your show,
and that brings a magnificent peace
to this old ex-country boy
back in God’s country tonight
turning and looking
turning and looking
turning and looking.
(From the courtyard of the Veranda Bed
and Breakfast Ft. Davis, Texas
one morning about 4 a.m.)
Or maybe no one has viewed
this performance
from this site
at this time of night
ever before.
Cenizo
Summer 2020
23