Anthony Watkins's Blog, page 19

Come with Me

While I drive

one hundred miles

per hour down Facebook

glancing at the angry neighbors

taking out their trash

and taking pictures

of their food

(yes, I do that)

They scowl and I

cuss and laugh

until someone

does it to me.

Then I scowl and wonder

how anyone can be

so flip about what matters

the cilantro, the avocado,

the trip I took

to Kansas

or Philadelphia

but now I have

my foot on the gas

and I laugh and laugh.

Fog and Thistles

might take you to the green

of British Isles,

for me it’s the early morning roadside

along highway twenty-seven.

East into a blinding sun,

to god knows where.

I follow a map,

take some pictures,

talk to strangers,

fall in love with new dogs.

Long after the fog

has burned off,

this is no sea coast,

only inland karst,

and yet the thistles remain,

tall and slender,

purple heads later

to be clouds of parachute seeds,

but at the moment,

there is only me,

the thistles,

the fog,

and the brilliant sun

burning through to reach

my squinted eyes.

I Like Pharmacists

and librarians

usually better than bankers

and preachers

though a bookseller

with a certain

penchant for philosophy

fills my head

like a cold,

but in a more

pleasant way.

Free books,

and medical advice

I can trust,

is generally

of the most value

and yet,

a good book

can cure

so many ills

The Last Good Sip

of cold black 

coffee ends 

the morning

Water and soda 

and plans 

for lunch.

The Poet Who Never Knew

he would get older

or old, even

wakes at one-thirty

in the morning

as is his usual way

from bathroom to coffee pot

to the desk where he keeps

his sugar tester

One-forty-one

a little high,

but not bad

his doctor will be happy

The coffee is ready

his ninety pound lap dog

is ready for her

moment in the yard

Mondays are perfect.

Eating Rainbows

spitting out

the lollipop seeds

on the banks

of the licorice river,

watching them grow

instantly sixty feet tall

covered in cotton candy leaves

and dripping lollipops

along the shore.

They say chocolate

is good for headaches

and ice cream

for your tummy

and black coffee

cures hallucinations.

I sip my coffee,

eat my chocolate,

and know there is no

lollipop tree.

To H his Own

I filled out the middle term

with original bird songs

from the H’ung dynasty

Without knowing when

that was and

who they were,

the H’ungs

nor the birds

and wondering

at the choice

of nor and or

and at all the people

who are too offended

by the wrong selection

to enjoy when

my guitar sounds

like an Asian mynah bird

and whether to ‘h’

or not to ‘h’

For those I

have no words,

only disgust,

but disgust,

set to a gentle

strumming of open chords

Thirteen

I was going to change the world

Writing a dozen influential novels

 and half as many

books of poetry,

all to be studied and

remembered for at least 400 years.

Sixty-three

pre-dawn coffee

walking the dog

listening to both

rain on the front porch tin roof

and the courthouse bell

across the street

tolling four am

eating a sandwich made from

leftover cream chicken

 my wife cooked for supper last night

planning pork tocas for breakfast

a family trip to Tallahassee

for broken watches

and college clothes

then back to supper

of home-made deep-fried eggrolls

tomorrow a trip to the springs

before the rain comes

I never changed the world,

but I have loved the life,

so far

What if

All the animals

and the plants,

trees, flowers,

cattle and fish

had secret philosophies

and songs they sing

that we know

nothing about

where each creature

is the center

of its own universe

where mosquitoes

ants, and horseflies

have gods

in their own image

their stories are written

in the ant hills,

in the cow paths

and the way the leaves fall

in autumn.

And yet, we silly humans

think we are the end

of everything.

Why would nature

make us the only

vain foolish creatures?

Heat lightning

sheet lightning

where the blue

turns to black

way far across

the flatland.

It’s a hundred here

in the dark

no rain only

the false promise

of a storm.