Poems

Lou Ward

His native wife had kicked him outOf the house to live in an old trailer house,Wearing his ten gallon hat, worn old jeans,cowboy boots, vest and Levi jacket,He held court in the blacksmith shop,Entertaining his customers, who cameTo buy car parts from his junkyardOr rent the use of his anvil and forge.Boys on their way to or fromThe swimming hole in the creekBelow his ramshackle domain,Would stop for a storyAnd sweet spring water.They, we, marveled at the huge bump on his high arched noseAnd envied him the deep stains on his jeansThat may have never been washed.His stories gave a sense of reality to the old west.I remember the pride I felt whenMy father shod my horse as old LouLooked on.

Vance

Walking like a dog, slightly sideways,He could cover ground fast and silent.Suddenly appearing on our back porch,His ancient cowboy hatUpon his head:A pearl handled six shooter on his hipHis filthy vest almostHid the pistol in his armpit holster.Vance HamiltonKept horses and gave away his storyFor free.A veteran of World War The First,He was shellshocked;Not quite right, we said,Given to long rambling monologues that madeLittle sense, he would talk about his herbCraft remedies too.Years later I found one I rememberedTo be the cure for a stubborn sore throat.He left the mountain,Moved into town,Became something of a dandyWearing suits and tiesAnd clean polished boots.

McMan

Living alone,A hermitIn a modern age.Talking non stopTo the occasionalVisitor. His amberBeard magnificentAbove his oil-stainedSuit, that covered clothing (perhaps another suit).A suit so stained that one guessedThat it were (or was)Dark blue like a bankers.His non-stop talkingHeld little wisdomAnd not much interestAnd when it stopped;At his funeral, his beard was snow whiteWith the smoke and tobacco juiceWashed out of it.

At Rimrock

Bird sounds…If I hold my breath,No sound.Between breathsA master saidEnlightenmentCan occurI treasure silence,ListeningListeningBetween breathsShadows play upon this pageCourtesy of the sunAnd tree outside this window;The wind claims its shareRecognizing breathAs part of its familyBetween breaths, wholenessBird song bright sunBreeze

© Rory Link 2010