The house on Mason Road
is set in the woods with a dirt driveway.
—Mail box leaning
is the only indication of an entranceway.
Both for the snowplows and visitors.
—One, hopefully will miss—
The other, with blinker on
—will turn in
Around the wooded curve to a clearing
where there, sits a house on Mason Road.
King, Princes, and Queen of the peaceful
Open Fire Tribe, harmoniously reside;
surrounded by pines, hardwoods,
— and one apple tree.
Two Princes protect the entrance
With a bold plastic pink flamingo
—ready to pounce
On imaginary villains who mean to do “good” harm!
Prince Popo? First with a plastic hammer; if the shadow has a cast.
Prince Gavyn? Waits for introductions, ducking once or twice
in the invisible clash… eventually both smile with relief
as they are greeted with the sight of bright white teeth,
—giving the signal to continue,
to all walk towards the fire
with hugs and handshakes when possible
—Since most of them have their arms full.
Bringing food, twigs, beer, wine, whiskey, and wood
for an evening’s non-occasion meeting of the Fireside Tribe.
Conversation and laughter overtakes everything
as tradition prescribes,
—they put all things,
other than their ancestors,
And their continued fellowship
I listened to the bell ring at sunset
I hear the sound passing each day as death;
Knowing in the ‘morrow it will still ring,
Awakening me with yesterdays debt.
I yield to the monster of this day’s Light
With discipline. With matter. Not with fright!
The high notes settle silence with low notes
To kneel in sound whose vision has no sight.
Ah, but such is my luck! The damn thing rings
Morning, noon, and night. My life inspiring,
Regardless of my nature or my regrets.
They pale to my rise every morning.
Someday I shall be the first to wake it—
Or, bid good evening before sun’s exit.
“Over and over and over you begin.
Drop, fall, falling and fall
In love again— as the seasons pass,
See your hearts reflection
Looking through the window
One elbow on the windowsill.”
You grew from a seed, fallen from an oak. In your fall
You were embraced in the womb of bright-colored fallen leaves
—quilted for the comfort of winter
—made just for you.
It is nature’s well-attended consummation.
Cleansed by snow, baptized in spring rain,
Encouraged by the earth beneath you,
The sun of life above you—
You grew with patience, understanding, and perseverance.
Now, having watched all seeds grow: let me fall again
—in age with roots entwined and with fallen branches
To nourish you, with patience, understanding, and perseverance
—to build your own home in harmony with nature’s beautiful quilt,
As you drop, fall, falling, and then fall in love again
Over and over and over, you begin.
Where ever you started or finished,
First or last, the game was won.
It all began when you dressed for them all.
Starting positions? Often left opened.
But, acknowledging there were better players on the team
That you should have passed to, when your ass
Was about to get massive grass stains
For failed fancy footwork and tripped by your own feet,
Flying in the air praying a Holy Mary,
For no broken bones.
Oh, shit! At 70, I wake up having to remember all this again?
Start the bus!
Hey! I am on my way out of here, a shot of Vodka, V8 juice and a note on the chalkboard thanking all the players
That dressed for them all.
~ Baked beans in the pot resting with salt pork, hot dogs browning in a small amount of butter on the stove top, brown bread, peeking’ from wrapped aluminum foil nested by the bean pot steaming, drifting, filling the house with a familiar Saturday night smell. Grandma, the matriarch, while straightening and re-arranging Christmas decorations is shuffled off as the children and their families drop in with hugs and greetings. They shed coats for memories of new years past, recognizing the dining room table and the familiar plates, glass salt and pepper shakers, bread and real butter to toast merriment of a seasons’ joy and the ever-present beginning of a new year.~
All proclaiming it
That true nature within us
Is the prophecy.