Puckett Publishing - Poems Volume 2

Volme Two: Gemini Rising

Cup and Blade	40^th Nawlins Jazz & Heritage
All I Want For Christmas	Autumn Reverie
A Worser Place	Being Not Here
By the Gulf on a Saturday Night	Clarity In the Mist
Do You See?	Instant Gratification
Irish Stones	Modern Moderation
Tommorow's Pause	Phoenix
Punditry	Road To Hell
Some Stray Sound	Something Set My Mind
So We Decided To Start Digging	Unfamiliar Road
What I Did Not Know

Balance the cup
Hold it gently, the wine is sacred
Drink it all up
Feel your head spin around
Look in her eyes
Dark and hazel, they make you feel naked
She’s young and wise
Dancing on holy ground

How did this all begin?
Why did this ever end?
Will she come back again, back again, back again?

Handle the sword,
Grip it tightly, the blade is broken
Give him your word
Feel the blood, watch it pour
Living with fear
Dark and awful, the spell has been spoken
The god is here
Give him all, still wants more

What’s gained in spilling blood?
Blood stains, it feels so good
God says that we should, that we should,
That we should, that we should

Don’t you want her?
Hold her gently, there’s life in her body
Don’t you prefer
Love instead of endless hate
This is all wrong
Death and taxes, none of it godly
Sing the old song
Learn the tune, it’s not too late

Love is how we’re made
Life’s not in a blade
Love is how we’re made, how we’re made, how we’re made

2005 Chuck Puckett

40^th Nawlins Jazz & Heritage

MAWs (White Middle Aged) predominate.

It’s 2009. At least they have

Some disposable income to dispose.

I was here back in 1974.

A smallish crowd, saw Professor Longhair.

Came back in ’81 or so.

Got drunk and lost a Radiators album

And a couple of hours of personal history.

Came in 2007, saying we were

Wanting to support post-Katrina Fest.

But Dr. John sat in with Van Morrison

And that was a time.

In 2009, the MAWs lost it on Friday,

Going crazy for Joe Cocker,

Gave a little help to his friends.

On Sunday, the MAWs are outnumbered

By twentysomethings

Losing it for Dave Matthews.

It changes. It stays the same.

All I Want For Christmas

What? Did the kid have abusive parents?

Or some bully on the street shaking him down?

Surely it wasn’t meth or malnutrition.

And what a tragic irony, losing teeth at Christmas.

I wonder if that presented a problem singing carols

Or saying the lines at the Christmas pageant.

They probably made him be a shepherd:

It wouldn’t do to have a Magus bearing incense

While lisping to Herod about following a star.

On the other hand, it was bonanza time

When the tooth fairy flew in. Tootherbell

Had to pay up on a two-fer,

Two quarters under the pillow,

That’s like ten Sugar Daddys,
Or five fudgesicles.

Autumn Reverie

Early Autumn in clear glory
With a touch of heat
Just outside the shade of still green trees.
Sky, unadorned by cloud,
A single high contrail
Fleets across the zenith,
Then fades back into the perfect blue.

Around the edges of leaves,
In the poplars and the persimmons and the rosebuds,
The faintest ghost of arid color
Tinges the future florid Autumn.

For now, it’s the rampant green Autumn,
The clear, perfectly hot
Southern Alabama Autumn,
Composed of equal parts
Clarity and warmth
And the haunting expectation
Of the coming coolness.

A Worser Place

Mucous blood-soaked leavings
Perilous siege and hard fought breath
Lookout mountain climbing vines
Placenta with a Jesus face tears
Walking away in definite stride
Pushing tendrils from faces torn
Apart in terror and hopeless
Leavings, lost on a rotten wharf.
I know you and your teeth
Your carrion bloat, your dead limbs.
Pulling life into its final pulsing,
Weaving threads into dead cloth.

I’d run if running were allowed
But signs point to exit ramps beyond
All human eye can see the colors
Wrapped around the dead and lonely.
Is there tomorrow or anything like
A path or road or avenue
That has more than empty laughter?
Hollow tubes filled with yesterday’s
Vile and fetid jokes? A past propelled
Past perfect penitent prisoners
Carving license plates whose numbers
Spell a future filled with death?

Take this ribbon and tie it to the
Tree of life. Strangle a final breath,
Gasp a word or two, then waltz your
Feet towards daylight, like a torch.
It knows you, remembers you name
And pretends that roads lead somewhere.
Somewhere other than this vacant lot,
Somewhere solid, filled with crimson
Twisted portions of regret. Somewhere
Other than this empty, barren plain.
I’d give golden memories to recall
What hallowed saints stood by this
Empty canyon calling angels
Whose wings are broken screams.

Being Not Here

Had my eyes shut tight

Had my ears plugged up

I was bound and gagged

I was nothing

Could not touch the world

Every door was shut

Every sense was dead

I was waiting

If there was someone outside

Didn’t know it

Some reason to have cried

Didn’t show it

Whether I lived or died

Didn’t change the human tide

It just kept on flowing

Then a crack appeared

In the borderline

Just enough to see

I could get through

And so I slipped inside

And I viewed the world

And the word viewed me

Like a mirror

My fingerprint was clear

I could see it

I could taste and I could hear

I could feel it

I must have always lived and died

I can’t retract the life that I’d

Just supposed that I’d denied

And the ceaseless human tide

Is filled with Being

By the Gulf on a Saturday Night

Sitting by the side of the Gulf
At six pm on a Saturday night
I can see the rim of the world out there
The semi-circular rim of the world out there
On the edge of my sight.

And this is what Infinity means
It’s not some mathematical point,
Not a vanishing series of numbers.
It’s personal.
Infinity is personal, and it is ringed
And yet it is not ringed.
It rings in my ears, and it sings in my mind
As my eye follows the rim of the earth
Around the semi-circle of the sea
At six pm on a Saturday night by the Gulf.

Oh, that road of waves that rolls in from infinity
Oh, that roar of infinity that changes and yet does not.
Is always different, yet always the same.
Isn’t that what the Infinite means?
Isn’t the sky at the edge of the rim of the world
Going ‘round by my sight by the sea
At six pm on a Saturday,
Isn’t that infinity to me?

Isn’t infinity personal and touching,
And not far off and cold?
It’s warm and embracing,
It’s a wind that comes and goes
And will not stop.
It’s a world that comes and goes
And will not stop.
It’s waves of water that come and go
And will not stop. Oh, roaring water
That will not stop your endless sojourn
From the semi-circular rim of the world
As I sit by the side of the Gulf
At six pm on a Saturday night

Clarity In the Mist

How lovely to wake to fog,
To pull the blinds
And be surprised by softness.
Sunny dawns have their place
But misty mornings
Hold a hidden promise.

When the world is less defined
It leaves potential
For the unintended consequence.
When the edges of things are vague
The boundaries merge
Into the Oneness
That underlies us all.

Do You See?

Tell me now, do you see what I see?
It all looks like a wave on the ocean
Take me out, take me out to the sea
Carry me in perpetual motion
Look, a lady swimming on the waves
Greets the sky, she shines a mirror
Wonder what the fisherman gave
Now she’s singing, oh, can you hear?

We’ll be here when she comes again
We’ll be sure that we will see her then
It is all bound to begin
Again and again and again

Do we know what our memories are?
Lots of clues, but mostly confusion
If it’s true that we have travelled so far
Why does this feel like an illusion?
Could you wake if you knew that you dream?
What would your bed be like in the morning?
Could we stand it or maybe we’d scream
She’s still singing, do you want more?

We’ll be here when she comes back home
Rising up from the dark sea foam
There she is, all alone
All alone, all alone, stands alone

There’s the note, I heard it just now
Almost gone, but I heard it distinctly
Calling me, but I do not know how
Must a been that I learned it instinctly
Follow her, but she’s harder to see
Fading now, out on the ocean
Running hard, I can’t let her get free
Where she goes, I know I must go

I’ll be here when she comes again
I’ll be sure that I will see her then
It is all bound to begin
Again and again and again

Instant Gratification

Several sat silently, some seem stunned

No one knew the man with the gun

Hearts turn heavenward, heavy hearts

Momentum makes them play their parts.

A flashing instant, full of fear

No call for anger, but it appeared

A moment for a modern, microquick

Death dealt by day, in a clock tick.

News known nightly, no one spared

No victim or stranger or ones who cared

Global awareness, gone insane

Pure pandemonium, instant pain.

Irish Stones

This rock, I pick it up

On an Irish coast of the Celtic Sea

A sea that sometime washed it up

And handed it to me.

Why here and now I reach

Down on this strand, from my home so far?

World lines that meet upon this beach:

My life and this rock are.

The rise and meet just now

On an Irish coast of the Celtic Sea

There's magic in this rock somehow

That fate has given me.

Modern Moderation

What do I know of moderation,

The middle way and mean deviation?

If an excess were invited

That’s when I get excited.

What’s the use in deliberation,

Pauses to reflect or some contemplation?

If it’s time for the action

I don’t want the distraction.

Push, shove, rush love.

Grab, take, move, make.

A modern man

Does all he can

Doing, trying-

Sudden dying.

Tommorow's Pause

Tommorow, bound in silence

Gifted and laid on today's door

Without fanfare and sans salute,

It only waits, purposeful.

It only decided a moment ago

To be the next moment.

It only has leave for a moment

To be itself,

And then it fades with all the rest.

A flightful moment,

Sunlight so amplified

That, were it not for memory,

It would stay forever.

What else can shine so pure

Than this pause before eternity?

Phoenix

She looked like any old bird,
A little larger than most perhaps.
Some glint in her eye might have warned
Of something strange, but who had time?
Yes, the effervescent feathers indicated
Not an ordinary fowl, but who could see?

The striking moment came and went,
Incendiary and sublime, but still,
Aren’t these merely moments we all know?
Auto-da-fe with the emphasis on auto,
Giving up the ghost, giving in to
Circular destinies. Thermal incentives,
Transcendent introspection and a fiery finish
With a touch of ennui and melancholy
Thrown in for the bystander.
But wasn’t that on just last week?

When the ashes shifted in the breeze,
And the bird stood up, blinking its fresh eyes,
No one remained for the miracle.
But they’d known that was coming too.

Punditry

This foolishness, you must stop now, right now!

Your caustic, reptile-brained mad rhetoric

Leaves nothing but your bile upon your brow,

Takes leave of sense, a senseless cataract

That flows unchecked between the night and day,

Revealing only bias and despair.

Your endless words of hate have found their way

To hearts and minds that otherwise might dare

To compromise and find a path between

The poles you pundits claim are all there is.

The larger truths might but for you be seen.
There’s middle ground you won’t admit exists.

This nation tires of ceaseless words at war.
The fight itself is all you’re fighting for.

Road To Hell

A poem inspired by an FB posting by Mister Jason Graham, a true poet.

two roads diverged in a wood.
one was paved with good intentions.
but at least it was paved.
hence, my eternal error:
damned by my bourgeosie desire for comfort.

Some Stray Sound

Awakened from sleep

By some stray sound

Searching for a way

Back to the warm place

I come across old dreams

With old places I walked

When dreams were my world.

Old dreams are friends

Sometimes. Sometimes they

Have another purpose.

Regardless of me,

They regard themselves

As primary forces of power

Holding their own sway there.

There they are Newton

And Einstein and all those

Who claim world knowledge

By knowing its laws.

But dreams’ laws are their own

They hold their own against

The intrusion of my waking.

But still I awake

Clutching at the webs

Or else thrusting away:

Haven or horror,

The old dreams come unbid.

And walking in old places

One has always an old friend.

Something Set My Mind

I always find the quicksand in the swamp
I always find the darkest place to hide
But lately I’d say things are looking up
Something’s set my mind on the brighter side

I’ll be rolling down a road in the sun
Somewhere sure I’m bound to hit the bump
It’s not that I’m incapable of fun
But I always find the quicksand in the swamp

I might be hitting all the shots I make
I might be taking all that comes in stride
There’s still an apprehension I can’t shake:
I always find the darkest place to hide

Maybe it’s time I recalculate
The plusses and the minus in my cup
Stir the brew and ponder on my fate
Lately I’d say things are looking up

This world is one enormous carousel
I’ll grab the ring and take another ride
We all can make a heaven out of hell
Something’s set my mind on the brighter side

So We Decided To Start Digging

He was practically dead
So we decided to start digging his grave
He’d been lying in bed
For the longest, and he wouldn’t be saved.
He was silently sure
That nobody really wanted to know
If there wasn’t a cure
For a body who was ready to go.

We were standing outside,
So we decided we should all take a stroll.
It was true that we tried
To find any kind of depth in our soul.
But no matter how much
You endeavor to discover what’s there
If there’s nothing to touch
You can only end up grasping at air.

Then he gave up the ghost
So we decided that was mainly okay.
In the end it seems most
Of the fear we have in dying is the way
That we worry that life
Has a meaning that nobody can find.
So we shrink from the knife
That will sever every link to the mind.

Now the funeral’s done.
So we decided we would have a glass of wine,
Make believe it’s all in fun
But in secret we were looking for a sign.
Did a sign ever come?
That’s a matter for the willing who believe.
When we total the sum
In the balance every one of us must leave.
In the long count of years, no reprieve.
So we decided it was senseless to grieve.

Unfamiliar Road

This path is longer than I remembered
It meanders more than I recall
I had thought the way was straight and true
But I can't get through at all.

There is less that seems familiar
All the markings are unclear
And I wonder what I'll need to do
To get back home from here.

All these faces on these people
Seem to blur into the mist
Behind the help they offer me
I detect a hidden fist.

I'm not sure a road exists
That will lead where I must go
But there's naught to do but travel on:
There's no option to say, "No."
It's the journey that I know.

What I Did Not Know

I want to thank you for giving me the love of land.

I didn't have it before you.

I want to thank you for giving me awareness of old things,

Old houses and old places.

I would have ignored them before you.

I want to thank you for giving me the sense of place,

Of time and history.

I wouldn't have noticed them before you.

I want to thank you for showing me Tennessee,

The land that lies behind

The interstates, beyond the first range of hills,

Its wildness and its grace.

Before you, it was only a view from the car.

I can't think of anything I gave you in return.

I thought it might have been dreams of Andromeda,

But that already existed behind those Tennessee hills.

I thought it might have been Atlantis,

But you knew that in the old places and the old houses.

My dreams were hidden in abstractions,

You gave them breath and life and flesh.

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