Sunday, June 17, 2012

That which the heart carries

the soul takes with it --
memories

of times gone by
the loves, the hurts
transgressions, penances

a hand once so soft and delicate
now callused and chapped


not so her heart


leh

Love returned




not in the way expected
arriving softer
with less drama
lasting longer
with less pain
filling my heart with joy
in a way unexpected





text & photo by leh

Paradox

Jack on Queen
Queen on King
cards align
lover or libertine
desire or passion
end and begin

The cards align
two on three
three on four
smooth as honey
no worries
end and begin

Six on seven
seven on eight
paradox
cards align
the sanity of madness
ends and begins


leh

white percale

your brittle bones loosely bound
          by transparent skin
lie askew on white percale

no longer knowing you, never

knowing you, I turn away
to watch strands of moonlight weave
          through venetian blinds


leh

Monday, April 30, 2012

On Wilder Avenue



You turned your back and walked away
Under our magnolia tree’s blizzard of blooms
Leaving me with unsettled heart
Second guessing words I’d spoken
Under that magnolia tree’s riot of blooms


Forty years traveled—our paths again cross
Regret colliding with tomorrow’s intentions
And in that time—the years between
Separate journeys conspired to reunite us
Under that damn magnolia’s myriad of blooms


text & photo by leh

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Look Away

I suggested once to a black writer
   he capitalize South.
His jaw tightened. His
   under-the-breath reply
   forced me to lean closer.
            It’s a White thing.
The Old South
The FreeWhiteandtwentyone South
The KKK South
The burnCrossesonlawns South
The Southwillriseagain South
The shootthenworddowninthestreet
   becausehespoketoaWhitewoman South
            In Dixieland where I was born…


                 Rest in Peace
                    Trayvon
leh

Friday, January 20, 2012

Ozark Dust, a Villanelle






Breathing in red dust of their ancestors
Three soldiers, at ease, solemnify
Blood spilled in yesteryear's war.

On a splintered bench, sits Ozark lore;
Three warriors claim battles gone by,
Breathing in red dust of their ancestors.

Invisible wounds earned on foreign shores
Recall to the three, cries of semper fi
While forfeiting blood in yesteryear's war.

Fissured Ozark clay, front of Amos' store,
Formed with memories of do-or-die,
Embodies the dust of their ancestors.

On a splintered bench, esprit de corps,
Rest three weathered comrades, nary a blind eye
To blood they spilled in yesteryear's war.

Parades long past, now on homeland shores,
Three soldiers at ease, semper fi,
On a splintered bench, fear disillusionment more
Than their blood being spilled in tomorrow's war.


text & photo by leh