Since Cornucopia

Since Cornucopia

He wakes,

and the tributaries

race

through a lifetime.

 Newly married,

he sits

on the edge

of bed.

“My love,”

he says,

and tears

find the edge

of his eyes.

Thunderous, those memories…

years,

 the wax

of burning candles,

they roll

from flame

of younger days.

A shiver…

he remembers

as he remembers

her.

Cold now,

alone

in the dearth

of cornucopia,

close to memory

of what will never

be

again.

He rises,

as the sun

has done,

he walks

with the wither of morning.

In a moment…

He finds himself

before the mirror,

a tiger draped

in time’s arms,

a shell

looking back

at him…

 he begins to brush his teeth.

Hayward 2006

On Missing Her

On Missing Her

There is a

hole

in my life.

I am missing

her,

and part of me.

It is as pure

a pain

as I will ever know.

My soul

turned inside out,

made me

understand

how true my feelings are.

There is no blur

in that truth

no maybe

in love.

There is a comfort

in that absence,

truth is the comfort

so blinding

so big,

a friendly haunt.

But,

the days pass

as turtles in mud,

the minutes

leave marks across those hours apart.

I can smell her

in dreams

miss her more

when I wake.

 Torture is better explained.

But,

She will be here soon,

and we will

be whole again,

we are

one,

not one without the other,

that,

is too much pain for one.

gjh 05

Foot Race to Heaven

Foot Race to Heaven

In soil,

there is a world.

Spacious down there,

in the world

no one knows,

silence runs in rivers

soil bathes stone

never closed

never open,

safe for burial

down there.

It’s the bible of your life.

Here, tears roar

loud, laughing.

We don’t

know when

quiet will rule,

we want it to

but need instructions first,

we fight the clock,

there is no contest,

time holds the schedule,

for us,

immigrants in her gorgeous ship

with no destination in mind

no rudders just float,

a plane to catch,

train missed,

meal forgotten,

kiss not.

Our fault.

Stop and witness

the weed in concrete.

It struggles too

in a life just as tough,

no cabs to catch

just sun will do

some water

today, or not,

it knows,

what is lost on us,

it came from

down there.

The roots

of all living things,

cascade through

the earth,

as fingers feeding balance,

dark, savage, and lovely

under there,

birth,

the end and beginning.

Yes.

Cathedrals for rest,

and rise,

blooming beneath

times silent machine,

life.

Here is the fight,

under our feet,

the finish and start.

Down

in the down,

dark, brittle breath

unheard purchase

of first faint voice…

There,

life, yes.

Hayward 2006

Tonight In The Diner

Tonight In the Diner

In the diner tonight

they stand

side by side,

opposing the sear

of what

is outside.

The steamship round

idles in sizzle.

The grill bristles

in teeth of flame,

ambushing beef strips,

belching burn.

Formica

pink and stained,

wraps the winding counter,

straying from the heat.

Mushrooms of stainless steel

and punctured red vinyl

stand

ready for  sitting,

and support

of

appetites.

The drawer

for cash,

has none tonight.

Toothpicks

for picking,

guard the can

for donations,

to save hungry dogs.

The chef is here tonight

alone.

Tonight this place

is all that’s left.

No diners left

to dine.

Disorder outside.

 Stunned, but

open,

though dwellings

fail and

burn in

in the streets.

I wanted Clam chowder

but think I might

burn,

you see,

tonight

the diner is all that’s

left.

The customers

are burning

out there

in the fire.

Someone wants us dead,

just before dinner

tonight.

Hayward 2006

Patra’s Tears

Patra’s Tears

Patra walked behind her tears,

and the world blurred before her.

Indian paint brushes

bled their color into the summer grass.

Patra planted corn in the meadow by the river.

She sowed seed

in furrows he had turned

in the spring when frost

had lost its hold and the sun was honest again.

The court had hired a jury

paid for by a wealthy devil.

He stood in front of the judge

as innocent as the next day.

The practiced attorney

spoke before the unfit jurors,

crowing and creaking in

oxfords of polish.

While her husband

stood in shackles in front of a hollow judge.

On a Friday,

he hung by his neck,

beneath the oak by the church,

where the preacher had blessed them.

Birds sang sweet in the blue sky and sun.

They knew not to change,

they kept their place for the love she had lost.

And now he was cold

as the stone in the hearth.

Alone as alone must mean.

Half of her had left her heart,

and rode her face as tears,

just she,

and her unborn child,

in the meadow by the river,

and the seeds, in the furrows he had turned.

Hayward 2006

A Window's World

A Window’s World

Listless light settles along the oak sill

beneath a window holding the world.

I fall

to dream

of flying out there,

over trees

across dunes of green.

Oceans peel below me

in a blur of silver blue,

wind sings by my ears,

as laurels of sky twist before my eyes.

If this is heaven,

then I am there now,

if not,

then for sure I’m on the purchase.

I awaken,

setting sun gone,

ice of night has cooled the oak,

dark has no light to lend,

just quiet and I,

the window,

and heaven some day.

Hayward 2006

The Crimes of Israel - Eustace Mullins - YouTube

The Crimes of Israel - Eustace Mullins - YouTube

Away From Home

Away From Home

Elbows of ice poke

through the bottoms

of antique downspouts.

My eyes fill with tears

as I stare at winter’s work.

Squirrels chirp and scurry

at the trunk of a silver birch.

A drop stains the blotter

on the desk in my new room.

I

Miss my family

now, in the cold of what is outside, and in,

the new of now,

the crispness of unfamiliar clothes

drops of those tears

drop faster now

on the legs of mine

through my pants of uncomfortable blue.

I

get close enough to the window

feeling cold upon my face

squirrels play,

and I wish I were there

by the birch

in the grass

far from me, and the tears

on my desk.

I

catch my breath

but the tears fall fast

my first night

away from home

in a school on my own

in a room

near the squirrels

by the birch.

I

know now

comfort escapes

when growing is pain

simple looms large

that first cold day.

And I sat back down

in the chair by that desk

the tears were gone

and so were the squirrels.

My first day at the academy

alone.  Learn to fight.

Hayward 2006