dogtrax

Fretboard, strings and other things

the street-corner singer fingers the neck

and plays the heck out of those blues

We drop a few dollars into the hat

and straggle through the echo of a voice,

imagining that the ghost of Blind Lemon Jefferson

lives on in the body of a beat-up guitar

for #mastoprompt

Her With Her Radiant Smile

The last time we saw her, she was bundled up in blankets, her weary father pushing the chair across snow

We had left school on a bus to go to her, a visit to her home, to sing, to bring a bit of song from us to her, to them, to let those gathered know they were not alone

To see her radiant smile, surrounded by love, by family and friends, it remains etched on memory's slate like a star tearing across the sky:

You can wonder at the trajectory of it, and still not fathom the reasons why

In memory of M.S., age 7

Audio: http://u.pc.cd/Ckp

No kidding – thinking how confusing for the bees, to find barren trees

for Algot

In the dark hours before the dawn, we tie our shoes on -

we wander along these streets, listening in to morning's waking song

while others merely dream

for #mastoprompt

ProsePoem: The Great Acorn Wars (A Conversation)

You remember the Acorn Wars? I do.

The way we'd spend those mornings gathering the nuts, filling our pockets to the point where our pants would rip from the daggers edge of the acorns and we'd catch hell later at home for it? I do.

And then we'd all meet again by the crabapple tree, near the old farm littered with pumpkins, and divide up into unfair teams, the baseball players all gathering together in a storm of warning for the rest of us? I remember.

And someone would shout “Go,” and before you had time to run off to hide, an acorn would slam you on the arm, a pinprick of pain that told you to get moving? I was never quick enough.

No, you weren't, but you were savvy enough in your hiding places, small places you could crawl, and you used your stealth for sneak attacks, listening in particular for your older brother to “ow” in pain at the shot you fired and then you were running from what you knew would be his angry revenge? I was never quick enough.

And then the unspoken law of “no head shots” and how often all of you all broke the law and the game would be stopped until the tears ran out? We made mistakes.

And then, when the last nut was shot from an arm cannon and the last runner sent down to ground, you'd all gather back beneath the crabapple tree, leaning backs against the trunk and against each other, the smell of rotten fruit in the air, reliving the feints and fakes of fiends and friends? I do.

And so, in farewell, we bid adieu

a shared past is the last gift I take from you

a buried word of pain or love, not soon forgotten

but an idea, taut and tied, now sifting towards bottom

for #mastoprompt

Lichen in the cliff crevasse

A seed in need of shelter

All things need to brace against others

For #mastoprompt

Where image reflects mirrored surface of water, we ripple in time

for #575prompt

Remembering the want of what others had but we did not

and how those who had rarely acknowledged those of us who did not

Age has taken his step – the old dog walks slow - minimal distance but still, always excited about the possibilities, the leash a signal for adventure of the nose

for #mastoprompt