BUD
Life swirled cape-like before him,
A challenge to his heart,
That organ beating soundly
Though his soul oft ripped apart.
Even when the matador
Stood statue-like and still,
The wind would flap the cape ends
As a torture to his will.
He charged at it quite blindly,
Needing surcease from some rage
That lingered in his corners
Formed too early in his age.
And even when the thrusting horns
Of his anger found their mark,
The pain remained, was always there,
Naked, raw, and stark.
His skin could scarce contain
The seething... rising quick...
That often trampled underfoot
His peace, and left him sick.
For he was born a lover
Who'd not found his thing to love,
Whose song was muted, muffled,
Forced to wear a strangling glove.
He thought that he'd forgotten
Or, maybe, never even known,
That place where capes were folded,
And roses never thrown.
Where all the roaring crowds
In the arenas of his mind,
Never yelled for blood, for death,
But smiled...and were kind.
HANDO
Were the blackened swirls and bones
He wore upon his skin
Meant as well to hide his soul
As much as horror win?
Lying deep within his chest
'Neath muscles coiled like springs,
Did there curl a little boy
Who'd tangled his kite strings
And on the way to tell his Mom,
Attacked by rabid dog,
Never finding his way home
But lost in some deep fog
Where if he never found again
That place where skies were blue,
He would survive, but only,
If convinced that it were true
That he was somehow better,
More worthy and more fit
Than others lost around him
Who were different, just a bit.
For his brain was really sharper
And his body fine of form,
So the fire that burned within him
Kept his ego nicely warm.
But...sometimes...just a patch of blue
Showed vaguely through his mist
And the boy whose strings had tangled
Never ended mother-kissed.
THE FATHER/FRIEND
He was old…white hair
blowing in the wind…
Old…and thin…and
lined.
He was strong…though
tired from battle…
Noble…true…pure of
mind.
Two men faced there
in the mud…
Snow blowing round
each head.
They looked into each
other’s eyes
As words were softly
said.
And…as this scene was
acted…
By men of great,
great gift,
Their minds and souls
connected,
Their kindred hearts
to lift.
A bond was forged in England,
In the forest…in the
snow…
As Maximus loved
Marcus
So the actors came to
know
A bond of the same
texture…
A mix of friend and
son
That comes upon the
meeting
Of such a kindred
one.
And when, from half a
world away,
The news that one had
died
Came hurtling hard to
Russell,
He turned aside and
cried.
For, no matter what
the distance,
His loving heart was
true,
So halfway round the
world
The grieving
son/friend flew.
Marcus said, “You are
the son
I really should have
had.”
And Richard, too,
said, “Russell,
I love you like your
Dad.”
Each one knew the
other
Was cut from cloth
alike;
And each one saw life’s
journey
As somewhat of a
hike.
But when they were
together,
It was easy, it was
good…
That common
understanding
Made life’s flow go
like it should.
Maximus had said
good-bye,
Whispering, “Father”
like a breath…
So Russell came to
Londontown
At the news of
Richard’s death.
For Father/friends
are rare, indeed,
And the loss cut hard
and deep.
Generals and Oscar
folk
Are both allowed to
weep.
RUFFLES AND CHEST HAIR
Chest hair framed in
ruffles…
Ruffles white as
sea-tossed foam,
Framed in true
perfection
Like a memory of
home.
Talk of leadership
and courage,
Eyes snapping with
that spark
That Russell’s
Captain Aubrey
Flashes like
lightning in the dark.
A chest all tanned
and weathered
From having sailed
upon the sea,
A chest framed in
true perfection
At a cinema near me.
How I wish there were
remotely
A way that I could
pause
That ruffle-framed
male chest view
That brings smiles
across my jaws.
And for 30 feet
before me
My eyes could gaze
and stare
At chests upon the
silver screen,
Chests framed with
ruffles there.
How…male…despite the
ruffles,
Despite their draping
fold,
Perhaps…indeed…MORE
male..
‘Twere the tale
really told.
‘Tis true their very
softness,
Their very folds of
white,
Contrast the firm,
smooth tanness
Of the chest locked
in my sight.
And in the Captain’s
cabin,
When it’s time to dim
the light,
And all the ship is
swaying
In their hammocks for
the night…
In dreams and
thoughts I’ll wander
Where the ruffles
softly rest,
And lay my palm…so
lightly…
Upon the Captain’s
chest.
AUSTIN CONCERTS
2001
The Ben-Gay Brigade
went marching
Down to Austin one day;
With mag-wheels on
their walkers
And Bufferin on their
tray.
Hearts were pounding
madly,
Monitors went awry,
Nurses all were
worried
Some of them might
die.
Might die right there
in Austin…
Done in by the heat,
Lying stiff among the
eggs
Frying on the street.
And Russell riding
past
On motorcycled way,
Would wonder at the
bumps
On Austin’s roads that day.
‘Twould only be the
Ben-Gay gals,
Done in by the hots,
Lying in neat piles
In little Stubby
spots.
BIG BLUE
Sittin’ out in the
pasture under blue skies
Just watchin’ the
cowpies get covered in flies,
I was think’ of
Russell as often I do
And how elbow holes
exist in Big Blue.
And my eyes misted
over, my nose dripped down goo
As I pondered the
fate of that shirt named Big Blue.
Oh, shirt of all
shirts, though faded and torn,
The best of all
shirts to ever be worn.
No trash bin for you!
No rag for to dust!
You must be
protected! You must be! You must!!
I smiled, most
contented, no…no mop for spilled vase…
For you I would make
into my pillowcase,
And there lay my
hair, my heart and my head,
Dreaming sweet dreams
with Big Blue on my bed.
THE GOOSEBUMP FACTOR
Goosebumps are
contagious…
They flow from Russ
to me,
For they lead him to
a movie
That I, of course, go
see.
When Rusty gets a
goosebump,
To that script he’ll
then say yea,
And I will wait and
wait and…wait
For it to come my
way.
Then I’ll sit there
in the darkness,
A grin upon my face,
While goosebumps by
the hundreds
Up and down my arms
do race.
And I look at them
quite fondly
‘Cause they’ve come
from Russ to me
For his goosebumps
are contagious,
A shared thing, I and
he!
TERRY’S TURN
Speaking Spanish
softly to Cinta the young maid,
He knew he must be
gentle for she was quite afraid.
Then he found the
husband, though his eyes were nearly blind;
He brought the
husband home though he knew he’d leave behind
All that filled his
heart, all that filled his soul,
All that had come
softly to fill his empty hole,
The hole that left
him lonely, that left him greyly sad…
Since it had started
filling, he’d felt light, felt strangely glad.
He stood there on
that hilltop as the couple drove away
And he was more alone
than he’d been before that day.
For aloneness has a
greater strength, has a greater pain,
When you have known
its opposite…it’s rather like a train…
A train whose whistle
pierces the long and lonely dawn
And the hour becomes
more empty when the whistle’s gone.
A MAN TO MATCH MY MOUNTAINS
Above the valley of
my life where the lake lay flat and blue,
Reared a range of
snow-capped peaks where oft the eagles flew.
The pines reflected
on the calm where the waters coolly lay,
And I would watch the
clouds pass by in the silence of my day.
It was always
mountain tops that drew my heart, my eyes,
Massive, strong,
reliable, beneath my wide blue skies.
Where, I wondered, as
I looked upon their majesty,
Could be a man to
match them…strong, like them, yet free.
A man to match my
mountains…with eagles in his heart.
A man who matched my
mountains would be a man apart.
A man unlike the
masses…commanding, brave, and true…
A spirit strong as
granite, a soul that’s old, not new.
A man to match my
mountains…with heart as pure as they…
My spirit knows his
presence, my paths prepare his way.
Ripples flow across
my lake, the wind is coming on…
I know the moon is
rising…he’ll be here with the dawn.
RUSTY IN MY KITCHEN
Propped against my
counter, dressed in flannelled blue,
Rusty watched me
baking (tho I watched him right back, too!)
“Are you using
chocolate?” he asked, with grin so slight.
I feared my knees
would impact kitchen tiles, yes, they might!
For seagreen eyes
were wond’ring what the recipe did say,
And if I truly baked
things in a chocolate sorta way.
“What’s that you are
adding?” as I held a bag of nuts.
I never did quite
answer him for my brain was in my guts.
“It’s a Rusty
chocolate bar,” I managed with a squeek,
“Might I have a taste
of it? Might I have a peek?”
He walked to my hot
oven door planning to look inside,
But my gutted brain
all fluttered and my mouth-parts loudly sighed.
“It is not really
ready. It needs a little stir,”
I said, but as I
watched him my throat let out a purr.
Rusty in the kitchen
is a distraction, that I fear,
Looking more in his
direction than at recipes, that’s clear.
“You must not really
burn them,” he said, “I truly want a bite.”
Had he but known my
thinkings, my motives would indict
For where I’d spread
the chocolate would not be in some dish…
No, not if in my
kitchen I truly got my wish!
CINDERELLA…….MAN
Some say, I hear, “How
can it be?
How can ‘Rella be a
HE?”
But ashes to palaces,
need not, you see,
Be limited only to
those called ‘She’.
Ashes were known by a
guy called Jim
Who’d lost the good
things given him
By a world, by a
time, when hopes grew dim,
When just livin’ was
gosh durn grim.
He was broken, down,
and really hurt,
Losin’ his sport, his
income, his shirt,
Waitin’ in lines
where voices so curt said,
“No work today, just
stay in the dirt”
But dirt was not for
this Jim’s heart,
Who’d not let his
family be torn apart,
Who’d not pass up a
chance to start
Though it cost him
lots, a heart-thrown dart,
A body of pain, a
blood-gushed eye,
Fall after fall, yet
rising to try
That one more time to
reach the sky…
He was, you see, that
kinda guy.
A man of heart, who
loved his wife,
Wanted his kids to
have a good life,
Wanted to stop the
endless strife,
To pull from his soul
the stabbing knife.
And, so, he became
the best of all
And took his family
to the palace ball…
Knowing to rise,
sometimes you fall,
Sometimes joy is
mixed with gall.
The people shouted,
the lights shone bright
As he stood in the
ring by himself upright,
That very
Cinderellaish night,
When he won the Baer
fight.
