Poem Number 23080

Beulah

A cabin door
left cracked or wide open
the weekend divinity
of Creedence and Johnny
sung only by those who believe, or rather feel
they wrote it first
`
and quenched thirst
from inappropriate coffee
with a war going on inside a favorite mug
rabbit handled ears refereeing
blue-capped milk and sugar
vs. obvious blackness
in which some prefer
over foolishly doctored rejuvenation
`
all friendly disagreements then
silenced
by the honking of a hand-harp
or eel-like elixirs
rustling against fresh maple
`
and they hear things
like their heroes
Eastwood or, more specifically, Bobby De Niro
`
those whispers, comments, and wisdom
from the grandmaster
perfectly perched
in his captain's chair
with vulnerable knuckles
guiding, gliding, yet hardly relying
on his bullhorn cane
clearly an homage to the gospel beyond the grave
and the healing powers of those once saved
`
the answers lay set before them
through the nooks and crannies
bordered by grey whiskers
and a switch-blade smile
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I think it reads better like this, thanks Kaleb.
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i agree, nice job J.