Current poems in progress...

Not the earthworm's wishes I bite it in three and spit next largest at my wall.

THE OLD WOODEN CHEST

She walks the rest home halls with her wooden cane
they offered, but she refused to use a wheel chair
On stormy days, she would sit and watch the falling rain
When asked if she was okay, she would just smile.

Some folks said that she probable couldn't speak
She would sit by the hours watching her small TV
Other people said she could talk, but she had nothing to say
She would just rub the chain on her neck that held a key.

In her room there was a small locked brown wooden chest.
Scrawled in ink across the top were the words "DO NOT TOUCH."
It was always beside her when she lay down to rest.
Her gnarled fingers embraced it close to her wilting body.

One morning she lie dead on the bed with a smile across her face
The box was opened, and on top, a letter dated 1945, the third of June,
a Purple Heart, a folded Flag and piece of yellow paper, folded a thousand times
A hurried hand written note that simply read." Honey, I will be home soon."

---RJ

THE MOLLY BEE

Sea and star meet at the horizons edge,
gently they are kissed by the mist.
Like two old lovers bound by a lost pledge.
A full moon of silver covers the cloudy sky.

Porpoise play gleefully jumping in the moonlight.
A dark sail is embroidered against the stars.
A forgotten ghost silently cutting the dark water,
her pennant flying high, full of burns and scars.

She’s out of Boston town it is the whaler Molly Bee.
One hundred and sixty years ago she set sail.
A hardy crew on a strong ship went to sea,
full of joy, high spirits and dreams of wealth.

No one really knows the fate of the Molly Bee,
that day she was chasing the humpback whale.
They only found her name on a piece of her bow.
Now silent, throughout eternity she must sail.

Sometimes at night from her deck you hear her bell,
or hear the cry of the crew as they chase a whale.
Sailors hear the captain cursing the day they set sail.
No one really knows the fate of the Molly Bee.

There is an old legend on the docks of Boston town,
that someday the Molly Bee and crew may sail home.
If you look at the old houses late on a summer night,
you see ghost on the widows walks waiting all alone.



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---RJ
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