B***H

The morning wind

disguised as time blows

through me and out my eyes,

makes a chill swoosh along my

bones and through the leafless

mesquite, rattles the gate, and

disrupts the dove as they try to

light on that wire.

Pause.

At least my cough is better,

the CT scan came back clean,

except for a spot on my liver

they want to check.

Off in the distance, where love,

that pounding locomotive with

a hundred cars of coal,

whistles across the bluster to

let me know she’s out there, if

I’m willing to wait… clickety

clack, she’s coming and the

b***h is running on time.

Reviews

[Ms claws]

Hi love, I mean Vol. Well, it's spelled almost the same.
I stopped the Four Roses because I want to love my liver.
Now, my review: Every time I read you, I feel romance.
Maybe it's just me and my imprisoned eighteen years old brain.
"Morning wind" I see you on your land, "doves" and "mesquite" you've cut
to toss carefully in a thoughtfully adjusted pile to catch the flame...Pause.
I swear, Volcano, you are a magnet for that old death angel what with the fires all around, ect., ECT.!
Beautifully proposed write, Teacher. Now you gather up all Dem smarts and git yourself good to go!
Eternity

[Betty Hermelee]

Dear Vol... your emotion jump from one mood to another...first about the morning wind, the chill that rattles your bones.... then about your liver, a spot that needs to be checked...and lastly about your love, that locomotive (your love) that will be roaring down the tracks soon enough...even though you refer to her as a b***h... quite a metaphor.. and very deep in some aspects as well.... a day in the life of Vol where there is always hope!
Love it!
Warmly, B

[Vol]

Betty,
Thank you taking the time. Actually, "I can hear the train, and b***h is running on time." were the last words of my Brother-in-law spoke to me./ He was a real thing cowboy... worked the feed lots, the auctions, ranches, built saddles, and could play the guitar and sing... We even had the same birthday. I think breathing all that nasty feed-lot dust is what caused his lymphoma... Oh, and no description about any of the cowboys I've met is complete without mentioning their hands... so big and strong!
I hope when my times comes I won't go gently, either...
Vol

[Betty Hermelee]

You are very welcome Vol; so sorry about your brother- in— law and his untimely death
Warmly , B🌷🌷🌷🌷

[Gregoria Ahmed]

Nature becomes time’s accomplice here--wind, bone, mesquite all conspiring with mortality. Then, with quiet force, medical reality creeps in, laced with the emotional denial that keeps us moving. But it’s love--your locomotive metaphor, roaring full of coal--that rises. To endure it all, one must b***h it through the chill of fate, shift from resignation to dare, and wink knowingly at the cosmic schedule. And you--Vol--you show up unflinchingly.

Thank you for penning something so unapologetically alive. Your voice is a railcar of truth, grit, and grace. I’m grateful to have read this.

[Vol]

Georgia,
Thank you for your extra understanding and insight... It came for my mon on July 2, memorial tomorrow...
Vol

[Gregoria Ahmed]

Your response stopped me.

To learn where this poem came from humbles me deeply. I didn’t know---yet somehow, I felt the ache threaded through your words. Thank you for sharing that with me.

I’ll hold July 2nd in remembrance, as proof that poetry can become prayer--- even when we never set out for it to be.

With gratitude and quiet solidarity,

Gregoria

[Vol]

Gregoria,
What a lovely thing to say...
Vol

[Michael Sun Bear]

Very interesting Vol. I have given up on love, for me the pounding locomotive out there, running for sure on time, is Death. Because the middle of your poem is preoccupied with health, I can’t help but give Death as one interpretation.

[Vol]

Dude,! I'm 76!
And sedentary...
Vol

[Michael Sun Bear]

I’m right behind you brother, 74 and yeah sedentary.

[JMichael]

At least the love train is out there and still running nearby on its rails of hope. For some, that train is always far away from their closest rail line and always passes them by.

You may not be able to avoid the howling wind of time but if love is always nearby, it takes a simple jog to the station to catch it and then perhaps the march of time will pause within the heart, at least for a while, anyway.

[Vol]

JMichael,
Oh my god! I LOVE a guileless romantic... Aw, Man, I am a child of the sixties...FREE LOVE!!! What could possibly go wrong? aAOWooo says the wind...
Vol

[DIVYA]

Dear Vol,
I loved how two parallel trains of thought are running through this poem. One about the outer, the other, inner. I see the poet trying to process, accept the inevitable signs and signals, the messages from the universe. The last line blew me away. Yes, she runs on time, always and as per her own schedule. Wonderfully penned!

[Vol]

Divya,
I and my brother brother-in-law were both born on June 3, me in '49, him in '50. Terry was a real thing Texas cowboy. Tall, broad-shouldered, unfiltered. He was a Farrier, A Day-worker, feed lots, auctions, built custom saddles, and could sing everything from Swing to the Mississippi Blues. He got Lymphoma and died in 2010. Those were his last words to me.

[DIVYA]

Wow...That sent a chill thorugh me. Death is such a grim reminder of the inevitable. Stark, uncompromising...I'm so sorry for your loss. He seemed so vital. The kind death would demur to visit. But then, she's so unpredictable. And wicked.

[John the Baptist]

I love it when couples have cute pet names.

[Vol]

Well, she really is a b***h, you know...