April 1, 2022

A Pause for Poetry

By Gary Heath
Poet in Residence for 50+ Lifestyles.

 

 

 

These Bones Will Rest

These bones will rest. They
Have traveled far in spite of
All. These bones will rest.
These bones long for home
Where bones go to rest. Yes,
They will rest. These bones
Loved, cried, and labored in
Times trying, in times that
Smiled, and in times of dark
And in times of light. These
Bones are old now. They yearn
For home. Yes, it is time for
These bones to rest. Worn and
Weary, they yearn for home.

 

Word Slinger

I am the Word-Slinger, obscure poet,
Stranger in my own town, unknown
Among the hard set around corral and
Saloon. I write from the hip, fast-draw,
Fast-write, lip from the hip, shoot from
The lip. That’s what you get from me.
My words flash from the muzzle, acrid,
Quick-fast, piercing mind and heart. A
Saloon cowboy heard about me, pointed
A gun, called me “sissy.” Quick, I read my
Poem on mothers. He collapsed in tears,
Something more in him than liquor. I am
The Word-Slinger, quick poet who draws
Tears quick, far quicker than liquor.
Don’t draw on me. My words are too
Quick for you.

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