>Black River Boys

Black River Boys (2006)

D.J. Heatherly Hall

Prepare, pack, plan, provide

Sun, hugs, mud, bugs

Filthy fingers. Happy feelings

Finding tree stars and tree nuts

Four-wheeling to a fishing spot

Our little bit of paradise

Where the River runs shallow and secluded.

Floating in clear coolness with eyes full of brightness

Dylan’s curiosity along with Devin’s sweet smiles.

Brings contentment to the family.

 

Small voice questioning all around us

What are those lines?

As Dylan points to the ripples in the water

Bordering us silently, moving as we slowly glide.

What is that sound?

Listening to concealed birds screech over head.

What are those things?

Looking intently at the polished pebbles under foot.

Tiny fishes scatter in all directions

Yet, the plastic red one is continually caught

Proudly on the end of Dylan’s reel.

 

Canoeist’s float towards us

Small talk begins. They comment

about our boys in the River.

Devin coyly smiles at them

Dylan shyly looks away, grinning.

Canoeist’s drift lazily past us

And Dylan quietly says to me,“I did not talk”.

 

Heather and Bobby take a walk, take a break

Alone together to float downstream.

Dylan tells me, “I can’t see.”

“See what?” I ask.

“My best friends” he says in his small voice.

He misses his mom and dad.

They are his world.

Minutes later he sees them floating towards us

he points at them excitedly with his whole self smiling.

 

Back at our camp site quick showers

Washing away sunscreen and sweat

Primed for evenings’ bug spray and smoke

Blued-eyed dimpled Devin bounces happily in his walker

As we work our magic on the grill.

 

Snuggled in their tent, our boys doze off before dark.

Time for adults. Starry nights and wine lead to talk

About life, the future, and The Universe.

 

Rise and shine to a dewy day.

Dylan chases his early morning shadows.

While running from hand monsters.

“It’s getting me, it’s getting me.”

Giggling all the while.

 

Early a.m. energy and excitement.

Stooping, exploring, digging, collecting

Acorns, rocks, leaves, memories.

Arms wide with joy, high stepping and spinning.

“Whats happening to me?” Dylan laughs.

His feet, in constant motion.

 

Coffee savored over warmth of the fire.

Simple moments make the grandest of occasions.

Dylan’s sweet comments and Devin’s carefree smiles.

Our Black River Boys.

 

 

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Valle’s Rock

Valle’s Rock

 

I am told of a sacred place of hunting ground

Of which he will take me

Sooner than the sun sets in the west

We trail a creek up a steep incline

A beehive appearing boulder

Rises in solitude near the bluffs

Among the pines, ash and oaks

Of the Shawnee National Forest

This mammoth of magnificence reaches 25 feet tall

 

As he shows me this tribute to Valle

A natural granite ladder leads to elation

Hands, without hesitation, pull me skyward bound

Feet sturdy on unyielding rungs of purity

I tread steps of topography seldom trekked

Reaching the pinnacle

I am solidly secure in the moment

Of our love atop an immovable existence.

39 North

Atikokan bound

I hear silence inside a

Kaleidoscope of pines.

Abundant giants tower over

Scrappy saplings with gangly, leggy limbs

Amidst palomino pony trunks of birch.

Proudly, they proclaim space as I pass

Through unruly rough hewn timber.

 

In The Early Mourning

In The Early Mourning

 

Morning dew seeps

Still unable to sink

Into a peace I so need.

A veil of regret

Befalls inexhaustible.

 

I think of those days, not knowing

They were her last

The words never said

Which should have been spoken.

 

Tears escape to my pillow. Hopeless.

Like the single drop that she

Shed nearing her end.

How is it possible

She is gone

 

As I dredge up those days, now knowing

I have her to welcome me.

My fear of death is forever buried

With the ashes of her body.

 

Remembered Kisses

Nervously, my innocent lips seek out Chris’ darting tongue in the dark.   1976

Paul’s hands on my face, pressing against me with immediacy, when I walk into his house.  2008

Gingerly holding Heather in my arms, I put my parched lips softly on the top of her newborn head, while a tear of joy escapes. 1984

“Pucker up” my dad says, as he gently tucks my sister and I into bed. We giggle to his silly singing, “make a magic circle and mark it with an X.”  1966

Chivas and cigar smoldering kisses from Rich.  His eyes remain stubbornly open.   I learn too late that his heart remains closed.  2001

Taking control of Mike with my kisses, I convince myself that he turns me on.  1979

Vernon’s lips graze mine, over and over again, becoming stronger, he looks deep into my eyes as we collapse at the moment of truth.  2009

The kiss I could not give; damned by the mask, leukemia, hospital rules and my dear mothers’ abrupt death.   2009

Reflective Pond

>Reflective Pond
D.J. Hall (August 2007)

Search for hidden pond
With an eager anticipation
For a successful expedition

Opportunity for abundant fishing
For answers, blue gill, our emotions unraveled.
Propels us through a path less traveled
Traipsing mile after mile in summer’s humidity
Past endless rows of sunny simplicity.

Yellow faces watch in silence as we feel
Relentless dampness seep from pores at
Neck, cleavage, face and arms, as the
weight of the chaos I have created
continually trickles through my thoughts.
Much like the unremitting, infuriating mosquitoes.
Threatening to drive me crazy.

Onward, our heavy feet trudge, through a
Midwestern field full of tall grass and ticks
Accompanied by droning honeybees and
Annoyance of horseflies, heat and his enthusiasm.

Sulking, I discover beauty beneath the surface.
Like many other spheres of life,
I find a hidden eco-system at the edge of the pond,
Woven between the algae, guppies and tiny frogs.
As I sit and fume about my discomfort, misery and him
is the certainty that we, too, are intermingled.
Energy, fate, force or whim
Compels me to accept the reality that I had
attempted to submerge.
The certainty that I believe in our love, our future,
and that our affections will once again resurface.

>His View

>His View
D. J. Hall (November 2007)

His thoughts are so deep
They are drowning me.

His philosophy is so stoic
It smothers me.

His systemitized style is so uptight
It stifles me.

He says
I should be more
Frugal
Fluent
Intellectual
Prudent.

He says
I should be less
Generous
Scattered
Passionate
Stupid.

Instead, I am
Confused
Convictionless
Uncertain
Unwilling
To change.

>The Past – (January 2008)

>The Past wavers between us causing a constant state of upheaval.
Mistakes, deception and miscommunications are a sickness.
Minute, minimal or moderate errors never obliterated.
The Past is unwilling to be forgotten.
Unable to be forgiven.

Two souls of different spirit, psyche and strength.
Attempting to move forward together will continually struggle.
Where is my spine?
Where is his heart?

The Past, in its wary way,
Is a destroyer of destiny.
Creating dreams only to be demolished.
The Past eliminates the Future.

The Future is so easily forgotten.
When fate is fixed.
Ah, but The Present remains my focus.
As I am habitually stuck in limbo.

D.J. Hall
January 2008