Outlook

While the sands of time mark the minutes of my life

And the relentless roll of the tidal sea marches on

My pedicured digits dig in, rooted solid in wistful thoughts.

The present, with it’s swift tempo, becomes past, flows away, disappears with the grains under my feet.

As a pelican dives headfirst and deep to catch a morsel

I stand looking outward to the sea and see the serene peace of destiny

High Society At A New Low

Passed out til noon

She swigs Bloody Marys while applying

War paint with an unsteady hand.

Sunken, hungover, puffy eyes

Veiled by Visine.

Barely gets the red out.

But the sparkle is gone for good.

 

A counterfeit in coiffed curls and fake smirk.

A gussied up clotheshorse in brand name style.

Dressed to the nines to disguise DUI’s.

 

Living an artificial reality she deceives even herself.

Sipping on Crown, searching out imperfections in others.

Fabricating falsehoods while pretending frivolity.

Stirring up slanderous gossip with her silver spoon.

Tossed back with a shot of ad naseum

She makes Happy Hour an irony.

 

08/27/2014

Donna J. Heatherly

Limerick To My Dad

Limerick To My Dad

 As a wee lass, there were cuddles, laughter,  and kind words when I was crying.

 There was naught ever a thing in my life time that I needed.

Alas, the Insolence of youth, rolling of eyes, and sounds of sighing.

His sage advice I seldom heeded.

With age and maturity my own offspring were seeded.

Now it is known to all who have known him…

My dad is the finest, without even trying!

Thank you for your constant care and love!

 Donna J. Heatherly

Image

Dad and I Circa 1961.  He grew a beard in honor of the E. St. Louis Centennial… the hat I am wearing is his from the event.

His beard was red, and his hair was blonde, I should add!

 

 

>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.

 

 

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.

 

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.

Past Tension

            Past Tension

                          D.J. Hall 

                                                                       

The Past is a root that spreads, swelling between us.

A source for constant state of upheaval.

Mistakes, deception and cruelty are a sickness.

The smallest faults expand, proliferate.

The Past is unwilling to forgive or obliterate.

 

Two souls of different spirit, psyche, strength.

Attempt to move forward together

Continual to struggle.

Where is my spine? Where is his heart?

 

His thoughts are so deep

They are drowning me.

His philosophy is so stoic

It smothers me.

His systematized 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, in its wary way,

Is a destroyer of destiny.

Creating dreams only to be demolished.

Our Past eliminates Our Future.