heat

this heat is of no help
in the constant
struggle to contain

neither is
the bourbon, which
always threatens

to push
the bubble
off center

then the garden
will be unable to keep
her colors cradled in her arms

nor the forge
a grip
on its flame

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

do ( a suggestion )

fixate on the present
rotate on your heels
contemplate catastrophe
frustrate peers
irritate neighbors
eliminate yesterday
inflate balloons
deflate egos
narrate your life to anyone
who will listen
expatriate from yourself
regurgitate from lecterns
plait your locks
propagate purpose
hate ignorance
state facts as you perceive them
initiate change
dictate your history
rate higher
regulate criticism
gyrate for no particular reason
relate to nature
instigate peace
sedate demons
delegate during disruption
bait those in power
eradicate inherited viruses
radiate aural significance
infiltrate inner spaces
create conscious authority
eliminate darkness
dilate your eyes in the
sun of your days

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

counting cross ties

if I am found
some morning
beside the track
let them know that I
ran out of numbers

it was
nothing more
than that

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

opus

this
biological response to chutney
made of mango
& of ginger
most impressive
indeed it is
in its range
& in its timbre

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

My Grandma

This is a poem by my niece Jessica,
she wrote it about my mother.
Jess asked my to post it on my blog,
I couldn’t say no. I hope you find it as good as I did.

My Grandma

I see out in public all the grandchildren
with their
Grandmas laughing
but all I do with my grandma is
cry in my heart
I also see the grandmas
Talk
Mine never
talks
The grandmas admire their trophies
My grandma can’t see
They also talk about memories that just happened
My grandmother has
short term memory
Lost
Also the grandmas have healthy lives
Mine is suffering in the nursing home
My family’s hope is keeping her
alive

 

(c) 2013 Jessica Whitehead

among the wreckage

like Simonides
identifying the dead
I pinpoint positions
in the rubble
where all of
my intentions
had gathered –

to hear the victory ode
and raise their wine
to a world collapsing
around them

(c) Fred Whitehead

scratching

I make sure that
I apologize
for my intrusion
as I gently
move her out of the nesting box
then, not caring who hears,
I thank her
for the egg

I tell her it will go nicely
with my whole wheat toast
and my homemade
strawberry jelly

there is confusion
and anger in her small
bright eyes, but
it only lasts
for the few seconds between
the kidnapping and the
filling of her feeder, then

the whole sordid affair
is forgotten and
we both go about our day

scratching
at our own patch of ground
clucking with joy
at whatever small treasures
we discover
hidden at our feet

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

I drank myself into calling her again

( I haven’t written a good ol’ country song in a while, so, here ya go )

I drank myself into
calling her again
I was just enough over the line
to pretend
that she could have been the one
that would have loved me ’til the end
I drank myself into calling her again

I drank myself into calling her tonight
the liquor brought her name up
like it does most ever night
I was twisted just enough to
think she thought it was alright
that I drank myself into calling her tonight

it’s not like its
an everyday
occurrence that I try
to get her
to reconsider
the way she
navigates her life
on a trajectory
not parallel to mine
but I drank myself
into calling her tonight

I drank myself into asking her advice
on how to shut everything down
without thinking twice
and then she hung up on me,
but she was just being nice
I drank myself into asking her advice

A Grouping: 5

the secret
glides on wings
woven from a million breaths

the shoulder
makes a perch
for the ghosts of decision

the eye goes
wherever
the unwanted does not stand

unnerving
how the crease
on his neck lived as a wound

there is a
blue vase that
holds a bud that is not there

cultivation theory

things I don’t want to know about
ourselves waver then explode from
the screen in a
massive informational interface
blowback
still – this social reality,
it is just as it is
engineered to be
feedoffthemediumfeedthemedium
muidemehtdeefmuidemehtffodeef
feedoffthemediumfeedthemedium
muidemehtdeefmuidemehtffodeef

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead