Russell’s Ramblings

Those who do not hear the music might think the dancer mad

Selected Poetry – 1984

The Old Woman

The old woman walks the road by day,

picking up cans to earn her pay.

She sits on the porch and watches the cars,

waiting till night to wish by the stars.

She waits while the seconds tick off the clock,

just some touched dame at the end of the block.


The Eyes of the Sparrow

Sitting erect on his wooden perch

wind blowing the tattered torn feathers,

The gaze which pierces your soul

crying out from forgotten yesterdays

his call like the laughter of an old man.


The Button

A marron button

on a jacket no one wears

archaic token.


Aunt Agnes

I remember a summer in my youth,

when my aging aunt came to stay.

Her shining hair pulled tightly in a bun,

a pink flannel robe with butterflies on the pockets.

Aunt Agness would sit on the porch and read her favorite letters

sharing stories from long, long ago.

One night we were alone,

She pulled me closely to her chest

calling me by a name I did not know.

Her hands were soft and smelled of fresh flowers.

She squeezed my small hand in hers

as she pretended I was someone else.

Later from my bedroom window

I watched my dad drive her away.

Mom said she was taking a trip

But deep down I knew

They just didn’t understand.


The Mirror

Grandaddy showed me a house one day

it had been his childhood home

Stiil and vacant

A broken piece of mirror lay on the floor

I picked it up and held the discarded relic

Paint flakes peeling from its ancient frame

The glass tinted from time

Cracks spread like cobwebs

As I stared into the silent glass

I saw a faint image of another time

A little boy looking much like me

Tying for the first time a brand new yellow tie

Captured in this mirror

held tightly in my hands.


The Soldier


Little Willy is a soldier by day

Watching secretly through the curtain

As grandmother sits at her rickety machine.

Tapping messages of enemy formations,

Her soft gaze to the window,

Swiftly moving out of sightgi-joe.

Charging the pasture, he scatters the cows

Grazing in knee high weeds.

Camouflaged behind the shrubs

He stays hidden from a patrol pulling in the drive

Taking notes of the officer as he steps from a car.

He surveys the room spotting the newspaper

Notes written by hand, troop formations no doubt

He swiftly stows them in his pack,

Moving unnoticed through the room

Once again, a hero to his men.

Little Willy who has been wounded so many times

Fights on …

Lieutenant Willy, the bravest man in the regiment

Possibly, the world.



March 14, 2009 - Posted by | Poems | , , ,

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