Ten Thousand Bees

They came in August, like an army from the north

a large droopy bundle

on a limb they held

an old man’s beard they

became full of stingers and

wings that beat

I ran out of breath to see them

like that, they pulsed, they moved

as one they did think

their center was lovely

so strong and yet weak

they gave us their nectar

we gave them our fear

The keeper came and told them to

wait, he was housing them soon:

but they did not hear

but they wanted to go

but they did not know

he was their friend

Ten thousand bees came to live

with us now, their ghost was gone

so they wouldn’t tame

so we are their camp

so they let us dine

honey and comb divine

page 19 from Western Soul by John K Bucher

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Rain On Porch

Grey clouds swollen with drops

surround a cabin deep in the woods

sitting on a

stool with coffee

he looks at as a gentle rain moves in

trying hard to forget a broken past

he raises his head and sees the lightning

cold air fills the porch

and then a chill

he goes inside to build a small fire

panes of glass the sky darkens

on the pines water pours and trickles

he sighs and thinks of his life

A banjo plays in his mind and lifts

his soul and washes away the pain

like the rain that is pouring from the sky

the orchestra beats upward and soothes

He goes back to the porch

and watches

the evening sun returning to its home

one of his dogs

raises his head and speaks

night comes very easy now and bathes him

The rain beats heavy now on the roof

from his view a transformation forms

a new determination to look forward

and never look back again

page 152-153 Cowboys and Witches by John K Bucher

From the Earth

In the Oklahoma Dust Bowl

My grandfather toiled

His back toward the sun

Diamondbacks coiled

Hard labor he knew

Even from his birth

Not destined for a bank

Or any kind of mirth

Loved to hunt and tell

Stories as he went

He looked you in the eye

Said what he meant

But the blessed earth is what

Drove him on and on

Cotton, corn and wheat

In the early dawn

The earth, plowed so

Fresh and brown

Seeds and water, till

The sun went down

Then came the harvest

The gathering, the sale

Another year of blessing

Another prayer prevails

His life from the earth

The only one he knew

He never owned a new car

Material things were few

He had to work when

He was old, still very proud

The earth he loved so much

Still spinning in the clouds

page 116-117 Cowboys and Witches by John K Bucher

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Golden School

Early Denison life brings school yard memories so full and real

Waxed wooden floors and shelves full of old books and maps

Hot Septembers and lunches that tasted good and made me sleepy

Winters that snowed and playing outside in grass stained pants

Hearing JFK was shot and going home to watch black and white news

Staying in the same class all day for a single year but learning

Fears and insecurities about the unknown before Patsy’s first kiss

Segregation was the golden rule and it finally ended (thank God)

It was so old and long ago I wonder if any era will ever be like that

With ill fitting clothes and bad haircuts- very bad

Talking about Slam Bang Theater on TV that morning

And riding a bicycle that was never locked or stolen

Knowing if you said bad words you would get into trouble

Realizing I was better at books that football and feeling let down

Making friends that are still friends and that is the golden rule

Page 85-86 California Beat Poetry Number Four Dharma Angels by John K Bucher

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Early Morning Songs

After a hard midnight hour

And all the dreams were an ugly sour

The darkness spreads inky black

Mind games spun the liquor and Prozac

A song rolls down a cobweb trail

Guitars and melody voices so frail

High notes drum a heartbeat spike

Songs to greet a heady gold strike

Early morning songs follow a path

Soaking warm like a hot steam bath

Music dance love never lands wrong

Whistling sidewalk work early morning song

Page 37 – California Beat Poetry Number Four – Dharma Angels by John K Bucher

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Motels

Writers, criminals, dharma bums, poets and lovers have always found comfort in the low down motels in the less desirable parts of cities- No lease to sign or credit to check, the brown skinned man behind the glass only wants cash and gives you a key to a hot shower and a bed – Television and heat! Away from the cold wind! Summer breezes float through the windows as do the moans from the next room over as you open a can of Spam and one more beer from the paper sack- Weeks go by and you learn some of the names who come and go with the wind and wonder how much longer with life be just these four walls? HBO and clean towels! Mini fridge full of beer!

Months march toward fall and the mirror tells your age and shaving becomes an option as does everything but a simple routine called life – motel life

Winter is gray and the windows rattle while you pack your battered boxes of stuff and get ready to move one more time as that old road calls- “Come back soon” the room calls and you do, again and again.

Page 21- 22 in California Beat Poetry Number Four Dharma Angels by John K Bucher

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On The Beach

Page 53 “Corkscrew Days Rolling Rock Nights

Liquor store man looks funny at me

Shakes his head and snorts

Every day I visit his sorry ass

To get my supplies, my needs, my joy

Sitting on my blanket

I watch and pull a cork

Skies are blue and the birds soar so high

I loose them on the fuzzy horizon

The wine tastes like an Italian village

In the late summer

With the sun going down

My thoughts are slow and vivid

Empty bottle and the n night birds call

Rolling Rock green

The light yellow water adds years

To my life span

I know it

The night gets cooler

Beach lights shine

Games are played

I only watch

And think

And then I sleep

Tomorrow I must go

To the liquor store man

On The Beach by John K Bucher is available on Amazon.com

Fernet

Fresh from the road end of the day

Nickel words were exchanged and had their say

Heard of its myth and aim to destroy

Ginger ale was administered for a chemical joy

Burned the tongue and some memories almost too much

Fires were lit so I sent for a crutch

The mind was flushed and ready for more

New thoughts tumbled forward into the floor

and the oopps…trigger guns fire hard to the gut and the nifty music plays louder until dancing Chinese ladies with their protracted grins and orange pumkins swoop by the leave- stand up! it’s late!

Another round or three and a new bottle is found

Cheers to the flag and those can still hear its sound

and…the sounds of raindrops pouring down in the alley outside and the coming of armed troops carrying swords and singing…

some old song of love

Baker Street Boys

Baker Street Boys

Some days …I awaken to still being

a Baker Street boy

A Texas fog of childhood

memories

Old run-down house …slowly remodeled

basement shared with brother David

Tree house construction – injuries

paper route days

Rock and roll came to town

Dallas concert

Shot guns by the railroad tracks

black bass dinners

Cousins next door…funny fence stories

Thanksgiving

Growing pains…Daniel’s asthma pump

James playing under the Christmas tree

Transformative time in our childhood…personalities

….likes and dislikes…longing again for Amsden

Mrs. Cook’s History class and trips to Colorado

Funerals to remember and riding the bus

Bicycle Saturdays at the Rialto…six Pepsi caps

Mowing grass at Tanglewood…one dollar per hour

Fifty hours a week…chiggers all over…sulfur tablets

Hot summers and cold winters…sleet

Leaning to drive…drivers’ ed…license

Thinking and planning…dreams

Memories of Baker Street …boys

page 95 – 96 Old Photographs and Wild Dreams

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