49 Reasons by James M. Karns (ebook offline reader .TXT) 📕

Contents


Queen of the World

Never Give Up

Western Scene

Stone’s Throw

Lonely Day in June

Stirrings

Man Aged One-hundred Dies in Blizzard

At the Border of Peace

H.O.P.E.

In Her Wake

First Gig

On This Day

Dry Spell

364

Season’s Ingredients

So You Want To Quit Smoking

Artistic Gamble

Once Upon A Tuesday

1957

Earth Family

Horse Angel

Red Eye

The Exile

Surrender

In The Tower of West Texas Sun

Overboard

Yellow Umbrella

Only Love

Leafy Aster

In My Summer Youth

Raven Lunch

View From Third Floor Central State Hospital

Housecleanin

Minor Blues

Ancient Eyes

Classifieds

September Alfalfa Part I

September Alfalfa Part II

Physiks

Change

Casino

That Saddle

Basho’s Dream

The Cloud and the Hill

Birthday Window

Absentee Candidate

The Cat Is

My Time

Linda In Charge

Queen of the World

Hello oatmeal smile.
Finish up with Teddy bear.
There's no time to stay here.
We've got a day to make our way.
Loading in the car.
Buckle up and wave goodbye.
Doggie licks at long eyelashes.
Soon the neighborhood's
a blur.

Down the grocery aisle,
past the fruit of yesterday.
To the cashiers slumping,
and their scanners warm upping.
Pushing out with cart and bags.
Reloading Missy Muggs,
to the mobile toy box home.
Looking out at billboard clones.

Back at home again,
running laps round empty sacks,
with their lunch half eaten.
Dozing off among the blocks.
Now it's her delicious time.
Reading racy novels
Looking through her zines.
Calling friends or him.
To talk alone for just a while,
while supper closes in.

Open rested eyes.
Blinking out the fuzzy cloud.
Each one's thoughts awaken,
hanging on her every word.
Even after naps.
The little fingers grab at her.
She's the queen of the world
of that I am sure.


Never Give Up

That was your banner
Your creed
Your motto
A courageous battle cry
From such a modest
Humble person
I knew you only
A little more than a year
I talked a great deal
About you to others
Who were as frustrated as me
With the double assault
On your body
I listened to you tell
Of the gut wrenching
Treatment to your liver
Held your hand while
The biopsy trocar
Went to the bone
You thanked me
For being professional
Was it your trust?
Our closeness of age?
Mrs. C you had the powers
To share your humor, your family
Your big heart
Some people use indifference
Some turn to their busy work
When death's truth towers
Over us all
It forces us to cope in our ways
But you have passed your banner
To others now
And I wish you safe passage
Into a paradise
Greater than our dreams


Western Scene

Maynard Dixon, I have to say
out there on that Western sky,
before painting desert walls,
folks said: yeah that kid can draw.

From Frisco down to Mt. Carmel,
the art school dropout
perfected a tone.
Horses’ hooves in Zion canyon,
rabbit brush and sugar knoll,


He saw that which was beautiful and
he painted more that was true.
As Virgin River carried artiste raft,
under denim overcast.

Halos divine glow round his art,
the natural world and all it imparts.
With eye and ear,
hand and touch,
he caught it all.
A gift to us.


Stone's Throw

We descend into Bentwood from
the local universe.
Two alien entities
chasing the sun and
finding a troubadour here to
back our earth experience.

They are like us but
more concerned with future
and with past but whatzat?
Over Pinot Noir conversation with song
we are quickly learning the place
and each other since,
romance is a meaningless construct
in the eternal moment
of now because
it implies a history
and that is way behind
us now even beyond
our heat shields
And a future that we are
unable to triangulate.

No there is just the now
and there is also truth
truth you say?
Startled I face you
you know something, what?
What truth?
Your reply on this stone
is simply a song.


Lonely Day In June

Clouds move in time, passive to winds.
Will it won't it rain?
Birds soar unsure of
coming change.
I sit in my grey morning workspace,
remembering her pain.


Stirrings

Fall hurries toward winter.
Brown leaves and tarnished clouds
milling, beginning.

In a coffee bar window
near a green awning,
the elder man sits,
waits, watches
for he knows as the wall clock taunts,
4pm approaches.

Then the ritual begins.
The woman enters first,
brushing back red curls
like holiday ribbons.
The man ever the gentleman,
holds the door.

They hurry
in from accelerating sleet.
The woman orders, then
the man.
The old one moves his lips with
eyes closed softly.
"Double expresso, cinnamon latte."

Near his table they light.
Their exuberance bubbles
over their shoulders and
into his corner.

Tonight we do it, he hears
their twenty odd years say.
"conceive tonight."
he clearly hears.
They grab their mouths
for over them the senior appears.

They watch words form
on a life stained face .
"Concieve" you say?
All I can tell you is this,

Go slow
And while
going slow
think of conception
As a life.

In general
it has a beginning,
it has a middle, but
the end brings feelings
like joy,
curiosity, yes
even sadness.

If you're lucky,
all of these
will be yours.
Then he put on his fez
lit up a pipe and
walked out into
the storm’s frenzy


Man Aged One Hundred Dies in Blizzard

While coffee brews there
in Corning ware beakers.
The paper boy’s news
lies delivered.

‘In a North wind bluster…’
so it reads like
the chilled delivery
of an anchor’s lead.

The night nurse found
the open window,
where watery eyes
had sought an entry.

Into the maelstrom
the lead feet fell,
after trudging and trudging
then trudging no more.

And now two lenses
stare straight ahead,
if not into air
then at what?

Perhaps it’s the nursery
there in the East,
where one hundred newborns
clinch their fists.


At The Border of Peace

Can I help you sir?
You come to enter Peace.
You come here,
as a refugee.
Searching for this place,
you have personally
sought war's alternative.
You have voted for
the assembly of
nuclear deterrents
in your desire for citizenship.
You come here,
after long discussions
into the night.
You cried as children watched
and crimes were tried
while the innocent
lie in eternal rest.
But, before
I bid you enter.
Before you offer to
serve here.
You have traveled far,
you have accomplished what?


H.O.P.E.

Hope is beginning to rise
in the eastern sun entering his window.
Optimism flowers in the garden
rows he goes out to tend.
Promise powers the walk
accompanying his Terrier.
Enterprise delivers him here
on shore, after the corporate shipwreck.


In Her Wake

She comes again to share
What will it be this time?
She is leading the fight
On a microscopic foe
We follow as caregivers
But she is there at the point
We jerk about as flotsam
In her wake
But she stares
Into the face of death
She comes again to share
This time it will be
Needle craft, or photos
Or simply her family's story
But even so
These things sit there
In her glow
The sharing, the laughter,
And the love
In her wake


First Gig

After rebuilding the old piano
good enough for adjustment and tuning
I practiced first an arpeggio
then the twelve keys with full yearning.
Chords major and minor.
Songs from Gershwin and Kern
Ellington and Porter.
Practiced for a year
then I made the call.
My heart full of fear
"Come on friday?"
I felt my jaw fall
Can't believe the reply
"We'll see you here."
There were two Steinways,
I had my pick.
"Beautiful Love" was my first tune
Barely heard by anyone.
"Over The Rainbow" came with a mistake
But the lunch crowd seemed too busy
Then after forty minutes,
I finished with "I'm in the Mood..."
Everyone got up out of chairs
around me the listeners stood.
Some sang, some paced
one brought me food.
I rose and thanked them,
and as I walked to my car alone
still felt the warmth and acceptance
from the women and men
of Graceview nursing home.


On This Day

In this place.
Before the dark
Before the sleep.
When my mind
constructs a place
I've never been.
Give me a sign
of something higher
on the path
to greater good.
During slow times,
speeding up times,
let me act
to benefit the many.
Give me strength to
master all adversity.
And in new ways
bring compassion to
those who are here
on this day
in this place


Dry Spell

Scant snow for months.
No rain before that.
Weatherman shrugs.
Arid gusts tug at
memories of
moist encounters with
wet lettuce eaten from
damp ground.
Nostrils and eyes filled
with Autumn fog back then.
Heavenly showers from
round clouds.
But now cattle nibble
wheat down to
brown rows.
Weeds crackle under
dusty shoes.
In the distance from
every direction
smoke rises over
blackened grasses.
At my desk in
sunset glow these
finger tips split
my lip bleeds as
my ink pen fades.
The weather report:
Dry spell.


364

Is this the New Year?
The one we waited for?
With heavy cloud cover
and empty bottles on the floor.

We glare at gifts' boxes
and the usual crowd
of weight to be lost
and resolutions to be vowed.

HDTV explains
the year in review
while super players prepare
for the ultimate bowl.

We feel seasonal stress
push some to work
and some to wish

that for 364 more days dear
your face and the clock's
will exchange looks

until inevitable awe
returns in a question.
Is this the New Year?


Season's Ingredients

Winter solstice arrives
And inside, the guitarist
Plays to the pinon hearth’s
Crackling applause

Over in the corner
Chile mingles with tomato
In finest holiday color
A wool shawl of summer fleece
Glistens across the dining parlor

Local vineyard white and red
Laugh upon entering crystal portals
Golden corn with pinto beans
Curl up in a toasty winter bed

Under glass, pistachios connive
With dulce brittle.
And as the medley winds down
A pale thoughtful moon
Gazes across snowy mesas