Tending the Garden

Grandmother dug into the earth saying
'men, family, children
are like tending to the garden.

First, you have to have good seed
and good dark earth.'

I used to help her tend the garden
on my Sunday visits-a patch in the
back of her house.

'Get a good fertilizer, find the right spot,
location matters in all this,
bad location
the family, the children, the wife, the men
don't do so good.

Plant the good seeds of decency.

Tell the truth, work hard,

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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How to Make Mistakes

Any one came make a mistake
but few know how to do it expertly.

Since I have so much experience here
I offer then
to provide
a primer
such that you can abide
in my attempts
to upgrade
the caliber
of the mistakes you make.

First communicate about your mistakes
you'll find millions
who then become your friends
you'll learn to laugh and cry with them
and so understand that
on Earth
Mistakers are the majority

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Grandmother

For her heart was pounding such
I thought it would leap from her chest
and fall flat onto the cold floor
to slide there to quivering extinction.

Her soul was shriveling such
that it twined and twisted upon a single thread-
its catchment snapping for the plunge into the river Styx.

Laid down in her cool night,
misted with early dew in her eyes
she grieved cold, cold upon cold;
her body shivering.

Vulture claws and talons reached
her Spiritual Keep
and sank their meanness deep
wounding the marrow
of where she lived-
all her treasures now exposed

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Bestest Bet

If i could identify what makes me happy
I am wondering If identifying it
would make me happy?

If happiness is love or money
would mere identification
result in bliss?

No, I would then have
to identify what steps to take
to obtain love's best.

But steps sounds like something I would plan
and planning sounds artificial
and can love come from artifice
or worse manipulation?

Can I manipulate my loved one
into loving me and live happily ever after?

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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We Cannot-America Votes

In America
we are about to vote
on what is to be our political Soul;

Will America finally become reconciled to
and surpass our past
move through and beyond
20th century capitalism?

whether generations can meet
in between;

whether granddad's view of the past;
his dislikes and loyalties
predominate;
or whether the grandchildren will
say:
'I know granddad what you think
but I just don't think about it that way.'

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Sounding I

I see my soul come galloping
making and patching my threading seams
embracing me in the gloaming
between twilight and evening
making new passages as the younger years
fall away.

I see my heart throbbing, mending
and renewing
even in a veil of past-time tears.
I see my youth standing by
in the cracked mirror
and curse how much of my outward identity is emprisoned
there
and the voice says counterpoint
'Don't drown in that mirror pool.'

I hear, voices, mostly my own
clamor down from its retreat
and reassert once again

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Eye Mixing

Much is made of the human eye-
often said to be the soul's window pane-
but I
wonder what is seen when
eye meets eye;
what then are the soul's contents
conveyed.?

Do we see turmoil or joy,
grief or fear,
are these then our surmise
of the soul's moods,
its glees, and discontents?

When I peer
I see these things
but I waver at seeing them as maps to the soul contents
although I admit they might be.

But carefully look next time if you will

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Wrestling With Time

Time and I are grappling
as we have all my life.
In my youth I tried to full-nelson her
into telling me my future
but she didn't comply.

I spend many hours with her
in my upstairs bed-room
peering at video games;
she waited patiently
for me to get through this phase.

The referee in this match
I tried to bribe he refused
but she gentle-stroked my brow
and told me to play fair and be patient.

I dreamed of having super powers
and told her that was what I wanted;
she smiled reassuringly

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Dying is a Heavy Responsibility

Dying is such a huge responsibility
I'm not sure I'll even attend.

Will there be sad tears
or none at all;
or worse approbation
and the silence of the resentful
or will there be laughter and love.

Who will do my eulogy
and will it be someone
I would choose
or will it be some hated brother in law?

Dying is such a responsibility.

Will they dress me in dignified black
could I have a last cigarette
or a last run around the block?

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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What Men Need To Know About Women

She will not be looking at you when the food arrives

She will not be looking at you in the midst of children

She will not be aware of you if there is a cat, or dog

She does not love you past three years but loves the idea of you.

She is not romantic past 25.

She does not care as much about how you look past 25. Other things come to matter more.

She talks to her friends more than you.

You like doing it, she likes foreplay.

Your choice is just for now, she is thinking, after 30, about forever

She is thinking she has allowed you to capture her.

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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