Wrote the morning words,
In the journal, yes, by hand,
It can teach me things.
Football, football, yes!
Weird this sport of violence
Brings me so much joy.
It is not the hits,
Or the tackling, brutal strength,
It is magic minds.
Take the smallest guys,
Beasely, Welker, guys like that,
Always finding space.
Joe’s my guy, with Rice,
In the zone beyond our sight,
Magic happened there.
Now we all are old,
Watching new guys, still we know,
Times were golden then.
Wait! I see the white
trail across the blue day sky,
Jet plane flies somewhere.
From this window here,
I see hills and trees and sky,
Of the outside world.
Covid keeps me home,
But I know it’s writing, too,
Capturing my soul.
Richard Wright wrote words,
Not just books but Haiku too
Words that bring me joy.
Richard Wright:
Heaps of black cherries
glittering with drops of rain
in the evening sun.
The green cockleburs
caught in the thick wooly hair
of the black boy.
A freezing morning:
I left a bit of my skin
on the broomstick.
Black Lives Matter, People.
Wouldn’t it be wry
If I found my lifelong joy,
Just in time to die?
On this very day,
I watch football, research too,
Poets, magic, all.
We don’t know the hour,
of our passing from this life,
Myst’ry till the end.
I just hope I have,
Lots of time now that I know,
Why the hell I’m here!
Light and Dark: Riding the Waves 