Treaties

The Creek village

was

down there.

Anything can

grow in this

black soil.

I envision

corn

along the bottom.

Hooves grazed

up here

where it's rocky.

Some nights

I can count

all the souls

whoever lived

here, every

one

whoever lifted

his face

upward

whoever stood

numbered

above and below.

Griffin

This time

I saw a bird

in the grocery store.

It was in Griffin,

it was July. Her

wings just wanted

the air conditioning.

Now I ponder her reward.

I wonder if she's

still there tonight.

The Great Simpleton

That's why I'm certain

in my one good heart

of simplicity. Even a billion

ones

cast lone shadows

and rarely collide.

In a land of few words

I tend to listen more,

the singularity bespeaks

individuality

at rest in a strange place

and, wished no good,

still reclines, praying.

In simple things I see the sky.

St. Paul

Dry and

hot the

clear place

beside

the grove

path dirt

showing, water

far beneath.

Too far.

And overhead

about three

it amps

flashes bakes

nowhere

fit for beading

even if wet.

Almost Damascus

where the

road dare show

flaming sand

lined with

prophets. They

missed every

single sign.

 



L. Ward Abel, poet, composer and performer of music, teacher, lawyer, lives in rural Georgia, has been published hundreds of time in print and online, and is the author of Peach Box and Verge (Little Poem Press, 2003), Jonesing For Byzantium (UK Authors Press, 2006), The Heat of Blooming (Pudding House Press, 2008), Torn Sky Bleeding Blue (erbacce-Press, 2010), and the forthcoming American Bruise (Parallel Press).  He has just completed his latest poetry collection, The Crater.

This is the title song of Ward Able's new album,'Flowers On The Table' which you can order at: arhband.com

Ables displays a raw, honest delivery of his music which creates the poetry of yearning -- the quality which this song is all about.  This listener finds this sweet simplicity haunting enough to hum all day.  See for yourself and I hope you support this album....C