Two Buckets of Dirt

Two Buckets of Dirt

We tossed and we turned.
We shredded and dreaded.
We traded and threatened.
“It’s yours! You have to take it.”
“It wasn’t mine. It was yours.”
“It was mine, but I don’t want it.”
“It was mine, but you can take it.”

As we sorted, we talked,
made up stories too.
Made up lies when we needed to.
Just to get on through the getting through
after our parents had dropped dead.

We cleaned out the attic.
We cleared the storage shed.
We searched under each and every bed.
We piled things in a dumpster,
burned documents on the grill.
We drank all dad’s old booze,
it didn’t make us ill.

We redistributed a lifetime of things.
Double-barreled shotgun,
gold pocket-watch on a chain.
Silver trolling motor,
bushel baskets of notes and cards.
Photographs stuffed in trash bags like leaves.
Nothing’s left behind.

What about those two buckets of dirt?
Buckets of dirt from an open-pit diamond mine.
Back when dad seemed to lose his mind
taking us to Arkansas for a get rich vacation.
We sorted dirt and rock all day
searching for the perfect diamond.
Even filled two buckets and hauled them home
so mom and dad could keep searching.

My oldest sister took those buckets to her home,
dumped the diamond dirt on a flower bed.
She never said if that dirt sparkled.
But somehow I just found 7 diamonds.
They’re sparkling now inside my mind.
Yeah, sparkling bright inside my head.
Can you see them? Can you see them?

Gregory Zeorlin 10/2/2017 @ 11:15pm

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Christmas Circus

Christmas Circus

There’s quite a show happening
on our Advent Wreath.
An Advent Wreath arranged on a white oval plate
with a cushion of evergreen leaves
and twigs with red-orange berries.
An Advent Wreath sitting
in the middle of the kitchen table.

There are two black specks rappelling
down the candle sticks!
And another speck of spider stringing
tiny silky lines from the pink one
to the three purple ones.
Three trapeze artists rehearsing,
with the greatest of ease,
for the annual Christmas circus.

Gregory Zeorlin 12/5/2016 @3:28pm

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Knowing, Watching, Waiting

Grace Cathedral Labyrinth, San Francisco, CA.

Knowing, Waiting, Watching

Oh you know I want to believe
in something more
than me or you.
I want to believe in something,
more than us.

But this thing called religion.
Well I’m not sure I trust
all it’s made up to be.

I’ve said it once
and I’ll say it once more…
Not sure God entered through
any church door.

But don’t slam that door on me.
I’ve been wrong so many times before.
Or maybe the door is open wide,
so vast it’s unseen.
As if we’ve walked in and out,
and out and in not even knowing it.
And God’s unknown too…

Or maybe the door only exits
as an opening to the outside world,
where God’s knowing, watching and waiting.

Gregory Zeorlin 10/14/2016 @ 10:43am.
Inside Grace Cathedral, San Francisco, CA

 

Best Friend’s Bark

Man's Best Friend

Man’s Best Friend

Best Friend’s Bark

Friends don’t wait at the door with tails wagging
or fetch what is thrown across the yard.
Friends are not trained to be consistent
but are persistent on sharing life’s treats.

Friends resist the leash
but often don’t mind walking in the same direction
when you need them to though friends could also lead you
on a walk you might not make down a street with new names
or around a lake that floods and then goes suddenly dry.
Most friends cannot walk on water or part it upon command
but some will take you to a stream you need to taste.

You’ll never be expected to bag your friend’s waste
unless something has gone terribly wrong
and that dog in you is dying and wandering down a trail
only a friend would follow with a friend.

So we cannot be
like man’s best friend
but might take a few lessons from a dog who
might bite and yes a friend could bite
and that would be a surprise if you kept friends
just like well trained dogs
all barking a second language.

Gregory Zeorlin 12/6/14 5:01am

Click here to read more poetry.  Learn more about the imaginary home of my imaginary dogs at StickyPhilosopher.com . And maybe, just maybe…visit the StickyPhilosopher Facebook page.