Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Archive for the month “November, 2012”

You can’t apologize to the dead

You can’t apologize to the dead.

Your exegesis of the received text of your life

Blows away in the wind, unheard.

The memories, though, are indelible.

They wait to ambush you

In unguarded moments.

Thich Nhat Hanh said to think of the lost

Smiling down on you and forgiving.

Nice image and balm which doesn’t make up

For your having been such a dick.

Lit up

We’d passed through the rain and fog on Unaka Mountain.

Now, in East Tennessee, the clouds were breaking up

And the sun setting was lighting them up like some

Dutch master agog with pushing mad paint.

Vermillion, cadmium orange, with ultramarine blue

Of the afternoon sky floating above it all.

Payne’s gray, raw umber, lavender, mauve, the white

Of some angel’s snowy robe.

“Ain’t nature purty?”

Nod. Nod.

Underneath, are you still there?

There was you, you know,

In the beginning.

Over the years, bit by bit,

You added the mask.

Underneath, are you still there?

The mask was cheaper,


Than sunglasses and you

Could wear it at night.

Underneath, still there, son?

One day I saw you

There in the mirror

Smiling, remembering

Something about mom.

Underneath, you’re still there.

I eat so much fiber

I eat so much fiber

I can take my crap

And dry it, dry it, dry it.

And I can weave it

Into wallhangings

For people with no


Winter’s back

Winter’s back.

I knew it was coming and just for a few days

Enjoyed the relief from heavy, humid August.

Then it got really cold. The wind picked up.

And I am reminded, once again,

Why I don’t like to be cold.

I’m waiting for you, spring.

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