A Twister in Tuscaloosa

I wrote this poem after the devastation in Tuscaloosa.  This year's twister season is going to be a bad one.  Please keep these people in your thoughts.

A Twister in Tuscaloosa

A poem by Daigneault

The devil had a party

Tuscaloosa rides rotting, gnashing teeth

A few short minutes

All held dear, shredded trash

Timbers and TVs, babies and board games

A living city took to flight

A few short minutes

The monster howled, lives and memories were lost

Everything, that is every thing lost

Hopes and worries and tomorrows plans

A few short minutes

This quintessential crime

And standing in the wreckage

a stranger with a camera

This ultimate pornography

Served with America’s morning coffee

A shattered woman, more than alone

Knee deep in shredded sorrows

“I don’t know how to do this”

She said, with her voice shaking

Well be right back

after a word from our sponsors

God in Threes a poem by Daigneaulti

God in Threes

a poem by Daigneault

Throwing Angles at the rain

It’s …

Yes

No

There

These words that cannot say

Of soil and song and joy and truth

Water knowing water

That tree thinks of time

And I live with words

A current a vale

Or light and God

At some point

I am the land and sky

Where are the words

Evading me but all around

I want the words

I need the words

Where are the words

Where?

Why not?

When?

It moves through me

All around

The warm breeze loves the autumn leaves

One but not

So I wait

A hope a prayer

Yes a prayer

Wordless, together and yet just beyond, so close, one but not, tangible, but not

Un-said un-known

Other

No we

Know we

Caged locked I see the door

You dry cold worn

She has lost so much and we can’t find a path

Old now is this the last few pages of that book she wrote

Of a life of fantasy he was on the road on those women but where was she?

I cannot look as the fire grows dim as she grows dim this bright lonely light

Was this her truest lie this life she almost had

And I on the sidelines alone throwing angel at the rain.

I cannot find tears or pain that can see this error in our basic makeup

We calmly watch as our families burn to ash

Less than ash for ash can be touched at least it has the heart to leave us filthy

They just leave and that that is left behind is not them in any way

My father called it garbage but I think it is less

How can a life end in so little

Where is true sadness

Where is the mind going… why… how

Please help me to find my way back to the surface

The light

Blood and fire and pain and deep pounding breaths

Beautiful breathless muscles pushed beyond their limits

Life fresh soil and sweat

Please

Please

Awake

Am I

A cross between sight and pain

The horizon I see it

And I feel it sees me

Knows me

Once again I am alive, If only for today

I come to this cross road again and again

This light is out there and I feel my mind working again and again

But I fear that monster that is just out of my vision.

His breath wet and putrid

Just a round that next corner

Always taking

A thief

But the fight goes on

I know that all is there if only I can extend my grasp

Just become strong enough to reach once again

I can see that thing that I wish to call light

But that is the wrong word

But I can see it and feel it

God in Threes.

Dancing Through the Fog A poem by Daigneault

Dancing Through the Fog

A poem by Daigneault

Through the breach

A misty gauze

Distant language

Her tender hands

Words float like cotton

Taste like cream

Yes cotton and cream

A fragrance her own

Funny how the drops seams to hum 

Singing as they soak in

I know the tune

And all the words

But the song

Was written in hell

The Norman Midnight a poem by Daigneault

The Norman Midnight

a poem by Daigneault

Vacant congregation

Standing in line

Desolate perversion

Inflation of the soul

Sexless

Lifeless

Property of the Penthouse

Caught in a two olive pontification

Amateurs at sin

of this Norman midnight

Begging for burden

And lies and sordid definition

With headlights off I too am speeding

On a dead-end street

Glutinous fools

At this baneful banquet

Not of Rockwell

Nor of Saxons

But the withered fruits

Of Slavoda’s nightmare

Upon which

We now feast

Aisle Six a poem by Daigneault

Aisle Six                                                                                                                   by Daigneault

Okay, a mop, tin foil, ranch dressing, coffee, those little Mexican limes…

They’ve closed the local market

Just the other day

A brand new, shiny bistro

And I hear they have Pâté

Italian tile and marble

And foods from far away

Folks driving from the valley

Who’ve heard they have Pâté

Let’s see.  Milk, cheese, bleach, tampons, bacon, lettuce, avocados, bread, toilet paper… Hey kid, do you know where they’ve put the bleach?

Good morning Sir, I’d be glad to assist in making your shopping experience, this morning, the very best.  Could I interest you in a sample of our Goat’s cheese stuffed squash blossoms?

Uhh, thanks kid, but I was looking for the bleach…

Yes Sir, I know, I’ll just call the Home and Hearth Associate.  Perhaps Sir would enjoy a cappuccino while he waits?

No I’ve already had my coffee, but thanks.  Look, it used to be on aisle six by the fly swatters and the charcoal.

Well Sir, if the alfresco, culinary arts are your area of interest, we have an excellent Teak Wood, chunk charcoal mixed with sun-dried, old growth, zinfandel vines, pre-soaked in Kentucky bourbon…

They seem so young and friendly

To help in every way

I’m looking for the bleach

He’s offering Pâté

A tank with living lobsters

Pheasants baked in clay

And wine from every country

To help digest Pâté

Hello Sir, I understand you need the Home and Hearth Associate.  You’re in luck Sir.  He had a cancellation this afternoon.  I’m the Activities Concierge and I’d love to arrange a facial or massage during your wait… Did you get your cappuccino?

Look Frank…

I’m sorry SIR, it’s pronounced with a soft a… FRANC!

Uh… oh, okay, Franc; look you’ve got a real nice store here, but I’ve gotta get back and clean the toilet.  See we’re having a little barbecue this weekend and…

Has Sir heard about our excellent Teakwood…

YES… YES… YES, Sir is well aware of the Teak Wood charcoal.  Sir doesn’t need Teak Wood or cappuccino or even a facial. Sir needs some bleach, so Sir can go home and clean Sir’s toilet.

Well if Sir would like I could arrange for an in-home interview with our Personal Valet Associate.

Farewell my local market

Closed just the other day

This brand new shiny bistro

But I don’t eat Pâté

Just want to clean my toilet

Without the store’s valet

Folks driving from the valley

Who like to eat Pâté

Now where was I?  A toilet brush, hamburger buns, Flaming Cheetos, dog food, dish soap…

God in threes A Poem by Daigneault

God in Threes

A Poem by Daigneault

Throwing Angles at the rain

It’s …

Yes

No

There

These words that cannot say

Of soil and song and joy and truth

Water knowing water

That tree thinks of time

And I live with words

A current a vale

Or light and God

At some point

I am the land and sky

Where are the words

Evading me but all around

I want the words

I need the words

Where are the words

Where?

Why not?

When?

It moves through me

All around

The warm breeze loves the autumn leaves

One but not

So I wait

A hope a prayer

Yes a prayer

Wordless, together and yet just beyond, so close, one but not, tangible, but not

Un-said un-known

Other

No we

Know we

Caged locked I see the door

You dry cold worn

She has lost so much and we can’t find a path

Old now is this the last few pages of that book she wrote

Of a life of fantasy he was on the road on those women but where was she?

I cannot look as the fire grows dim as she grows dim this bright lonely light

Was this her truest lie this life she almost had

And I on the sidelines alone throwng angel at the rain.

I cannot find tears or pain that can see this error in our basic makeup

We calmly watch as our families burn to ash

Less than ash for ash can be touched at least it has the heart to leave us filthy

They just leave and that that is left behind is not them in any way

My father called it garbage but I think it is less

How can a life end in so little

Where is true sadness

Where is the mind going why how

Please help me to find my way back to the surface

The light

Blood and fire and pain and deep pounding breaths

Beautiful breathless muscles pushed beyond their limits

Life fresh soil and sweat

Please

Please

Awake

Am I

A cross between sight and pain

The horizon I see it

And I feel it sees me

Knows me

Once again I am alive, If only for today

I come to this cross road again and again

This light is out there and I feel my mind working again and again

But I fear that monster that is just out of my vision.

His breath wet and putrid

Just a round that next corner

Always taking

A thief

But the fight goes on

I know that all is there if only I can extend my grasp

Just become strong enough to reach once again

I can see that thing that I wish to call light

But that is the wrong word

But I can see it and feel it

God in Threes.

Through the breach A poem by Daigneault

Through the breach

A poem by Daigneault

Through the breach

a misty gauze

Distant language

her tender hands

Words float like cotton

And taste like cream

Yes cotton

and cream

This fragrance

All her own

Funny how

the drip seams

It hums a little

in the line

Then sings

Soaking into flesh.

The tune the words

Known

But the song

Yes a fragrance all her own

My Three Kates

Seeing this picture of my beautiful wife, our lovely daughter and our recently lost Kathryn Zalem; Kathy’s mother, I can’t help but think of the poem I wrote the morning she passed. I thought I’d share it with my readers again for those that missed it

For Zalem

A Poem by Daigneault

Forged in the dark earth of Kansas by a preacher and his wife

She was an educated woman in a time when such was rare

Never much for foolishness she worked hard and watched the money

Then one day when the kids had grown he said he was leaving

For a while the tears and questions kept her down

But she did her own time and found her own way

So through thirty years of solitude, hers was a life of books and antiques

Watercolors and brushes and time with the children, but she lived alone

She watched movies every Christmas with Ila and loved “Frosties”

Reading everything, she had knowledge where others had only opinion

As her twilight approached she quietly cut the lines that moored us together

And started on her way, leaving us grateful in the bedrock of her example

Like a glacier, quietly, gracefully, moving to the sea of her memories

We watched as she finally wondered back home to a Kansas of an earlier day

In the end she was as light as air, giving all, even her body

Leaving behind only a few precious strands of her beautiful white hair

Thank you Kathryn

This God a Poem by Daigneault

This God A Poem by Daigneault

Not wanting to join

They say, “I’m spiritual”

Mom and her folks

Believed every word

My education tells me

The world is more than 5000 years old

And I man cannot live

In a fish for 40 days

A written text

Handed down for generations

Christian, Muslim and Jew

Claim this god

But deny love

To their brothers

As our world burns

With murder, rape and greed

Chasing the unholy

In pursuit of possession

This God of my father

So distant

In the hours of pain

When all looks lost

We turn to this god

Who’s name we’ve lost

To find him close and new

Hurricane a poem by Daigneault

The devil had a party

Tuscaloosa rides rotting, gnashing teeth

A few short minutes

All held dear, shredded trash

Timbers and TVs, babies and board games

A living city took to flight

A few short minutes

The monster howled, lives and memories were lost

Everything, that is every thing lost

Hopes and worries and tomorrows plans

A few short minutes

This quintessential crime

And standing in the wreckage

a stranger with a camera

This ultimate pornography

Served with America's morning coffee

A shattered woman, more than alone

Knee deep in shredded sorrows

“I don’t know how to do this”

She said, with her voice shaking

Well be right back

after a word from our sponsors

Home A Poem by Daigneault

I woke again this morning

Our home was still the same

Yes we had our clutter

Our address had not changed

And though the trees still knew me

There was something in that air

A joy rose with the morning

and old things now seemed rare

My years now more than fifty

with dull eyes became clear

That this is all I’ve needed

Our home the people here

With luck as I walk forward

With Kathy through the years

We’ll have all we’ve needed

In our little home right here

Kathy's Mother Died Today

For Zalem

A Poem by Daigneault

Forged in the dark earth of Kansas by a preacher and his wife

She was an educated woman in a time when such was rare

Never much for foolishness she worked hard and watched the money

Then one day when the kids had grown he said he was leaving

For a while the tears and questions kept her down

But she did her own time and found her own way

So through thirty years of solitude, hers was a life of books and antiques

watercolors and brushes and time with the children, but she lived alone

She watched movies every Christmas with Ila and loved “Frosties”

Reading everything, she had knowledge where others had only opinion

As her twilight approached she quietly cut the lines that moored us together

And started on her way, leaving us grateful in the bedrock of her example

Like a glacier, quietly, gracefully, moving to the sea of her memories

We watched as she finally wondered back home to a Kansas of an earlier day

In the end she was as light as air, giving all, even her body

Leaving behind only a few precious strands of her beautiful white hair

Thank you Kathryn

If Heroes be Illusion A Poem by Daigneault

If Heroes be Illusion

A Poem by Daigneault

If heroes be illusion

The heroes as we say

Can true men then be heroes

In deeds of everyday

In stories facing giants

without a flinch or fear

Standing straight and solid

with will so true so clear

If men like that be fiction

and yet great deeds are done

The myth is calling fearless

The men that fail to run

For heroes are not different

from ordinary men

With fear and hearts a pounding

They stay to fight to win

Quiet... in three! A Poem by Daigneault

Quiet… in three!

A Poem by Daigneault

Hands that feel

Heart that speaks

Standing alone

To give

To please

No one

No plan

No staff

toward distant shore

Bleeding

calloused

Against a tide

Alone

to self

to all

climbing

silence speaks

Stomped

living

only the ride

never knowing

With words of steel

Manifest Destiny a Poem by Daigneault

Manifest Destiny

(Rorschach sideways, views fifty-five)

By Daigneault

Late October

Two AM Rodriguez’s sighting

The executioner hails

Land Ho!

Celestial diva

Stands watching from the bow

Priests and pirates

The rotting stench of Europe

Fetid feet

Pollute pristine paradise

Angel bleeds

Tears of a thousand Aztecs

Naked children

An aperitif

Eons of agrology

Grist for their perverted mill

Ancient gods and history and magic

But a putrid bilge

Discarded by servants

Of a god, void of earthly soul