Soul to Take

Oh Night Sun,
above this dry desolation,
as I lay in isolation,
I won't ask for blessed sleep
but instead, my soul to keep.
Oh rocks,
turn smooth, flat, compliant
from piercing, sharp,warm and violent;
May coyote's long and ragged moan,
be a serenade to my ears alone,
and the needle prick of cactus arm
be not enough to cause alarm,
on my journey of a thousand steps
away from those who starve and fret
toward the crystal sparkling ridge--
that promised land of privelege.
Oh moon, I pray, stay bright and long!
Stars, please be my welcoming throng!
Then greet me, Sun, at morning break;
I pray
new Lord,
my soul to take.


- Copyright Hope A. Horner, 2013. Use with permission only. Contact author on gmail at hopeh1122. Follow on Twitter @HopeNote
Visit www.hopehorner.com

Fruit Picker

Cast me out!

You can
because you don't know me.
You never had to look me right here--
Right here 
in the eyes 
and tell me

You don't want me around.

It would be a little harder then 
wouldn't it?
To toss me back into the heap 
like a bad apple-- 
One brown spot too many.

Look at me!

You see me now

in the sun and sod,
overalls and long sleeves
between the ruts and the road stands.

Someday,
you will see me--
My back
no longer bent over the green rows.
My hands
no longer stained with the blood of your fruit.
My glory
no longer restrained under a bandana

But flying

Like a bandera!
Freedom
whipping across my face!
Joy
stinging my almond eyes!
I will not be tossed back by you,
For I am chosen!
Not by you,
Fruit Picker.

But I am Chosen!

Copyright Hope A. Horner. Off-line use with permission only. Contact author on gmail at hopeh1122. Follow on Twitter @HopeNote

Sylvia

Sylvia

You know better
Sylvia
The time spent
in the desert

in each other
Between the roses
and the riddles of life,
Too old
to go home
Too young
to make our own
So
we sat
barefoot
in circles
Passing green bottles
Rolling the dice
on what was before us
or
at least what could be seen.
But
Sylvia
You and I
both know
now
It was only a mirage,
a shimmering illusion,
The bounce of light
off metal panels and hubcaps,
Trash on fire.


- Copyright Hope A. Horner, 2013. Online use/forwarding permitted. Offline/print use with permission only. Contact author on Facebook or email on gmail at hopeh1122.

Disconnected

God pulled the power plug out of the wall.
Grabbed the cord, yanked and watched it fall.
With a hiss and a pop that was heard all around,
Computers and laptops and phones all shut down.
TVs flashed then went blank; devices went dark.
Wi-fi service ceased, cell phone towers sparked.
No Facebook, no Twitter, no YouTube, no Skype,
No blogging, no chatting, no media hype,
No breaking news, no Dancing with the Stars,
And for once, there was no cell phone use in cars.
No spyware, no software, no internet hacks,
No hard drive failures, no virus attacks.
We looked up from our iPads, PCs, and macbooks,
With eyebrows raised high, we exchanged confused looks.
We could no longer text, like, email or tweet
If we wanted to surf, we'd have go to the beach.
We pushed back our chairs, stretched out our necks,
Blinked our red eyes and thought, "What next?"
As we stood to our feet, not knowing what to do,
We were surprised to find that our legs could move.
So we rode our bikes, we took long walks
We even tried having face to face talks.
Soon we discovered just by looking around,
There is so much to see when the power is out!
We hugged and we smiled and we danced and we sang
(Without interruption because our phones never rang!)
We LOL'ed and threw our heads back
And our headphones fell out of our ears at last.
Our reception was great, we were completely tuned in
To the joys and the hurts of our neighbors and friends.
We were away from our desks, off of the couch
We were living and loving - wirelessly now!
We handwrote a love note, we picked up a book
Re-Kindled old friendships, found a warm Nook.
Now disconnected, we learned to truly connect!
God was pleased when he saw the dramatic effect.
What a valuable lesson in His wisdom he showed us.
And when He plugged the cord back in, heck,
...We didn't even notice.

Copyright Hope A. Horner, 2013.

Use with permission only. Contact author on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/hopeh1122
Email hopeh1122 at gmail dot com
Follow on Twitter @HopeNote

Peek

Peek

She peeks
over the mountain
down the ravine spotted with chapparel
palace palm trees
cactus patches
purple jacaranda
knotted pines bent at the waist before proud oaks.
Her eyes dart like black phoebes
over red brick roof tops
through baked adobe archways embraced by scarlet bouganvilla.
She waits,
silent and white like cotton
for the sun to grow tired and retreat
so she can make her descent
settle in for the night
belly nested in the sand
cuddling the sailboats in the crooks of her arms
stretching her nose
out over the sea
to peek
over the horizon.


-Copyright Hope A. Horner, 2013. Use with permission only.
From Word Windows Poetry: http://www.wordwindows.blogspot.com
Contact author on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/hopeh1122
Follow on Twitter @HopeNote

Drive You Out of My Mind

I have to drive you out of my mind--

press down on the black tar interstate that splits the cactus and the poppies.

Part the opulent heat from here 

to Avenue A.

I have to pull ahead,

left of the pregnant Winnebago with Arizona plates, 

right of the Harley with the patriotic tail,

through the center of sweet water canyon 

brown and grooved like a walnut shell.

I have to pull off--

cross the overpass lined with trash 

and orange suits that bend and bag.

Pause where the signal light blinks—red, gone, red;

Rest my arm on the windowsill of my car.

Exhale acrid exhaust through paper mache lips,

my eyes like marbles in a sand pit.

Red, gone, red.

I proceed.

Pass Foster's Freeze--

a faded blue oasis of locked bathrooms,

plastic umbrellas casting crooked shade, 

french fries filling insatiable pigeons.

I have to pass,

turn on to the gray gravel road that circles your park,

where rust bites its way through posted signs:

No lifeguard on duty!

Dogs must be on leash.

Visitor parking only.

Each square has a number and a lawn like a hot spot on a dog's back--

rough, raw and unkempt.

I have to proceed.

roll by the metal boxes

with floral sheet curtains,

sleepy cats on couch backs

trucks that pout in driveways,

carports that bow their heads in reverence to past snowfalls.

I have to pull over,

Park;

Follow the crushed white stones between the potted plants and pink oleander

up two thick concrete steps to your door.

I have to press--

Press and wait;

bite my lip, study my shoelaces,

pinch the back of my shirt to fan the sweaty circle brought on by vinyl

and a hundred miles 

of driving you out of my mind.

- Copyright Hope A. Horner 2013. Use with permission by author.

Let me know what you think! (Constructive criticism welcome!) 

Contact on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/hopeh1122

Follow on Twitter @HopeNote