Skullgrass
by
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Ode to the Buffalo
There is an easiness about the river We pass God’s creatures Other times
Silvery Skies
I don’t mind if the surreptitious sun won’t shine Nor do I mind rusty rains The sensuous salty sweat
And levitating lewd lights lurk
But meanwhile, suspiciously spying from a distant silvery sky, Streams of . . . Quenched nihilism hangs from the crag, which we lay When the parched pigeons die of thirst
A subtle calming underlying
The currents that swift by
When we catalog memories
And dreams of the past, future and present
We live in the moment of the earth
We dive into it
With arms and legs flailing
And bodies glistening
While occasionally passing sandy banks
Where we find a spot to toss a blanket
And have a picnic with our loved ones
Listen
And feel his presence in the scenery
Where Monarchs dip into the Mimosa trees
Lining the land
We pass through
Carved out canyon crags
That stretch up toward the heavens
Like a high-rise
In a big city.
Where we are far from.
Or the whispering ways the cirrus covers her eyes.
Rolling across her breasts
Like pennies from heaven
Tears falling to forget
Burns from my brow
Stinging in protest, denying
The pyres rocket her thighs
Like a fire-worked Fourth of July
Thieving a smoldered sky.
She seeps and sighs
The hermetic hues hover delirious our heads
As emancipating echoes of elation denounce instead
Two famished pigeons in a park cooing for bread.
Fallen down rays gasp. We smile with delight.
An oasis to a nomad, a parched refuge for the night.
Alas, only to be goaded on by memories of another day.
And when the hunger is denied, they burst.
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About the Book
Faced with teen pregnancy my senior year of high school and too young to be a single mother, I decided to give my first son, David, up for adoption. Through the years, I never forgot the pain of that decision, nor have I forgotten him. Also, I never forgot the person who helped me regain my spiritual strength, Terry Sheahan. ‘Skullgrass’ is the name of a cabin that rests along the Missouri River on the old prairies of South Dakota. The owner, Terry Sheahan, took me into her home when there was nowhere else to turn. In honor of Terry, I titled this small collection of poetry, Skullgrass. To me ‘Skullgrass’ is not simply a place, but an idea. Skullgrass represents a safe haven, a sanctuary where we go to reconnect with the fundamentals of God and nature. Thank you, Terry, for ‘Skullgrass’ a safe haven.
About the Author
Melanie Baden resides in the Grand Prairies of Arkansas, amid the amber rice and wheat fields. She shares a home with her children Morgan and Jake. Originally from Anniston, Alabama, Melanie Baden, lived her formative years outside of Chicago, Illinois. Inspired by her literature professor, Diann Cunningham, Melanie began writing poetry in 1999. She has since been invited to three National Undergraduate Literature Conferences at Weber State University in Ogden, Utah. Melanie continues to pursue a degree in Sociology through Phillips Community College of the University of Arkansas, who has supported and encouraged her writing throughout the years. Melanie is the Director of Programs for the Stuttgart Chamber of Commerce, runner with Team Arkansasrunner.com, member of First United Methodist Church and committed to the happiness and livelihood of her two children.