# data[].attributes.body
Sunlight leaks through gauzy curtains, landing on

peacock pajamas, pea-green sheets, the cylindrical form of a respirator,

and a sleep-softened face, frozen in a state of shock.

Sunday service, I doodled gardens on collection cards

A sea of heads bobbing gently to the rolling words.

The hymns hold my attention best,

The great music of a congregation, reaching their voices to the sky,

Then the soft pattering rains of silence.

Your voice was a roaring waterfall,

tumbling off the rocks of others,

And hitting my bumbling brook with its faithful strength.

By your bedside, the tinny phone speaker spouts music,

Neither a sea nor a waterfall joins in song

But the lonely voice of a bumbling brook.

With every verse, my voice croaks and creaks,

Reaching the highs and lows, holding the chorus alone.

Your mouth faintly moves, smiling or singing, its unknown.

Stones pile over the waterfall, stopping all movement but the trickle of a smile

And when the music ends and the sermon starts, the trickle fades

The brook grows into a river, bolstered by the voice of the waterfall.

As the last trickles of the waterfall lead into the river, the waterfall dries up,

Leaving only the river to create a new waterfall one day.

Next Sunday, I go to sing, only to find the waterfall has dried, the song over, stones silent.

All that remains is the impression of sound, a faint echo of a waterfall.

And the river floods.

# data[].attributes.body
Sunlight leaks through gauzy curtains, landing on

peacock pajamas, pea-green sheets, the cylindrical form of a respirator,

and a sleep-softened face, frozen in a state of shock.

My choice of levity is the Sunday service,

Where I remember doodling gardens on collection cards

As a sea of heads bobs gently to the rolling words.

The hymns hold my attention best,

The great music of a congregation, reaching their voices to the sky,

Then the soft pattering rains of silence.

Your voice was a roaring waterfall,

tumbling off the rocks of others,

And hitting my bumbling brook with its faithful strength.

By your bedside, the tinny phone speaker spouts music,

Neither a sea nor a waterfall joins in song

But the lonely voice of a bumbling brook.

With every verse, my voice croaks and creaks,

Reaching the highs and lows, holding the chorus alone.

Your mouth faintly moves, smiling or singing, its unknown.

I sing louder, growing into a river bolstered by your attempts,

Stones pile over the waterfall, stopping all movement but the trickle of a smile

And when the music ends and the sermon starts, the trickle fades

The brook grows into a river, bolstered by the voice of the waterfall.

As the last trickles of the waterfall lead into the river, the waterfall dries up,

Leaving only the river to create a new waterfall one day.

Next Sunday, I go to sing, only to find the waterfall has dried, the song over, stones silent.

All that remains is the impression of sound, a faint echo of a waterfall.

And the river floods.

# data[].attributes.body
The sky sprawls, a contented cat

playing with wispy strands of clouds,

a capricious breeze tangling hair

strand by strand, teasing temperance

nothing but a bluff, boiling

gulf sludge creeping to the coast,

primed to unsettle the sandbar state.

My grandmother packs pillows, lawn chairs

arranged in a primary school classroom, sheltering

evacuees from trees poised to topple homes.

My father fills the generator, bracing

his new home for flying winds

catching power lines, roofs

battered by slanted rain.

I sidestep the shower, Texas welcoming

early fall temperatures that uplift

frisbees in sudden air currents,

close eyelids resting in freshly mown grass,

winds of favor blown in our direction.

# data[].attributes.body
The world has been wondering--

Is she here?

Move to town,

build a house.

Lease the farm,

run the cafe.

Help in the shop,

marry, honeymoon.

Is this the goal?

Valuable visits of the stork

just arrived, children

passed into the hands

of happy parents.

Bright-faced little sunrise,

a boy, a baby girl,

Zenobia Christine--

a complete home,

piece by piece.

# data[].attributes.body
The sky is clear above me,

Wispy clouds tailing the trees,

Soft breeze lifting tendrils of hair

Strand by strand, a temperate day.

Meanwhile the gulf roils, boiling

water creeping to the coast,

ready to unsettle the sandbar state.

My grandmother shelters in an elementary

the size of a high school campus,

her background checked at the door,

lawn chairs ready to hold steady.

My father weathers his first Florida storm,

hundred mph winds knock down trees,

catching on power lines, roofs

holding on against slanted rain,

storm surges threatening coastal retirement.

My state cools down, untimely

fall weather welcome

as I walk the college grounds,

take a nap in the freshly mown grass,

toss some frisbee with friends,

the winds of favor blown in my direction.

# data[].attributes.body
Patches of grass and the lure of a large backyard, endless

frisbee tosses, running in circles, and coming back, worn out

fur glossy with sweat, cowlicked and curly, verging on fr-Izzy

kin to kittens and babies, damp nose seeking hands in hound-like intensity

huffing and puffing protectively up and down the stairs

in enduring affection, cozy like a worn pair of Levi’s

lazy yet stuffed with love, big-boned and bird-brained,

frightened by NERF guns, cats, noises, cardboard boxes, living

under the table, hand-fed and always with a full b-Elly

of frenzied energy, a rubber band out the door after squirrels

and bouncing back inside into a cozy ball,

bestowing her blessing on laps and hands, the ones Lucky

enough to hold the fort, dog the front door, lay

a long lumpy body with the sprightly dedication of a pup

placed in a family to keep safe the Chicks

cooped in a kennel dawn to dark, excited

for the front door to unlock, dejected until it does, watching

reruns on the television of Good Luck Charlie

a welcome company, gnawing on table legs, under

wear, books and toys, teeth ground into tiny nubs

leaving lone socks as ships of unmoored Sailors

caught in a dopey smile like dog food commercial actors, gracefully

navigating coffee tables and clearing contents with a tail swipe,

securing a spot with the low rumble growl of a Harley

warily waking up for belly rubs, but hiding a large labrador

body behind blanketed walls and memories,

a familial glue, inset with the family Jewel

stolen through tiny picket pockets,

pee-wee toe beads breaking in-

laws apart, relationships clinging like strands of Ivy

climbing over couches, a cat-like nimbleness and skinny

frame, piecing relationships from fragments into family,

making a house, home – hearts, whole.

# data[].attributes.body
Old ladies smile when I sing, yours the brightest

Your voice croaks and creaks, a great rumbling waterfall beside my bumbling brook

As the church brings our voices louder in praise, we harmonize on a single note

As the congregation claps into a new song.

I scribbled on a collection card,

Creating sunsets over the garden of Eden.

You always dropped a $50 check into the tray when it came by

Sun streamed through the sunroom’s big bay windows,

You were the sun in the room

One sunny Sunday by your bedside,

I tried to bring some levity through the Sunday sermon.

When they praised, I sang,

My voice cracking and creaking, yours stone silent.

My throat ached, holding the chorus alone,

Trying to reach the highs and lows

As the phone’s tinny speaker struggled to keep up.

I almost stopped.

But your smile lit up the room,

Muscle paralysis prohibiting your corners from creeping into a smile,

Stones holding them cemented to your face.

But your eyes said it all. Your eyes spoke for the mouth,

For when the singing stopped, now time for the sermon,

Your smile fell just as much, told me to stop,

When I came for our Sunday singing,

I didn’t make it through the door.

Your song had ended, and as the dull tones of the sermon

Echoed through my speaker,

My song came out through tears

And never stopped singing.

# data[].attributes.body
The sky is clear above me
Wispy clouds tailing the trees,
Soft breeze lifting tendrils of hair
Strand by strand, a temperate day.
Meanwhile the gulf roils, a pot boiling over

water creeping to the coast,
ready to unsettle the sandbar state.
My grandmother shelters in an elementary
the size of a college campus,
her background checked at the door,
lawn chairs ready to hold steady.
My father loses power,

hundred mph winds knock down trees,

catching on power lines, roofs

slanted rain beating down unshuttered windows

I walk the college grounds,

take a nap in the freshly mown grass,

toss some frisbee with friends,

the winds of favor blown in my direction.

# data[].attributes.body
Patches of grass and the lure of a large backyard, endless

frisbee tosses, running in circles, and coming back, worn out

fur glossy with sweat, cowlicked and curly, verging on fr-Izzy

kin to kittens and babies, damp nose seeking hands in hound-like intensity

huffing and puffing protectively up and down the stairs

in enduring affection, cozy like a worn pair of Levi’s

lazy yet stuffed with love, big-boned and bird-brained,

frightened by NERF guns, cats, noises, cardboard boxes, living

under the table, hand-fed and always with a full b-Elly

of frenzied energy, a rubber band out the door after squirrels

and bouncing back inside into a cozy ball,

bestowing her blessing on laps and hands, the ones Lucky

enough to hold the fort, dog the front door, lay

a long lumpy body with the sprightly dedication of a pup

placed in a family to keep safe the Chickies

cooped in a kennel dawn to dark, excited

for the front door to unlock, dejected until it does, watching

reruns on the television of Good Luck Charlie

a welcome company, gnawing on table legs, under

wear, books and toys, teeth ground into tiny nubs

leaving lone socks as ships of unmoored Sailors

caught in a dopey smile like dog food commercial actors, gracefully

navigating coffee tables and clearing contents with a tail swipe,

securing a spot with the low rumble growl of a Harley

warily waking up for belly rubs, but hiding a large labrador

body behind blanketed walls, and

a familial glue, inset with the family Jewel

stolen through tiny picket pockets,

pee-wee toe beads breaking in-

laws apart, relationships clinging like strands of Ivy

climbing over couches, a cat-like nimbleness and skinny

frame, piecing relationships from fragments into family,

from home to heart.

following the family from home into heart,

piecing it together.

now our hearts, holding the family together,

and breaking them when you leave.

We love you, our dogs, may you go in peace.

# data[].attributes.body
A helicopter crashed into a radio tower in Houston’s Second Ward on Sunday night.

The news will use language to report

death, politics, sports, scandal,

obtaining views, inserting fear

into the native narrative.

The FAA, NTSB, DPS, HFD, HPD are all investigating the crash.

We investigate rhetorical appeals,

using class credibility to claim

subjugation over institutions

until we forget it’s real.

A tragic loss of life, four people, including a child, are killed.

Debris still lingers in our backyards

while we pull this piece to death,

horrified at its untimely truth,

four dead, not us.

# data[].attributes.body
How callously I take a story about loss of life

And turn it into an analysis

Of how the news sensationalizes,

Reports on the death, the negativity,

Uses language and reinforcement to incite fear,

But rarely tells the right stories.

In the afternoon I forget to preface the article

With the story, fresh off the press that morning.

When I finally do, after it’s been picked apart,

Their faces are horrified,

To have taken this “tragic loss”

And taken it apart,

Meanwhile debris still lingers in our backyards.

How quickly an attempt to teach rhetorical appeals,

How the news manipulates and uses language

Turns into guilt at manipulating students minds.

A helicopter crashed into a radio tower in Houston’s Second Ward on Sunday night, logos.

The FAA, NTSB, DPS, HFD, HPD are all investigating the crash, ethos.

A tragic loss of life, four people, including a child, are killed, pathos.

This poem is a helicopter crashing into an unlit radio tower,

no audience, just flying, oblivious to who dies.

It comes apart anyways.

# data[].attributes.body
Do I have the right to enjoy a beautiful fall day
While a hurricane rages over Florida
My fortune the result of others mis
A miss for me and a hit to them

As I stare at the blue sky open above me I consider
The roil in the gulf, a boiling pot of water rousted into movement, flowing over the sides of the pot to reach for blue coasts on the other side
Crossing the sandbar of winter and Disney and Tampa
While I enjoy a soft, cool breeze
Relishing the temperate weather,
The unseasonably cool weather a welcome relief from the suns harsh rays

# data[].attributes.body
Old ladies smile when I sing, yours the brightest

Your voice croaks and creaks, a great rumbling waterfall beside my bumbling brook

As the church brings our voices louder in praise, we harmonize on a single note

As the congregation claps into a new song.

On a Sunday when you were on bed rest

I turned on the church livestream.

It started with praise, so I sang --

My voice cracking and creaking, yours stone silent.

My throat ached, holding the chorus alone,

Trying to reach the highs and lows

As the phone’s tinny speaker struggled to keep up.

I almost stopped.

But your smile lit up the room,

Stroke keeping the corners of your mouth from lifting,

As if stones held them cemented to your face.

But your eyes said it all.

For when the singing stopped, now time for the sermon,

Your smile fell just as much, told me to stop,

Because no one wanted to listen to Rick anyways.

# data[].attributes.headline
Life and Death in Burkett, Texas (Draft 1)

# data[].attributes.subject
Life and Death in Burkett, Texas (Draft 1)

# data[].attributes.body
Bright faced little fellow,

death claimed him.

Recovering.

Recent visits of the stork,

a boy, a baby girl –

Zenobia Christine.

Move here.

Build a house.

Lease the farm.

Run the cafe.

Attend school.

Assist in the post office.

Marry, honeymoon.

Make a home.

# data[].attributes.body
Cotton picking season

Once a child gets behind

Difficult to overcome

Building a house

Will move here

Spent the weekend in the Wagner home

Recently won two foot ball games

Making her home with them and teaching piano

Moved to cross plains

Spent Sunday with her parents

Spent Sunday with relatives

Purchased a home in Brownwood

Leased the farm

Will continue to run the Cafe until next spring

Automobile accessory thieves have raided the Burns and Burkett Garages recently, getting tires, tubes and batteries

Was a caller here Saturday night

Visiting their brother and sister

Attended the Abilene fair Monday

Returning here from Sipe Springs and have apartments

Moved to Ranger

Charge of a barber shop

Attending school at Santa Anna

Helping in Piggly Wiggly Saturdays

Opened the Miller barber shop last Monday

Purchased the Y.C. Boyle farm

Happy parents of a baby girl who has been named Zenobia Christine

Returned from a visit with her daughter

Spending some time with her mother at Commerce

Recovering from a tonsil operation

Assisting Mr. and Mrs. T.A. Burns in the Gift Shop and Post office

Recently married and after a short honeymoon are at home

Recent visits of the Stork left a baby girl at the Jim Baker home and a boy at the Drewey home

Attended the funeral

Loved by those who knew him

Bright faced little fellow

Go out to the bereaved

Returned to her home at Bartlett

Preach at the church of Christ Sunday, Oct. 9th.

--

Furnished our city

The world has been wondering

The young people seemed to enjoy it

Enjoyed a sunrise breakfast

Enjoyed very much. Entertained.

Is she boiling

At a cost

Will not exceed

Repair, rebuild

Near the goal

Equally desirable

Careful workmanship

Fitting qualities of the finest type and manner

We go the limits to please

Everything hurt me

Felt better

Complete home

If desired

Invite you to visit us

Passed into the hands

Posession

Shaking

Represents an ideal

High standard

Only the very best

Extra comfort

Just received

Been in ill health

Nice crowd of young folks

They are valuable

Piece by piece

Fat juicy mackerel

Just arrived