Heavy blues,

Day at its edge,

Closing in.


Sweat beading

On the brow,

A life wandering

Around the

Rising corn.


Endless pavement,

Trains following

Cracked lines,

Bitter roots

Poking through.


Fallen from the

Storming heavens,

Trudged along

In the

Drunken mists

Of mortal

Crusts caking


Shuffles of shoes.


Beaten through,

God at the

Stoniest backside,

The church a final

Trusted passage.

One from the ICON Series- Her Blues Soul

The duckling on its crooked legs,

Wandering the pond

For a place to hide.


In reeds,

The crying rings out,

A loud woman on a drunk.


Friends of the counterculture

She found,

The teases of old enemies

Upon her.



A woman of her

Words and wits,

The keeper of heavy blues.


Her dying moments,

The telegram lost,

A fire swallowed,

The memoriam of love and life

Not realized.