SpitShine
•
he snapped his shine cloth
and shared his stories
tales of joy
tales of pain
of injustice
of his Memphis blues
his beloved big muddy
warm eyes
earthy brown
turbulent as that river
his stare
a deep current
impossible to escape
his voice
a tempered edge
honed by sorrow
sweetened by laughter
broadleaf husky
thick as sorghum
smooth as Beale Street bourbon
his weathered face cut with truth
marked and scarred by years of burden
of witness
each sculpted crease bore testament
to a genuine soul
cracked and seasoned hands
would reach with suffered care
to wrap tailored leather
in polished honesty
callused fingers
yellowed by habit
rolled the rhythm rag
to pull the sheen
with sweat and spit
blood and bone
as if to wipe clear
the broken promises
the failed love
the stain of dirt field
cruel street
back alley
of harsh wisdom
hard learned
the pop and slap
would resonate to fill my ears
the soulful cadence would stir my spirit
lift my worry
and make my step
light as a feather
a spit-shine like no other
will ever be again
• • •
rob kistner © 2008
_____________________
photo above entitled: “routine” — by: Tres
• • •
…poem inspired by read write image #6, found at “readwritepoem”
You’ve done a great job here. I loved the way your description of this man related to natural things (as though he was a mud caked shoe himself) and to music, and the uplift at the end.
Deep!!!Very deep
Love the memories and the Memphis blues!
I like how you bring together images such as “warm”-“brown” and “his voice/a tempered edge/honed by sorrow”… great job.
Love the narration!
Have a great new creative year 2009!
packets of love
beautiful portrait, authentic in the details…
I love the beginning, the snapping of the cloth to get you ready.
Great Memphis blues feel!
(Makes me think of the Red Hot & Blue BBQ place I go to.)
Hi Rob!
First, thank you so much for reading my poetry and for stopping by my poetry site! Sorry that it’s been taking me forever to return the favor to everyone by visiting theirs! At least it’s better late than never!
Second, this poem is very lyrical. I think it is due to the fact that you combined very interesting phrases together such as these stanas:
“cracked and seasoned hands
would reach with suffered care
to wrap tailored leather
in polished honesty
callused fingers
yellowed by habit
rolled the rhythm rag
to pull the sheen
with sweat and spit
blood and bone”
Great imagery, and thank you for sharing, Rob! 🙂