usadeepsouth
Standing near the top of The Empire State Building It was a different night I saw ten million places I'd never been The lights of homes and neighborhoods Businesses, Lady Liberty and the harbor A conversation about the weather or most any words Would have been trite and out of place So beautiful and not my first time there-- A moving sight all its own waiting for me Touching a part of me I had forgotten A cold wind whipping around my coat and scarf Was cozy--a kind of a warm chill It was like a voice was speaking and saying This is what I've been trying to tell you-- To show you Was it my part of the divine plan? I'm not sure, More like getting located in all there was And I never realized there was so much Did I have a mission? Was I being Called? It was more like knowing I had a place I belonged and it was a privilege just to be I rode the elevator down to the street level Not really wanting to leave the moment With my heart still atop the world The sidewalk and streets were wet From an earlier evening rain I ducked into a little restaurant where French onion soup was three dollars a plate There were white linen table cloths And a small lavender orchid at each place I ordered soup and coffee Every mouthful so alive it danced on my tongue My heart and hands had warmed So I slipped off my coat. This little meal Seemed more like a ceremony--communion Or some such sacred rite So I ate slowly mindful of every bite The whole night seemed familiar as if The building, the millions of lights and The restaurant had all been waiting Just for me to come back to where I belonged Although it wasn't my first, I won't forget This night and its tender welcome-- The night that I came home |
Einstein's Brain Are rocks now things we used to be? Is great-grandma a part of our apple tree? Can the fly in amber do you suppose Be one that lit on our Thirty-eighth great grandfather's nose? The soil around our roses by the dozen Could it be she--some long lost cousin? Where is the carriage where Lincoln would ride? And why does everything have to hide? Just what is the Buddhist's way? Doesn't it all boil down to decay? I hear we still have Einstein's brain Could his fingers and toes be in tonight's rain? Why do I sometimes feel so all alone? I won't look in the garden since I know it's a fact Love could never live in a stone |
|
Charleston Ladies of the Day Hot steamy low-country noon On the sidewalk at King and Meeting Where the post office and courthouse Are the backdrop for these ladies in broad skirts In the shadow of St Michael's The basket weavers rock back and fro More serious and commanding a price For the finest woven seagrass The flounce of the flower ladies' skirts is never still Trinket wares of violets, pansies and daisies You would have seen at home If your grandma lived to grow a garden Like life, their flowers perish quickly So they dance about both sides Of the street as well as their fate To make living seem a little longer As they sell their bouquets quickly for a sum Living the life they chose Women with skirts tucked back to front Seeing little sweat for big profit As they rock in motion with the deeper notes Harmonized, the flower ladies dance in tandem With the rhythm of the basket weavers Scattering their wares for coin Making death seem a little farther away |
Often a featured speaker, Reverend Bratcher is a volunteer chaplain for the South Carolina Department of Corrections, Upstate Coordinator for the South Carolina Global Warming Campaign for the Christian Action Council in Columbia, South Carolina, and is past Secretary to the Executive Board for Greenville Faith Communities United which seeks social justice and interfaith understanding.
Reverend Bratcher makes his home in Greenville, SC, where he is a member of the Metropolitan Community Church and is their interfaith representative to GFCU and past chair of their outreach and singles committees. E-mail Phil at Peacefulstar@msn.com. To read more of Phil's poetry, click here: A Sampling Bratcher - II Bratcher - III Bratcher - IV Want to leave a comment about Phil’s poems? Please visit our Message Board or write Ye Editor at bethjacks@hotmail.com. Back to USADEEPSOUTH - I index Back to USADEEPSOUTH - II index |