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    The Common Air: A Book of Poetry
    The Common Air: A Book of Poetry
    The Common Air: A Book of Poetry
    Ebook175 pages1 hour

    The Common Air: A Book of Poetry

    By Barbara Longstreth Mulkey

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    About this ebook

    Barbara Longstreth Mulkey has been editor of the annual equine publication, Who’s Who in Horsedom in Lexington, KY, a columnist and society editor for the weekly Pine Bluff News in Arkansas, and poetry editor for the Arkansas Methodist newspaper. She has taught journalism and English, and is the author of three other books of poetry, The Sun’s Still On, Flowers In Their Season, and Sharing Christmas. She has also written a 365 page devotional book, With Glory & Honor (with Scripture, original poem, and thought for the day on each), also a collection of essays, stories, and poems entitled ESP, a creative non fiction book, Be Careful What You Wish For, and a novel, Hope Springs Eternal. For nine years she was director of the Arkansas Writers’ Conference. In retirement she and her husband, Louis, live in Little Rock, AR.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLulu Publishing Services
    Release dateOct 3, 2018
    ISBN9781483490236
    The Common Air: A Book of Poetry

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      Book preview

      The Common Air - Barbara Longstreth Mulkey

      MULKEY

      Copyright © 2018 Barbara Longstreth Mulkey.

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

      ISBN: 978-1-4834-9024-3 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4834-9023-6 (e)

      Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

      Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

      Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

      Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 9/7/2018

      For Louis

      THE COMMON AIR

      THE COMMON AIR

      I breathe the common air that bathes the globe,

      that air Walt Whitman breathed when penning those

      and other words that came to be the strobe

      of light for generations in the throes

      of selfish, indulgent gentility.

      The lawn I walk upon grows from the seeds

      of grass that ancient peoples saved for me.

      The thoughts I think that detail all my needs

      are the same thoughts that brought the captured slaves

      and bought and sold them — indeed, the same thoughts

      the enslaved had — of freedom and of graves —

      heights and depths of emotional onslaughts.

      When late, I will be buried under sky

      beneath which kings and criminals both lie.

      DOWN THE ROAD

      We took a ride to Lake DeGray

      on a hot and humid yesterday.

      For just a while we drove beside

      a car with three adults inside,

      heading somewhere down the road.

      In front a couple, middle-aged

      were talking, laughing, self-engaged.

      In back there sat a man alone —

      an old, old man whose cares were shown

      in eyes which stared off down the road.

      I felt his separation there

      and knew that sometime and somewhere

      I’d probably be in his shoes —

      an aged, third wheel whose life intrudes

      on others traveling down the road.

      For we may find our lives outlive

      our usefulness — that we can’t give

      but only take — do what we’re told.

      Our only sin that we grew old

      and did not die back down the road.

      A LIGHT IS A LIGHT

      Candle light is said to be romantic

      on table set for special rendezvous.

      But candles leave me feeling apathetic,

      and fixing meals is something I eschew.

      I lay no claim to kitchen artistry,

      and lovely table decorating scheme

      is not within my range of talentry,

      and candles are superfluous, I deem.

      I’d gladly treat my love to restaurant

      like P. F. Chang or Macaroni Grill,

      or Olive Garden — any he might want,

      and never flinch at picking up the bill.

      But I confess if all else fails, I might

      resort to take out eaten by flashlight.

      KING COTTON

      I’m hoein’ in high cotton, Granddad said,

      when time to harvest crops came round each year,

      for with hard work he was high-spirited.

      Though slight of stature, he still had no fear

      in care of cattle herd and cotton stand.

      He lived through flood and drought and such travails,

      but nature never challenged his command.

      He loved to hear the evening nightingales,

      the katydid, the tree frog, and the thrush.

      He marveled at the heaven’s starry night,

      but nothing topped his pride in fields all lush

      with cotton’s cover of a snowy white.

      He loved his country home where woods abound,

      where pastureland was green and livening,

      where fields were made of rich and fertile ground,

      where cotton reigned as one and only king.

      He’s long gone now — the fields he worked are bare.

      I long to see those crops when I drive by

      and cattle grazing in the pastures there.

      Oh, how I wish my wish might modify

      things as they are to how they used to be.

      My granddad would be there to say again,

      I’m hoein’ in high cotton. And I’d see

      his fields of cotton as they were back then.

      WILDFEST

      The wildest wildlife

      found in Arkansas

      is the ferocious razorback —

      a scary-looking

      boar hog usually

      seen in the Ozarks,

      often on the campus

      of the university

      in Fayetteville.

      The razorbacks

      native to Arkansas

      are red and white.

      They run in packs —

      are afraid of nothing,

      love a good fight,

      and on Saturdays

      in the fall may be seen

      stomping and pawing

      at the starting line

      of a pitched battle

      on a measured field

      as a crowd roars,

      "Whoo pig sooie!

      Razorbacks!"

      PLEASE, LOVE

      "Please, Love, give me another chance.

      When I was young I thought that age

      was something Time could just enhance.

      I didn’t need your tutelage.

      But now I’m feeling Time’s umbrage.

      Please, Love, give me another chance.

      My hope is that you will assuage

      this longing for deliverance.

      I’ve trusted Time to just enhance

      my selfish wish to disengage.

      Please, Love, give me another chance.

      I’m seeking now your patronage.

      I thought ‘career’ was all the rage —

      ignored the calling of romance.

      So now I’m caught in self-made cage.

      Please, Love, give me another chance."

      A BLONDE

      At thirteen I decided I’d remain

      a blonde as long as ever I should live.

      I purchased L’Oreal Light Ash to gain

      a head start on the darkenings that give

      my center part a troubling brownish hue —

      that streak which lets me know it’s over time

      for touchup which I’ve let go well past due.

      This never was a problem in my prime,

      for I believed blondes have more fun was real,

      and as a blonde I’d live a life

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