The Cowgirl


A horseback Silhouette against orange skies.
She rides the fence line in as the day dies.
Been out in the south forty since day break.
Mendin fence with her Border Collie Jake.

 A roll of wire and a fence stretcher that flops.
Every time her Blue Roan’s back leg drops.
Seventeen and half hands high at the withers.
Raised him from a colt from ol Dan Smithers.

 

This cowgirl off the D bar D ranch.
Takes the west fence trail branch.
Would rather be on her horse than in a car.
Rocking horse motion takes her mind afar.

 

Straw-blonde hair under a black Stetson.
Freckles under green eyes call her Madison.
Thirty Seven years old and wonders about a man.
And she wonders if he can.

 

Be better than the last
Wonders if he can just get past.
Her tomboyish ways and calloused hands.
Just wants a guy that understands.

 

The ABC’s of life.
Would love to have her for a wife.
She’ll knock your eyes out in skin tight jeans.
This rough-hewn cowgirl queen.

 

Stands five foot ten a tad narra at the hip.
Broad shoulders and a vice-wound grip.
That’ll make you wince if she wants.
Green eyes that sparkle when she taunts.

  

Comes with working her hands.
 And with sweat from her hat band.
That streams down her dusty face.
Leaving trails of effort and grace.

 

That hard work brings she welcomes it’s embrace
Has no wristwatch, braclets or tokens.
No place for things on her that are easily broken.

 

Loves her dog and horse more than any man
A hard loving woman more than most men could stand.
Takes her men as serious as her work
Not looking for your average bar room jerk.

 

Can separate their wheat from the chaff
Tells them so while she laughs.
Madison the D bar D cowgirl
She’ll make your head swirl.

 

Rides up to the barn at the D bar D
Sees the sun die in a bleeding red sea.
Ties up her horse on the hitching rail
Lugs over a large water pail.

 

Lets him drink while she loosens the cinch
Pats him on the neck so he won’t flinch.
Walks around behind him to the wire
Pulls it off him and admires.

 

What a good, gentle horse he really is
She wonders about all the twentyfirst century whiz.
She pulls the saddle off of his wet saddle blanket
Removes the blanket, brushes him and notices her locket.

 

Pulls her gloves off as she holds it in her hands
Picture of her young smiling son to her heart demands.
A twinge of pain, as her memory bring him back again
His loss is her constant bane.

  

Lost to a drunk driver at the wheel
Looses her pain in fence wire and the feel.
As it creases her hands thru the gloves
A product of her toil she’s come to love.

 

This twenty first century enigma in  jeans and cowboy boots
Too broad-shouldered for any female business suits.
Would make her feel like a duck out of water
This female fatales’ western daughter.

 

She puts her horse in his stall
Pulls a fresh bail of hay from the wall.
Breaks off three flakes throws it in the manger
Some apples, oats and molasses she arranges.

 

“God you make them apples sound good!”
She tells him as he looks at her it’s understood.
He likes the way she laughs at him and her hugs
Around his big neck” I love you ya big lug.”

 

Words of endearment from this human
Tears in her eyes, from barn light lumen.
She holds his neck as she cries
Her other hand on her locket she sighs.

 

She stands up takes off her hat runs her hands thru her hair
I’ve never seen a soul finer or one so fair.
Wonders where she’s going in this life
Her Levi jacket wet with tears of her strife.

 

This happens once a week give or take a few
And it never gets an easier the pain always the same hue.
“Tomorrows another day,” she whispers to her soul
Thru shakey lips she hopes to extol.

 

Some sort of relief to her broken heart
Walks into the bunkhouse “Gimme three fingers Bart.”
She says to the ranch bar keep
“Yes Mam Miss Madison, her eyes no longer weep.

 

Tosses back a big shot of Jack Daniels
Slams the glass back down on the barrel.
Leaves it upside down and walks to her bunk
Peels off her clothes and walks into the shower.

 

Madison from the D bar D
Prettiest cowgirl I ever did see.
You can see her out on the fence lines
Listening to the wind as it whines.

 

Thru the barbwire and the windmills in her mind
Takes her someplace else undefined.
I surprised her one day on the east line
And the look in her green eyes, sublimed.

 

Until she came back to me
And the strangess I saw there did flee.
“Hey Dave you startled me!”
She chuckled as she slapped her knee.

 

I’m the only man on the D bar D that will work with her
In these times that are and times that were.
The other cowboys say she spooks their horses
Says she’s got  some kinda supernatural forces.

 

She works me into the ground
My horse is okay when she’s around.
And I get to hold her when she cries
She smells like leather, denim and the deep blue sky.

 

Madison from the D bar D
The prettiest cowgirl you’ll ever see.
I’ve ridden a thousand miles of fence line with her
In the times are that and the times that were.

 

Dave Proffitt
11/27/2013
10:39

Remembering Rich


Pictures of Cruise ins and motorcycle rides.
Filling spaces on friends comments inside.
Showing up on my network page.
Pictures of quality above the normal gauge.

 

Curiosity got the best of me.
This photographer I must see.
Clicking blue letters I meet Rich Duran
Eyes behind the camera, and the man.

 

This electronic introduction to a friend
Takes only milliseconds to send.
Dark complexion, sunglasses and long black hair.
Smiling back at me his image stares.

 

Out of my monitor and into me
More pictures of his I wanted to see.
Rich and I became friends
A view of Sourthern California thru his lens.

 

Sunset pictures of the beach
Or biker friends smiling within arms reach.
Hot rods, pictures of his “Black Mistress”
The classic muscle car in pitch black absoluteness.

 

Dearer to his heart than most women
“You care more about the car than me” the female acumen.
“Not really, just a different part.”
Plenty of room for her in Rich’s heart.

 

Rich understood things about muscle cars.
About pretty ladies and slick guitars.
And sometimes could manage both.
To loose one or the other he would loath.

 

And I saw these parts of Rich within me.
And I think about those too blind to see.
These things in life to this degree.
From the land of Douglas Fir , to rows of palm trees.

 

So I called Rich on the phone one day
And his raspy voice on my phone did play.
And we talked about crazy things.
Mostly from my mind they did spring.

 

And he laughed so hard I had to stop
And he told me “Bro you are way over the top.”
So I let Rich recuperate
So to my humor should I recalibrate?

 

“No that’s the funniest stuff I’ve heard in a long while.”
And I could from my phone see his smile.
From him to me over the miles
From me to him from life’s trials.

 

We laughed about the Eharmony women we met.
Their ten-year old pictures does no man get.
And we could not recognize these gals at lunch.
The ten years late for lunch bunch.

 

Rich became friends with the Pacific Northwest
And we considered him one of Southern Cal’s best.
Oregon and Washington respected him
So we invited Rich up on a whim.

 

Doni and I wanted to go riding with him
But the winds of change grew dark and grim.
The great cosmic symphony called him away
And I lost my friend on that day.

  

Rich Duran was a good man
Rich Duran was a wonderful father.
He was a loved human being
And he was my friend.

I shall miss him-
Dave Proffitt
11/24/2013

The Church of Forevermore The Seventh Room (Pride)


Blinding and bright gold litten light
Bears into my eyes from the night.
A summons from the Church of Forevermore.
A call tonight from the seventh floor.

It’s raining, windy and cold
Here  is the church door ominous and old.
The door with animated holy writ
Rain drops upon it hiss and spit.

 

Like drops in some infernal frying pan
Vanishing into steam because they can.
The door opens with no effort on my part
It’s official grasp upon my heart.

 

The candle that speaks burning and bright
Casting strange shadows on the walls tonight.
No longer flee but remain instead
Their light dancing and dead.

 

“We have the worst of sins tonight”
The candles voice wavering with fright.
The worst sins the last room
Not from who but of whom.

 

I walk through the darkness, on the first floor
In the Church of Forevermore.
Just a Church and nothing more
A Church with seven rooms and seven floors.

  

Once again I come to the door of the stairway
It swings open before me empty and gray.
Again I ascend the steps to the next floor
In the Church of Forevermore.

 

Its ancient woods creak under my weight
Its bannister polished and ornate.
I have passed through all the rooms to the seventh floor at last
It’s door knob of black crystal glass.

 

There comes a deep sonant drone
A sound that vibrates me to the bone.
Whirling gold beams of light
Like photonic swords slicing through the night.

 

The door opens to surrender its dark visage
A beautiful gold angel with her holy entourage.
Dark liquid onyx hair flowing back over wide shoulders
Polished silver eyes of this cosmic beholder.

 

I find I cannot take my eyes from this beautiful spectacle.
My brain asking myself if these thoughts are ethical.
For I have never seen such beauty before.
Straining the integrity of the Church of Forevermore.

 

And below her a man in a suit and coat.
He looks far away and remote.
Twin silver beams flash from her eyes
Boring into the man to analyze.

 

The colors of his soul.
Of any virtue to extoll.
“Why hast thou put thyself above God?” The angel inquires
“Your Pride exceeded only by your desires.”

 

She says to him her voice now metallic and cold
No life in his eyes, now tinted cloudy and old.
“My heart will no longer love or believe.”
“For I have made it lie and deceive.”

 

“And I have done this for most of my life.”
“I have done these things to keep my wife.”
“She always wanted what I could not give forevermore”
She spoke to me in the tongues of pestilence and war.”

 

“She made me believe I was higher than God”
“So I finally saw her desires faulty and flawed.”
“I tried to build this tower that reached into heaven.”
“But it collapsed into floor eleven.”

 

So I was witness to the new Tower of Babel
A twenty first century heaven bent citadel.
So like the one before it could not stand
And like the one before it could not be built by man.

 

The Angel’s silver beams upon him did soften
So she put her hand over his heart to lighten
The loss of his wife to his soul
So the tears out of his tired eyes did roll.

 

“Thy wife is no longer a burden to thee.”
“For your sake this I decree.”
“For she was an abomination unto God.”
“And she was an imitation and flawed.”

 

“No longer will thee build monuments unto her”
“For things that are, and times that were.”
“For thy Father hath restored thine own heart”
“Unto you He giveth a new start.”

 

This man vanished into the swirling night
Alone with the Gold Angel her silver eyes tender and light.
She floats up to me ever so near
Never have I seen such eyes so strange and queer.

 

Fathomless, swirling, depths not of miles but of light years
Beaming into my soul with them she peers.
“I have been told of thee, my son David”
Her voice within me and without me.

 

“Do my eyes frighten thee?”
“Or do you like what you see?”
This wonderment of highest level
The women to my thoughts bedevil.

 

“I feel I am unworthy of your gaze.”
Her gentle hand on my chin she does raise.
And her eyes become as a universe of blue.
I see planets within circle suns of strange hues.

 

Her black hair flowing in some astral breeze
Her smile tilts at the corners of her mouth to please.
Her thoughts from her heart for me to see.
This epitome of beauty from God to me.

 

And I will never see anything as beautiful as her
Forever from times that are and times that were.
So now I feel what true beauty is forevermore.
And this is really the Church of Forevermore.

 

It’s not a Church anymore
It has no rooms.
It has no floors
It’s everlasting beauty evermore.

 

So I smell a familiar scent that pleases me
It smells of Myrrh and sea breezes
Of a woman I once knew
Of a woman I need to rescue.

 

For I have left her alone for too long
Her visions to me along her time song.
This ancient queen from a Biblical nation
For I fear I have fallen in love with my own creation.

 

The Gold Angel speaks to me again.
“David thy Father loves your Judean Queen.”
“He wants you to love her throughout eternity”
“Do you know what this means?”

“Yes I do and I have missed my Queen.”
“From now to times that have ever been.”
“So you know what to do?”
“For the Father and I will be watching you.”

 

She is smiling as she sublimes into the night
Another wondrous vision and holy sight.
I find myself sitting on the edge of my bed.
No Church anymore or sounds in my head.

 

I see a swirling purple mist on my living room floor
A smell of Myrrh and sea breezes as of before.
This beautiful woman with black hair and blue eyes
Standing six foot six her gaze mesmerizes.

 

Crystalline tears filling her eyes I see
“Hello my love have you missed me?”
I kiss her eyelids and taste her tears
And I feel her pain down through all the years.

 

“I have missed you more than you know”
“We will be together forever I will bestow.”
“Upon your forbearance we will be.”
Forever with me.

 

My songs to Athaliah for her to see.
Forever with me.
And her to me.
We both shall be.

 

Dave Proffitt
3/19/2013
11:35 pm.

The Mother-Daughter Link


Twelve years old, she lives on the streets of Seattle
It’s wet pavements and cold concrete too soon will tattle.
On its young denizens if you know how to ask.
Collecting needles, crack pipes, blood stains this death mask.

Human throw aways like plastic razors and lighters.
On no one’s agenda, these park bench overnighters.
Not really a child but not quite a woman.
Child-like looks with poor acumen.

Make dangerous decisions every day
Whether to scrounge or play
With her street mates to pass the time
They try to make the words of life rhyme

Her street name is Lizzie
This adult action figure dolly
Wind-blown red hair frames glacial blue eyes
Through too many broken dreams and tears she’s cried

Wanting her mother’s love and her bed back again
Too often these days she’s haunted with these yens
Remembers her mother’s face after the years
Her pretty blue eyes once again leaking tears

Constance Taylor her Mother’s name
Single, minimum wage Mom her claim to fame.
Not emotionally equipped to handle her daughter
Her man left not a husband but more of a squatter.

Tells that her daughter was impossible to raise,
And would stay away from home for days.
And Constance could not bear this on daily basis
The torment to her soul found no stasis.

So Lizzie left one warm summer day
As Constance teary eyes watched her walk away.
The police tell Constance that Lizzie is missing
Remembering her daughter her thoughts dismissing

That she probably left the state
A realization she’s come to hate.
Still feels the Mother-Daughter link
This maternal, endless sync.

Between Mother and Daughter communication telling
This force driven by love so compelling.
Knows in her heart that she is still alive
Sending her thoughts to come home she contrives.

This pretty mother of thirty five
Tinted poor middle class, with industrial green eyes.
Still retains her lush, young woman curves.
Despite her war of nerves.

Standing where her daughter stood on a Seattle bridge
Looks over the railing off the final ridge.
Sees the water dark and brooding.
Wonders if it is concluding.

Her little girl’s story
In its terrible dark glory.
She closes her eyes her lips moving
Breathlessly her prayer words proving.

To herself that God does exist
Resurrecting her belief she once dismissed.
Tears of crystalline sorrow from her pretty eyes
This instance in time she will not compromise.

Knows in her soul her daughter is alive
The Mother-Daughter link survives.
A purification known only to herself and God
Praying to Him her song of laud.

“Mom I’m right here!”
Cannot believe what she hears!
Turns to see her little girl stepping from a Police car.
Too long gone and too far.

Throws her arms around her Mother’s waist.
Kissing her daughters head this teary embrace.
Of the Mother-Daughter Link
Their lives now back in synch.

Will love her daughter to the end of days
And Lizzie loves her Mom in a different way.
I saw them sitting together on a park bench
That used to be the bed for a little park wench.

Now reunites a Daughter and Mother
In a bond like no other.
And I was the detective on this case
And I came away with a new grace.

That if I had a Daughter I would spoil her rotten
So to her my love would not be forgotten.
And so I saw how love purified a soul
I was witness to how it extols.

The best in us as human beings.
The best of us as parents.
The best of us as friends
And the best of us.

Dave Proffitt
11/3/2013
10:23