Life and Love

©2007 Wayne Cook

Dedicated to Rebecca Quintana

I saw this young mother, with toddler in tow,
The woman, her daughter, taking life a little slow
For a minute, an hour, a day by the shore
Some sand, smiles, life and love

Her daughter, an angel of tender years
Clowned her to laughter and trails of warm tears
Eyes like almonds cheeks of velvet skin
It was joy to watch, and I turned and gazed again

The mother, a woman of rare beauty to see
It was easy to perceive her sensuality
Shapely of form, tawny her neck
Her husband should be at her call and beck

Her breast showed young beauty, but also of care
The babe suckled as mother freely shared
The mother nurturing the babe, cooed like a dove
Grand scene of tenderness, life and love.

He Claims the Damned Souls

©2007 Wayne Cook

Up in the curl of the silver surf,
You can see him riding high
Proud as a peacock arching its neck,
An emerald against the sky
His eyes gleaming their triumph,
Though feet are tight to the board
His muscles tense in concentration
As he beats the old man once more

Old man of the sea you claim the damned souls
By ones and twos and tens
You lie with wet lips in silence until
The winds wail and moan again
Oh, the way of the sea, and the life on the shore
Are seldom ever at peace
The young take their chance
At the watery dance
And the old man, he waits patiently

Down through the tube, the surfer skates on
Laughing his joy neath the roar
The hungry wave charges as if to say
Have your fun, boy, but this is war
It’s the battle of wit and timing and skin
As muscle and bone split the tide
I’d sooner be buried at sea than live
With the lubbers at office and grind

But once in a fortnight, with quiet and malice
The ocean will silently claim
A soul, a body, and fingers and mind
The boy who dares to disdain
The power, the old man, who swims on below
He grins as the surf soaks the shore
No man can live that close to the edge
And not bare his soul to the Lord

Workin' Hands

©2007
Wayne Cook

Down in Mississippi back in 1962
They was pullin’ corn and filling trucks and listenin’ to the blues
It was hard work and hard money and Klansmen in the streets
You could hear the rumble of the people’s restless feet

Life was hard but life was good, and a story to be told
I liked what I felt and I liked just feelin’ bold
Courage was a word that we never thought about
We just did what we did and ignored the rolling clouds

There was thunder, there was noise, there were battle lines drawn
There was activists who were throwing the gauntlet down
All we wanted was a little work, a little fun and Saturday in the park
All I wanted was a good woman to hold with a lovin’ heart

Working long, workin’ hard, workin’ hands don’t often kill
You gotta serve somebody and we-all be servin’ still
So I work for my 5 dollars and a bit o’ supper going home
You take all your money and bank it in that brick house downtown