the rain washed my rainbow away

there was a rainbow
of trucks and iron,
hardhats and shirts,
some bright and shiny,
if not a little greasy,
some dull and flat
but freshly painted so,
each representing another job,
another service, another man.
then the rains came
and resurrected the mud--
nothing escapes the mud--
now all the colors of the rainbow
are spotted, sprayed, lined,
blotched, streaked or covered,
in all or part, by mud.
and the clouds covered the sun.
and the rainbow is gone.

muddy stuff

the first in an ongoing series of poems written under some or all of the conditions of the previous post, labeled 'oilfield delirium' for the sake of some continuity...

muddy boots-
lots of them-
and muddy jeans,
or pants at least,
but only half muddy,
boots and jeans;
the other half hidden
behind the other half
of the other muddy stuff.

delirium

an intense work week of constant schedule changes, weather fluctuations, sleep deprivation and a rather odd diet had my creative half floating between clinical abstraction and complete detachment. most of my brain was focused on work, but when i could spare some of myself to writing, the results were almost entirely incomprehensible. i wasn't trying to force the writing; it came out freely. i cannot decipher what exactly came out quite yet, either because i have not fully recovered or i am seeing things too clearly, but ...
...whatever, i'm tired

some of the writings may show up later...if some sense can be made, on some level at least.

dramatic reenactment actor

the need for dramatic reenactment actors might be dwindling, but i foresee an increasing share of those positions going to mediterranean/arab people, once the war and terrorism taboo of the last few years relaxes and the stories begin to be retold en mass. especially on the history channel; i've seen about as many events retold through dramatic reenactments as with computer generated graphics.

i'm thinking i could get in on some of that. although i don't like acting.

black history month

i didn't realize it was black history month until yesterday. i enjoy black history, especially the music and passion in literature rooted in its culture. i feel like i should have known out sooner, but my circumstances didn't allow it this time around. i am no longer enrolled in any form of school, which has a lot to do with it. the educational system, even at a private school, always throws things of this nature [holidays, historical events, celebrations...] in your face. being in the oilfield, which is more than a little racist, and not having time to watch television (commecials advertising shows, specials and events related to black history) plays its part as well.

to be fair, february doesn't make me think of the black community in any way. february, in this country at least, is usually the worst winter month. valentine's day, groundhog day, the end of winter...not really specific to any race. there are the winter x games, but that's more of a scandinavian thing.

february does mark the birth of W.E.B. Du Bois, the death of Malcom X, the founding month of the NAACP, and the passing of the fifteenth amendment (giving blacks the right to vote), so i guess it makes sense to celebrate the impact of black culture on our society during this month. but i do find it ironic that black history month is the shortest month on our calendar. i guess the big white hand of the man is always in oppression mode.