Tag: poem

  • haiku

    “What does the lake feel?”

    Emerald depth

    cold    weighed down    resisting

    dreaded ascension

  • haiku: walking Fuzz

    img_20161116_151229788

     dead leaves rasp the street

    smashed turtle at our feet—blood

    caution—slow approach

     

    respectful soft sniff 

    looking up to me—confused?

    unable to speak

  • Haiku: our street

     

    blinded windows locked

    fireflies taunting us…blink…glow 

    mystic in plump dusk 

     

  • Haiku

    shells fall as spring rain…

    the widows child dies…and yet

    hearts are leaping pups

  • Weather

    “What is this weather in my soul?

    This nameless weather:

    Squirrel’s flag-tail pulsating

    A silent, nil day.

    Exceptional drought……

    memory’s ceaseless loop roils;

    turkey vultures soar.

  • Heart’s Script

     

    We all bear witness, self-sworn daily,

    speaking our lies, shinier than truth;

    painting ourselves, molding a visage

    of reflections from fouled mirrors.

     

    We profess enlightenment yet cling

    to darkness choosing each sin care-

    fully writing new, discreet definitions.

    What is written will endure; flourish.

     

    Our heart’s script perishes with flesh.

     

  • ordinary people

    Must there be a differentiation, a notedness,

    an elevation above, a falling below, a middling?

    Does Gaia favor fierce or meek, exotic or plain?

    Does ranking serve our need to condescend? 

     

    I resist the rant when the phrase is proffered,

    again and again, naming us ordinary people.

    I will let my beast strut, flaunt my plumage;

    flare my hand-painted hackles and post a selfie.

    IMG_20161111_133637506

     

  • you and me

    I knew you would come today! I knew.
    They’re good to me here, really, they are.
    They’re not the same though……as family.
    Have you seen your brother? That rascal!

    Can’t come to see his old Mama…ha, ha!
    Is he retired like you? Can’t afford it,
    I guess. I would send him money to come.
    I still have some money don’t I? Well…..

    How long have I been here? Five years!
    It only seems a few months. They are
    good to me here. I would not stay if they
    were mean to me…I would go home today.

    A new place, I mean…..I know I can walk
    but they won’t walk me anymore…help me
    up, to try. Well, then…I guess I’ll stay…they
    are good to me here. I would leave if not.

    I sat by the window this morning…the trees
    they are dogwood…aren’t they…are beautiful.
    Is it warm outside? They keep it so cold in here.
    I need a new jacket. See, my sleeve is torn.

    Yes frayed… well then, whenever you can.
    Let me tell you…this morning…sitting there
    at the window watching the trees…dogwoods,
    I had the most wonderful feeling I’ve ever felt.

    God said we would feel that way in heaven
    all the time…every minute of endless days!
    I can’t wait to see your Daddy there again.
    You have a baby sister in heaven too, waiting.

    God told me it was a girl. The doctor couldn’t
    tell back then…I was just a month along or so.
    Something happened….I never would cause it.
    Your Daddy and our baby are watching for us.

    But she might be grown now; raised in heaven
    by your sweet Daddy! Who knows how it works
    up there. Raised in Heaven! She would be a true
    angel. Something we can never be…you and me.

  • He was born to ride that ass

     

    He was born to ride that ass

    though plow-handle legs rigid

    flaunting bare feet, toes splayed,

    might be read as reticence.

    Through the four-way shamming

    nonchalance pretend bugle blaring

    his tune of eminence’s arrival,

    he clopped. To to, to to, to toot!

    Eschewing drive-through his ass

    clopped bank lobby; Clop! Clop!

    “Hooves on marble! So delicious!”

    “I like your neck-beard.” teller said.

     •

    “Unkemptness is a fashionable virtue;

    a visual cue denoting ones calling

    to a higher sect.” Poet explained.

    To to, to to, to toot! To toot!

     •

    With bewilderment he studied

    his pointer pointing to infinity.

    “Is infinity always up?” he inquired

    without a clue. “Merits further

    contemplation, a sonnet at least”

    Clop, clop, clop! “Delicious!”

  • Butterflies

     

     

    Spiraling upward

    un-touching entwination

    in flittering flight

     

    nothing to repent

    they cherish what is given

    synched as wind and chime