Fran’s Woven Glass

There is a tapestry of life
with distorted dreams
and chaotic threads
that pull one day
into the next.

First one, then two,
then a blurring of a thousand
oil stained slats
that form a fallen ladder
holding up the train
as it fills the blue sky
with cheetah blackened soot.

And all the rubbing inside
can’t clear the outside
nor bullets stop the frantic love
that drove Bonnie and Clyde
to lie upon the dust
of a desolate road
deep in the piney woods.

So little Polly and I
couldn’t know our paths
as we made hollyhock dolls
and set them floating
first one, then two,
in a rutabaga platter dance
blurring a thousand dreams
of ours on Curry Street.

Only Adolescent Friendships Die

It was the lifting
of his shoulder,
only the flipping of his hair,
the sigh.

He turned away.

The weight of it
pressed her stomach
till she felt scarred
and blackened
like the imprint
of a Hiroshima victim.

Only the dust of her
left to cry.

Curling

If I were clairvoyant
I wouldn’t have to peek
and my pancakes
would all be perfectly browned
without one edge curling
bent out shape
with my indecision.

But it isn’t my fault
for it is God
who messed with my head
tossing and turning
my hair as I slept
checking to see
if I was perfectly
done.

I Put My Stamp on Upside-Down

I told her
seeing tomorrow
IS the goal
but then I knew
my comment
trite
and foolish
like a resounding escalator
whirling without a single
willing rider like us
so bravely taking our next step
bogging spatted feet
until we reach the top
only to find our faded postcards
will not be delivered
on this or any upcoming
Saturday
‘cause God forbid
we lose a dime
as it slips between
the steps of time
and we are stranded
when the power
stops.

Swaying

Don’t try to change
my mind
like God changes
the wind
when he finds himself
lying on his stomach
on a lazy summer day
longing for clouds to billow
and twist like earthly balloons
into cotton-candy animals
and dream of far-away days
when all he had to worry about
was forming mud-pies
into imaginary children
who could be his friends
instead of today’s looming
clouds of destruction
that threaten to blow it all
away.

I am VERY PROUD to announce that my poem ‘Plum Crazy’ was listed in the TOP 25 poems during the 2012 Poetic Aside’s April PAD Challenge! (Hundreds of poets and thousands of submissions!)

Plum Crazy

William Carlos Williams
was lucky.

He had a forgiving partner
who was able to imagine
the delicious, sweet
and so cold plums
and settle for flakes
that probably weren’t so
forgiving
and quickly limped
into a soggy mess.

And even though
his apology was so
cleverly written that it is still
read and reread
long after iceboxes
have turned into Frigidaire’s,

I would have smacked him
with a frozen leg of lamb.

Forgive me,
I am so cold.

In a Perfect World

The world outside
where children giggled
and mothers shushed
was never kind
so her music
rarely left her porch.

Yet I longed to enter
her lavender house
through ribbons
that fluttered
instead of curtains
where I could see
her dance in purple
eating lilac cookies
with calming tea.

And we
could be the change
inside.

She Throws Him Out Like an Old Candy Wrapper

Needing a hug,
hunger fights for its rightful place.
Needing a hug,
no therapeutic masking drug,
nor melting caramel tongue embrace,
fills her longing, desolate space
needing a hug.

Let the Puppy Off His Leash

Sometimes things you try to hold on to
shouldn’t go together.
Like wearing a business suit
to the beach,
refined, dignified,
you keep your shoes on.

If only you would
strip off your façade,
put your toes into the water,
and allow the waves
to wash like puppy kisses
your ankles clean
of the crap
you walked them through.

The stench
of your mistakes
wouldn’t follow you
today.