2011-04-01

Swan Watch

My black mask
with emotions tucked
allows my signature
to elegantly script
a watery illusion
to flood the page.

I don’t expect
anyone to know
if I’ve left behind
a glistening trail.

My solitary path
of dignity
may only be seen
by me.

But a bridge leads down
and in the quiet inlet
reeds and lilies

protect the swan.

2011-04-01

I’ve Heard it 1500 Times

Stench reaches
my nose first
causing my head
to turn away
when window tossed slop
blacken sludge
oozes down
slippery street grates
turning my ankle
while shaking thought vomit
emits censored commentary
spew.

I admit I was the fool
but don’t aim
your bitter words
at me.

I am skilled
in the trebuchet.

2011-04-02

Sister,

I took your advice
and left that idiot.

Now I need you
to come and help me,
but don’t push
the door marked “Pull.”

It isn’t working.

Sis

2011-04-02

Friend,

Stop the spring deluge
of FB apps
asking for boards and nails
and chickens and ducks.

I have sold my farm
and voluntarily
admitted myself
into Farmville detox.

Ththththat’s all, folks.

Unfriend

2011-04-03

Unseen Wonders

Light softens
the underside of leaves
while shadows go unnoticed
as they dance upon the wall.

Frosting swirls in even swags
but no one sees the lines
as puddle’s oil slides daintily
over toes spread out in mud.

Ribbing lines converge
in fields shorn of their corn
while airy fluffs of bunny dust
chase lupines as they grow.

My soul has left to linger
where you might not
think to look.

But I am still creating
in dark secluded corners
with the unexpected colors
I’ve stolen from your world.

2011-04-04

Hot Lunch Lady

At night
instead of saying your prayers
do you lie awake
reading letters from tattle-tale mothers
whose ungrateful daughters
smeared toothpaste on the sink
or left dirty dishes on the counter?

Do you have a secret checklist
of torturous foods
worthy of the crimes accused
like piles of mystery meat
when unmade beds
hide dirty socks or week-old pizza?

I have seen your mustache twitching
when it tries to hide
your horseradish grin
as you relish in my agony.

May God have mercy
on your husband’s soul.

2011-04-05

A Series of Alphabetical Events

When Lemony Snicket (A)
and Rube Goldberg (B)
both woke up
on Murphy’s side of the bed (C)
they were startled to see
Suess’s cat (D) tangled up
in their Egyptian sheets.

Running for scissors (E)
they trip and fall
stabbing the waterbed (F)
releasing the tsunami (G)
that carries the cat
right out the door. (H)

So Lemony’s towel (I)
is put to use
while Rube begins
to toast the bread (J)
that triggers the alarm (K)
that smokes up the house (L)
that Jack (M) built.

Then firefighters (N) ride
their screaming truck (O)
while poor Grandma (P) faints
almost dead on the floor. (Q)

To ensure tomorrow (R)
is a bit more calm
they all decide
to get a dog. (S)

The vet (T) suggests
a rabies shot (U)
but Lemony thinks
that costs too much
but he has a plan (V)
to get the dough. (W)

Grandma shouts,
“Oh, NO! NOT ME!”
Then Rube picks up
on Lemony’s plan, (X)
“Yes, old cat,
you are history!” (Y)

The moral of the story is:
Beware of your beneficiaries. (Z)

2011-04-05

It’s What You Read

You laugh.
You cry.

Do you need
a tissue
or something more?

Depends.

2011-04-05

Crying Uncle

His raised belt snapping,
voice thundering,
we children ran in terror.

We might be wrestled
held to the ground
until we shouted,
“UNCLE!”

Red welts proved
we’d been caught
yet lived to tell about it.

But my sister whispers
of a deeper scar
after seeing Uncle
in a too-tight
pair of Speedos.

2011-04-06

Don’t Just Walk, Dance

Don’t ask me why,
just boogie,
skip,
and salsify.

Prance.

Lift your shoulders
to the sun,
breath in deep
and trot.

Strut.

Flounce your skirt
or hike your jeans,
swagger like the best
of them.

Don’t ask me why
just

LIVE

2011-04-07

Sunlight on a Cloudy Day

Ponder this nocturnal day
where haunting words
flit between heaven and hell,
to disappear then reappear,
and make them hard to fight.

What if your words could be forgotten
cast aside like ‘gunderslislik’
for will-o-the-wisp
mischievous erratic emotions
glowing ghost-like in the night.

Lie still your quicksilver tongue
fighting as if hand-to-hand,
you advance as I advance,
I recede as you recede,
twilight tempting us astray.

Our words now
mere decaying omissions
a bundled torched paper
spontaneously igniting
into a corpse candle orb
mischievous erratic emotions
with no love left to convey.

You are just a ball of fire
flickering our heartbeat rhythm
arguably
no visible connection to my earth.”

The straining movement of our faults
combusting,
mischievous erratic emotions,
spontaneously transcending worth.

Approach me if you will.

But damp with tears,
I will move on –
scintillating still.

2011-04-08

Just When Winter Seems Unceasing

Melting snow
begins to drip, drip
down the siding.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

But it’s the persistent pecking
calling me outside
to gather a handful of stones.

After my incessant efforts
I regretfully acknowledge
my share of the damage.

While that $%&ing woodpecker
continually celebrates
the imperfection
of my aim.

If I get that bird in my hand
to find there’s two more in the bush,
I’ll twist their heads
till they drip.

Drip.

Drip.

2011-04-09

11:00 a.m.

The day pivots
at its fulcrum
taking the arm
of the metronome
right or left
with a decision
or an indecision
that will later
be retold
while tipping
a drink.

Another day
wasted.

2011-04-10

Poet’s Lament

I wanted to say
never again
would I delete
the words I typed.

They should flow
from me
fluid,
unscathed,
filled with raw emotion –
just the way
my gut expelled them.

Damn that delete key.

It doesn’t care
what I think
while it pretends
to know
what my readers want.

2011-04-11

Can You Spare a Match?

An anxious puff
deeply inhaled
may give him
no relief
when comrades fall
beside him.

His fingers might be cold
with his gloves cut
allowing him to pull the trigger
faster
just in case.

And so I must close my eyes
and allow her
to hold him
so far away from me
and warm his fingers
on her breasts.

Maybe my love
is brave enough.

2011-04-12

Sonnet: 10 Beats Per Line

Ripped rags flaunt their twisted colored designs
so Grandma beat the crap right out of them
because shiftless husbands come in all kinds
‘twas easier to beat the rug than him.

When Grandpa hid behind the barn to smoke
Grandma was in the kitchen punching dough
because we knew her anger was no joke
we hid behind the woodpile toe-to-toe.

Momma searched until she finally found us
and beat our bottoms with a hickory switch
because again we had caused her to cus
‘twas easier to cross her than to stitch.

Until he spit his chewed tobacco plug
Grandma choked weeds; Momma sewed up the rug.

2011-04-13

Saved By the Bell

The morning’s monotony,
boredom and dullness,
had arisen from the fact
that nothing different ever happened.
I was licked.

It was endless,
this conical spiraling
of nothingness,
but I had to endure it.

Then, and only then,
after a day of infinite
lolli-gagging
would the hot August afternoon sun
bring you back to me.

I miss you,
Ice Cream Man.

2011-04-13

Look Back and Forth Before You Cross

Forty years
have not erased
that moment
from the road
and I can still feel
the fabric on the couch
my hand
rubbing it back and forth
back and forth
until the heat
on my palm
burned into my understanding
that children
really do die
when they carelessly
cross the street.

So Drivers Ed teachers
show the shocking image
of a lone tattered shoe
lying as witness
of the parent’s tears
because children
really do die
and the priest will come
praying over the body
blessing the soul
with the sign of the cross.

2011-04-14

Left with Questions

A woman’s age
is supposed to be her secret.
Don’t ask.
Don’t tell.

But even before you ask
I’ll tell you why
my eyelids droop
from fifty-three years
of up and down
and down is where
they often stay.

I’m old enough to know
why my youthful breasts
have fallen down,
but when the doctor
asked if I needed a hug
when the mammogram
told me no cancer
was found,
don’t tell me
I’m not allowed
to cry.

Don’t ask me
why I did.

2011-04-15

You’re Only Given One Call

If you are ever caught
stealing, fighting, vandalizing,
after a night of intoxicated pleasure
and land yourself behind bars,
remember me.

I am a pro at filing:

toenails,
fingernails,
clippings from the newspaper,
lists of receipts
in order of the date
and cross-referenced
by amount
and vendor,
phone numbers
of past school chums
and lovers,
birthday cards
business cards,
and recipes from church ladies.

So you can be sure
I bake a MEAN cake.

File that in your memory
until you need it.

2011-04-15

Echolalia

I am filling with sound.

Brooks gurgling in me
spilling over the rocks
laughing as their bubbles pop.

My breath, slow and easy
whistling out on a lazy summer day,
interrupting buzzing bees.

Wind tossing my hair
until tucking it into my hood
I storm with emotion.

Teeth chattering
with each crunching step
brushing off the silent snow.

So speak to me
in whispering tones.

I’m about to overflow.

2011-04-16

The Estate Sale

Her son’s memories
echoed into his metal box
while I stole
his mother’s knitting,
her hand’s treasure,
for a quarter.

2011-04-17

Bitter Reflection

At first only the wind
then the bitter sting
of sleet
till the air gasped
and the crystals fluffed|
with one alone
to melt upon my tongue.

The field in time transformed
and I overwhelmed
in white
wondering
from where the first word
came to land
and where the rest
piled up.

2011-04-18

Like Butterflies

Her eyelashes
brushed my cheek
in a butterfly kiss
before her tear fell
and for a moment
I could fly away
with her
back to where
the butterflies float
over fields
filled with the flowers
yet unpicked
for our little one’s
coffin spray.

2011-04-18

Write Poetry Like a Master

Shakespeare,
Keats,
Kipling,
Browning,
(your name here)
and mine.

Our muses
prompt
while our readers
praise
till our obituaries write
(your name here)
and mine.

2011-04-19

If We Dare

Love is small
tiny as a touch,
our tears.

It whispers
laughter in our ears,
our smiles.

It lingers
flowing scent of hair
our kiss.

If we dare
to hold each other,
our life.

We have BIG plans for US.

2011-04-19

Between the Lines

Your voice choking,
filling with lingering pauses
of embarrassment.

It is not easy to ask,
I know.

It is not easy to listen.

Filling with your need,
my voice unsure
of how I can help you.

The phone hangs up,
each of us
taking that reassuring breath
of love.

2011-04-19

Road Trip

We both heard it
hitting the windshield
with a tiny ping
not enough of a jolt
to take your eyes
off the road
or mine from the map.

By the time
we stopped for gas
and got back in the car
you noticed the light
from the growing crack.

S%*$!

Now were on a different road
watching that line
between us
growing deeper.

2011-04-20

Return for Deposit

I have consumed
this bottle
of white zin.

Cheers!

I won’t remember
to thank you.

2011-04-20

Interstellar Distress Signal

To: Will Robinson

Danger, Will Robinson!

Danger!
Danger!

From: Class M-3 Model B9 General Utility Non-Theorizing Environmental Control Robot

P.S.
Dr. Smith is a foolish, self-serving, impulsive, scheming coward.
Hand me my guitar.
I feel like singing the blues.

2011-04-21

My Opinion

At first
conversation bantered
back and forth,
as lovers grew
to understand themselves
while the story filled
with nail-biting action.

But then the main character
woke up from their dream
and I was forced to
grade it:

D.

2011-04-21

History Repeats Itself

He lingers over every book
that teaches him how
the Egyptians lived.

So he writes
like an Egyptian.

He walks
like an Egyptian.

He starts to think
he is Egyptian.

But shaving his eyebrows
to mourn
the death of his cat
is not such a good idea.

The sun doesn’t shine
through his ignorance,
and leaves its mark to prove it.

2011-04-22
*With admiration to Joseph Harker, poet extraordinaire, whose own voice continues to amaze me – poem after poem.

For Joseph

Your voice is the only one
that dares to croak and sprinkle
the coarse peppered ground grit
that I must spit out before I choke.

Your hands reveal the textures of facades
that people wear to hide their shame
while mothers pull their children close
and turn away pretending not to see.

Your eyes bleed the color of bruises
and paints for me urine stench
staining back alley craps losers
with gasping whispers before pain is gone.

But safe in suburbia I absorb it all
pretending I can empathize
with the same intensity
with the same reality.

But that’s my pile of crap.

2011-04-23

Not Up For It

It was as if
I sat down on the other end
of her teeter-totter
with the mousiness of gray,
the frumpiness of sweaters,
the forgiveness of elastic
pivoting me
from parent to child
forcing her twenty-two years
of experience to say,
“Let me dye your hair.”

I felt as if that board slammed down
and knocked the breath
right out of me.

When did I stop being the Mom
and start down the slippery slide
to Depends?

2011-04-24
(A Child’s Confession to Mother Earth)

To Make Our Crown

The daisies once
held dew in their cups,
enough to spare
as the caterpillars crawled up.

But our knees scratch
with the dust of drought,
our eyes unable
to cry enough tears.

For we had torn
the daisies up
and now the ground
will bare no more.

We are left to play
tic-tac-toe in the dust
with sticks and stones
our mocking jewels.

2011-04-25

Perennial

The light of spring is falling
while crocuses peek
their promise of tenderness
with a tinge of purple
through melting snow.

Through satin sheets
with a hint of wine
our promise of passion
is sure to peak
the night our fling is calling.

2011-04-25

See a Penny

Pick yourself up.
Relax your selfish tight lip.
Start circulating your hoarded hugs.

Draw no intricate engraved lines
baring down on my soul
to watermark me with tears.

Leave only the impression
on your hand upon my shoulder
as you fall into my welcoming arms.

I can give you value
but our loving image
only appears when held to the light.

2011-04-26

Left…Right…Left…Right…Left

I watch his heels
dig into gravel
for a dismal panoramic,
thick and scaly,
flaking,
peeling,
encrusted,
view of calluses.

Left.

I could lift my head
dig into change
for a euphoric 360 view,
air thick and exhilarating,
sunlight flaking,
breath healing,
bird encrusted,
view of heaven.

Right.

2011-04-26

Lavish and Extravagant Habits

With a simple silver finger band

you travel with a small bag
containing toiletries
and your personal items,
a rosary of wooden beads,
a two sided scapular –
the virgin crowned in stars
flips to the bleeding heart
of your husband.

They lead you to a quiet cloister
where veiled whispers
behind two sets of sleeves
in tight laced scuffling shoes
shush you to seclusion.

Unadorned by white linen
you are coiffed and wimpled
into a draping tunic
tied by a woven black wool band
over a top skirt of black serge
and a discrete underskirt.

Tie on your strength
and a stiff white apron.
Cover your veiled perpetual desires
and sing your freedom to the angels
as little cherubs follow.

2011-04-26

Seasoned Bread Crumbs

Drag me weeping
unworthy of the journey
too young to know the way,
so grateful for the gesture
of your hand held out to me.

More than your words,
those savored morsels,
dissolving into the trail
are compelling me to follow.

I am following your lifting wings,
the penned scent of gardenias,
the hand to heart amazement
from the sweetness in your phrase.

Late at night only the moon
knows I am sighing,
quietly delighting,
reflecting in the sparkling
amid this fairy ring.

2011-04-27

In the Tinkling of Cowbells

Grandfather, a silent man,
walked behind his cows
leaving his grandchildren
inhaling bag balm scented silage
letting cowbells speak for him.

Heat frazzled mothers kept cousins
making dancing dolls from hollyhocks
or grabbing grubs from cabbages,
while his bottle of Jack Daniels hid
in tobacco stained overalls,
for children didn’t know such things.

We were unaware of mortgages,
or an out-of-state license
following behind the repo-man
as he sandblasted our bare toes.

We had no time for figuring
if what Uncle said
was cuss.

We had bales to climb,
cats to chase,
and Grandma’s limp hand
to hold.

2011-04-27

In the Sanity of Middle School

Do not create a lesson on life in the 1500’s
filled with flying buttresses and murder holes.
Avoid discussions of condominiums
if you study the shape of Norway and Sweden.

Erase any large bosomous Venn circles
that need identifying bullet points
or accidentally say, ‘peanuts’ too fast
or ‘tentacles’ too slow.

Do not dwell on the filament
of a student drawn light bulb.
Avoid discussions of toxic waste
if you study the seepage of runoff.

Erase any hope of getting back to the lesson.
You’ve already learned enough.

2011-04-28

The World without Casseroles

Be afraid.

The breakdown of civilization
is at the hands of our well-meaning,
overly thrifty,
spoon-wielding mothers.

Be very afraid.

They are entranced by spices
and covering condiments,
pepper and powder,
onion and garlic galore.

Gingerly they add cumin and dill,
cinnamon, nutmeg or cloves
with thyme to add sage and curry,
parsley, paprika and allspice.

Their casseroles become
zombie food
as the dead
reanimates.

These cheese-added monsters,
hungry for mystery-meat,
render brains to mush
and bind our bowels.

They stiffen our gait
with numbness and nausea
until we are rendered victims
of another pepto-pandemic.

And in the night
of the living dead,
feeding us salt
in a casserole apocalypse,
we panicked victims become
the casseroles we consume.

Paralyzed in fear
by the light
of the open refrigerator.

2011-04-29

Ode to Five Calm Minutes

You are becoming a slippery fish
sliding in and out of my frantic day
but when you and I can find each other
ecstasy ensues, for I love you so.

There is no soul filling breath so welcome,
no back of my eyelids scenes so savored,
no dropping shoulders or kicking of shoes
that frees me, that revives me, that loves me
as much as my grasp on you, five minutes.
Heaven is found in our moments to rhyme!

2011-04-30

Children Hide in Laundry Baskets

No
red welts
forming on their back.

No
belts snap
catching little fingers.

No
knives slam
taunting hands to jump.

After
leaving here
I will not return.

If I
am blessed
for twenty years
of my quiet tongue,

No one will silence my child.