Bravado
Queue of quail
Crossing the road
Right in front of my Subaru
And I’m doin’ fifty.
Male quail
In the lead
Shows no fear
And no sign of turning his
Brood to flee.
My foot hovers
Over the brake pedal
Ready to apply pressure
“Please fly!”
Mama quail
Turns tail
Followed by a flurry
Of fleeing offspring.
Papa quail
Toes the yellow line
Holds his ground
As my car streaks by
With only a slight ruffle of his
Feathers.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Vacuuming
Vacuuming
The moment the vacuum
Comes out of the closet
Two dogs get the jitters
Like caffeine addicts
Kicking coffee
Their eyes plead, “Let me out!”
As they dance at the back door.
Cornering like Nascar drivers
Two cats streak at
The speed and blur of shooting stars
Heading for closets to hide.
Husband sits mesmerized
With his PC screen.
The old Kenmore roars to life
As vacuuming commences.
Dead flies, live spiders
Enough cream Himalayan fur
To knit a sweater.
Like magic,
The gold-brown hassock
Relinquishes the haze of Siamese shedding
And resumes its gold-brown coloring.
The carpet is eradicated of
Stiff gray dingo hair.
Short black Rottie contributions
Cling desperately,
Statically,
To linoleum flooring.
Circling the husband’s chair,
No movement there.
Vacuuming complete
Each pet reclaims their favorite haunt
And there is peace,
As well as cleanliness,
Once more.
The moment the vacuum
Comes out of the closet
Two dogs get the jitters
Like caffeine addicts
Kicking coffee
Their eyes plead, “Let me out!”
As they dance at the back door.
Cornering like Nascar drivers
Two cats streak at
The speed and blur of shooting stars
Heading for closets to hide.
Husband sits mesmerized
With his PC screen.
The old Kenmore roars to life
As vacuuming commences.
Dead flies, live spiders
Enough cream Himalayan fur
To knit a sweater.
Like magic,
The gold-brown hassock
Relinquishes the haze of Siamese shedding
And resumes its gold-brown coloring.
The carpet is eradicated of
Stiff gray dingo hair.
Short black Rottie contributions
Cling desperately,
Statically,
To linoleum flooring.
Circling the husband’s chair,
No movement there.
Vacuuming complete
Each pet reclaims their favorite haunt
And there is peace,
As well as cleanliness,
Once more.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Dead Tired
Dead Tired
Exhausted.
As flowers drooping
In their unwatered bed.
Near demise.
Muscles aching and complaining,
Ungrateful of the opportunity
To flex repeatedly, monotonously.
Beyond tired.
Tired still has an ounce of energy.
Fatigued has yet the strength to finish
Just one more thing.
The need to rest so great,
That an eternity of it
Might be nearly the time sufficient
To heal this exhaustion.
Exhausted.
As flowers drooping
In their unwatered bed.
Near demise.
Muscles aching and complaining,
Ungrateful of the opportunity
To flex repeatedly, monotonously.
Beyond tired.
Tired still has an ounce of energy.
Fatigued has yet the strength to finish
Just one more thing.
The need to rest so great,
That an eternity of it
Might be nearly the time sufficient
To heal this exhaustion.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Good Morning
It is not quite six a.m.,
fifty-eight degrees,
and the sun has just risen
over the hills behind our home.
The goldfinches and crossbills
hummingbirds and black capped chickadees
have been chattering since pre-dawn,
feeding and flitting in the ponderosa pines.
The deck I sit upon,
in my purple Adirondack chair,
is western in location,
so the cool of early morning
wends and winds around my bare legs, bare toes
Like a Siamese cat demanding attention.
God’s good morning kiss is soft
and cool as a breath of air
on my cheek
Sunrise
Sunrise
The hilltop is ablaze
With the sunrise of morning,
Not flame lit by the hand of man,
But of God.
A particle of His glory
Sets the sky on fire
Lemon yellow, pomegranate red,
Seashell coral, plumes of plum
All lavishly dashed
Across cobalt blue.
The sun awaits its cue
To rise
Following such an auspicious announcement
Of yet another day.
Moon
Moon
Moon over mountain
Tricks the eye.
Which is larger?
Earth or sky?
Mountain etched black
In base relief,
Moon steals the scene,
Bright golden thief.
Silver flicks and flashes,
On the gently lapping lake,
Reflecting moon’s glory
For glory’s own sake.
Moon rise triumphant
Mountain lays below
Terrain softly lit
By moon’s benevolent glow.
Company For Dinner
Company For Dinner
The dinner is gourmet
The dessert just divine
And the Chardonnay of choice
A friendly little wine
The room is dimly lit
Conversation flows
It is getting late
But nobody goes
Another cup of coffee
Just a sliver more of pie
Handshakes, hugs and kisses
At the door mark our goodbye
Save the dishes until morning
The food’s been put away
Just the perfect ending
To a very pleasant day
The dinner is gourmet
The dessert just divine
And the Chardonnay of choice
A friendly little wine
The room is dimly lit
Conversation flows
It is getting late
But nobody goes
Another cup of coffee
Just a sliver more of pie
Handshakes, hugs and kisses
At the door mark our goodbye
Save the dishes until morning
The food’s been put away
Just the perfect ending
To a very pleasant day
First Thong
Without mentioning my specific age may I just say I am from the generation that wore thongs on our feet, not on our seat? My generation has had to undergo radical verbal counseling to re-train our vocabulary. We now are held accountable to properly refer to what used to be footwear by the twenty-first century title of flip-flops.
Disregard for this clarification of terminology may result in highly confusing and somewhat colorful multi-generation conversations.
"I have sand in my thongs."
"My thongs keep falling off."
"Have you seen my thongs?"
My sister, a size 2, took me, a size none-of-your-business, to shop for my first thong. "You will love it! So comfortable! No panty lines!"
There is only one small catch-one size fits all?
Will all women size 10 or smaller rise, smile and repeat petite-ly after me;
"One size fits all". Please sit down.
Now,will the rest of the room join me in a loud round of making the raspberry sound (tongue between teeth, flutter lips by blowing
forcefully out, resulting in a rude bodily function noise).
Only other women with full figures such as mine will know to what I refer when I ask, "On which set of hip-hills does one place the side lace panels? And, if one takes the higher road, how do you get that ‘comfortable' little hiney-floss to stay out in the open? And, if one does not work one's glutes on a regular fitness regimen, achieving their maximum rock hardness, where is the Lycra control of one's previous granny panties? You know? The ones that give at least an illusion of non-Jello flabbiness to one's derriere?
Good questions all-with no valid comebacks.
One size fits all? My ass!
Disregard for this clarification of terminology may result in highly confusing and somewhat colorful multi-generation conversations.
"I have sand in my thongs."
"My thongs keep falling off."
"Have you seen my thongs?"
My sister, a size 2, took me, a size none-of-your-business, to shop for my first thong. "You will love it! So comfortable! No panty lines!"
There is only one small catch-one size fits all?
Will all women size 10 or smaller rise, smile and repeat petite-ly after me;
"One size fits all". Please sit down.
Now,will the rest of the room join me in a loud round of making the raspberry sound (tongue between teeth, flutter lips by blowing
forcefully out, resulting in a rude bodily function noise).
Only other women with full figures such as mine will know to what I refer when I ask, "On which set of hip-hills does one place the side lace panels? And, if one takes the higher road, how do you get that ‘comfortable' little hiney-floss to stay out in the open? And, if one does not work one's glutes on a regular fitness regimen, achieving their maximum rock hardness, where is the Lycra control of one's previous granny panties? You know? The ones that give at least an illusion of non-Jello flabbiness to one's derriere?
Good questions all-with no valid comebacks.
One size fits all? My ass!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Grandma's Chicken Coop
Grandma's Chicken Coop
Gathering eggs when young,
My sister and I,
Place small bare feet,
In carefully chosen positions,
Among the sawdust and droppings,
On the rough wooden boards,
Of grandma's chicken coop.
The summer sun at its zenith,
Has soaked through the shingled roof.
Sweat drops trickle
Down our necks,
Down our backs,
In erratic trails, unreachable.
The musk of the coop,
Strong in our noses,
The fine dust stirred upon entering,
Adheres to our damp faces,
Makes a golden ribbon,
From the knothole in the wall,
To the crusted floor.
Each minute particle,
Drifting in a lazy haze,
On the shaft of light.
The hens sit heat-stupored,
On their multi-tiered nests.
Methodically,
Left to right,
Top row to bottom,
We collect the warm, brown eggs.
Holding my shirt hem,
I gently lay them
In my spontaneous calico sack.
Our thieving complete,
We retreat,
To grandma's cool, dim kitchen,
With our booty.
L
Gathering eggs when young,
My sister and I,
Place small bare feet,
In carefully chosen positions,
Among the sawdust and droppings,
On the rough wooden boards,
Of grandma's chicken coop.
The summer sun at its zenith,
Has soaked through the shingled roof.
Sweat drops trickle
Down our necks,
Down our backs,
In erratic trails, unreachable.
The musk of the coop,
Strong in our noses,
The fine dust stirred upon entering,
Adheres to our damp faces,
Makes a golden ribbon,
From the knothole in the wall,
To the crusted floor.
Each minute particle,
Drifting in a lazy haze,
On the shaft of light.
The hens sit heat-stupored,
On their multi-tiered nests.
Methodically,
Left to right,
Top row to bottom,
We collect the warm, brown eggs.
Holding my shirt hem,
I gently lay them
In my spontaneous calico sack.
Our thieving complete,
We retreat,
To grandma's cool, dim kitchen,
With our booty.
L
Quilted Countryside
Quilted Countryside
Scattered across the counterpane,
Knots of cattle and sheep with lamb
Roads threading over soft folds.
Needles of sunlight piercing the clouds.
Plowshares feather-stitching the fields.
Circles of oats, squares of timothy,
Diamonds of alfalfa, rectangles of rye.
Farmhouse yards with calico flowerbeds,
Striped cat and spotted mongrel dog.
Velvet waves of golden grain.
Corduroy rows of grass-green corn.
Denim blue ditches crisscrossing fields.
Warm woolen warp of wheat.
All pieced with the plowing,
The planting,
And harvest.
L
Scattered across the counterpane,
Knots of cattle and sheep with lamb
Roads threading over soft folds.
Needles of sunlight piercing the clouds.
Plowshares feather-stitching the fields.
Circles of oats, squares of timothy,
Diamonds of alfalfa, rectangles of rye.
Farmhouse yards with calico flowerbeds,
Striped cat and spotted mongrel dog.
Velvet waves of golden grain.
Corduroy rows of grass-green corn.
Denim blue ditches crisscrossing fields.
Warm woolen warp of wheat.
All pieced with the plowing,
The planting,
And harvest.
L
Story of a Marriage
Story of a Marriage
When we first met it was a fairy tale.
Through the mist of bliss we kissed.
We married to live "Happily ever after."
Volumes of romance in our first years.
Mysteries to solve, adventures to live.
Then growing times with Mother Goose Rhymes.
Fewer romances, less mystery, the daily news set in.
Reader's Digest crowned the toilet tank.
Life became a Gothic Tale,
With jagged cliffs of finance,
Yawning caves of exhaustion,
Grey ocean waves of encroaching years.
Granite walls of taking for granted.
The classic horror story.
Self-help and how-to litter the coffee table.
Bible, tear-stained, dog-eared, lying open.
Redemption’s story.
From the furnace, pure gold,
Impervious steel.
Hero and heroine become
A love story once again.
L
When we first met it was a fairy tale.
Through the mist of bliss we kissed.
We married to live "Happily ever after."
Volumes of romance in our first years.
Mysteries to solve, adventures to live.
Then growing times with Mother Goose Rhymes.
Fewer romances, less mystery, the daily news set in.
Reader's Digest crowned the toilet tank.
Life became a Gothic Tale,
With jagged cliffs of finance,
Yawning caves of exhaustion,
Grey ocean waves of encroaching years.
Granite walls of taking for granted.
The classic horror story.
Self-help and how-to litter the coffee table.
Bible, tear-stained, dog-eared, lying open.
Redemption’s story.
From the furnace, pure gold,
Impervious steel.
Hero and heroine become
A love story once again.
L
The Bee
The Bee
Needles up, needles down.
Plying of the needles.
Ten stitches to the inch,
On the frame basted quilt.
Four year old Olivia
Under the frame,
On the floor,
Sees knees.
Knees and sensible shoes.
Granny Stanton's brown calico,
Crocheted house slippers.
Marta pink roses, faded with washing.
Mama's navy pin dot, polished white oxfords.
Aunt Bertha's green check, Lizy's dove gray.
All the knees wearing dresses.
All the feet in well worn shoes.
Olivia serves tea in tiny dishes
To the doll that came from Sears
Last Christmas.
The murmur of voices,
Hums and hovers overhead,
"New beauty parlor opening on Hershall Avenue. "
"Aunt Patsy is going to have another baby.
They're hoping for a girl this time. "
"Uncle Thomas is looking mighty poorly these days,
since Clarice passed on. "
"Price of potatoes has gone plain out of sight!
How's a body to live?"
"Wasn't Sunday service just real nice?"
Olivia places her head on mama's polka dot knees,
Drifting off under the blanket of conversation.
Mama's hand stops quilting,
Reaches beneath the frame,
Stroking the strands,
Of silky brown hair.
L
Needles up, needles down.
Plying of the needles.
Ten stitches to the inch,
On the frame basted quilt.
Four year old Olivia
Under the frame,
On the floor,
Sees knees.
Knees and sensible shoes.
Granny Stanton's brown calico,
Crocheted house slippers.
Marta pink roses, faded with washing.
Mama's navy pin dot, polished white oxfords.
Aunt Bertha's green check, Lizy's dove gray.
All the knees wearing dresses.
All the feet in well worn shoes.
Olivia serves tea in tiny dishes
To the doll that came from Sears
Last Christmas.
The murmur of voices,
Hums and hovers overhead,
"New beauty parlor opening on Hershall Avenue. "
"Aunt Patsy is going to have another baby.
They're hoping for a girl this time. "
"Uncle Thomas is looking mighty poorly these days,
since Clarice passed on. "
"Price of potatoes has gone plain out of sight!
How's a body to live?"
"Wasn't Sunday service just real nice?"
Olivia places her head on mama's polka dot knees,
Drifting off under the blanket of conversation.
Mama's hand stops quilting,
Reaches beneath the frame,
Stroking the strands,
Of silky brown hair.
L
The Wind and Mariah
The Wind and Mariah
The screen door is brazenly snatched from her hand
By an impudent gust.
Racing, careening currents chase the old woman,
Across the porch and down the steps.
She clings to the railing in self-defense.
Rambunctious blasts knock tulips to-and-fro,
Riffle the silk rose on her venerable black hat.
She is blown through the garden gate,
Onto the boardwalk.
Her furrowed face crinkles in delight.
No mere zephyr, this callow wind of Spring!
A clitter-clatter, chitter-chatter vestige of leaves,
Is harassed down the street,
At a pace the vintage lady can no longer attain.
She places a protective palm atop her velvet headgear,
As draughts tug and tease,
Attempting to insinuate themselves under the brim.
"Don't get any notions, " she cautions.
"Useless to fancy my hat'" she maintains.
A final jerk, an unseen smirk,
Wind rushes off,
Leaving Mariah, breathless and blown,
To totter on her way.
L
The screen door is brazenly snatched from her hand
By an impudent gust.
Racing, careening currents chase the old woman,
Across the porch and down the steps.
She clings to the railing in self-defense.
Rambunctious blasts knock tulips to-and-fro,
Riffle the silk rose on her venerable black hat.
She is blown through the garden gate,
Onto the boardwalk.
Her furrowed face crinkles in delight.
No mere zephyr, this callow wind of Spring!
A clitter-clatter, chitter-chatter vestige of leaves,
Is harassed down the street,
At a pace the vintage lady can no longer attain.
She places a protective palm atop her velvet headgear,
As draughts tug and tease,
Attempting to insinuate themselves under the brim.
"Don't get any notions, " she cautions.
"Useless to fancy my hat'" she maintains.
A final jerk, an unseen smirk,
Wind rushes off,
Leaving Mariah, breathless and blown,
To totter on her way.
L
Just words…
Just words…
“Clumsy!”
“What have you done now?”
“I don’t care who started it!”
“Wait ‘til your father comes home! He’ll teach you a thing or two!”
“How’s the weather up there?”
“You think you’re so smart!”
“What is it, again, that you do for a job?”
“Stupid.”
“Can’t you do anything right?”
“Think you’re better than the rest of us?”
“I should have found some way to get an abortion…”
Just words…
All learn language, hear words
From the day of birth til death.
The lotto winners of life hear
Phrases of love, encouragement.
But there are those, too many,
That have a secret, invisible friend,
A friend to help them survive words pounding,
Chipping, slapping, knocking down,
Everyday, after every long day.
“Clumsy!”
“What have you done now?”
“I don’t care who started it!”
“Wait ‘til your father comes home! He’ll teach you a thing or two!”
“How’s the weather up there?”
“You think you’re so smart!”
“What is it, again, that you do for a job?”
“Stupid.”
“Can’t you do anything right?”
“Think you’re better than the rest of us?”
“I should have found some way to get an abortion…”
Until even a secret friend can't survive,
No longer wants to be alive,
Tries to find an end,
For himself and his secret friend.
L
“Clumsy!”
“What have you done now?”
“I don’t care who started it!”
“Wait ‘til your father comes home! He’ll teach you a thing or two!”
“How’s the weather up there?”
“You think you’re so smart!”
“What is it, again, that you do for a job?”
“Stupid.”
“Can’t you do anything right?”
“Think you’re better than the rest of us?”
“I should have found some way to get an abortion…”
Just words…
All learn language, hear words
From the day of birth til death.
The lotto winners of life hear
Phrases of love, encouragement.
But there are those, too many,
That have a secret, invisible friend,
A friend to help them survive words pounding,
Chipping, slapping, knocking down,
Everyday, after every long day.
“Clumsy!”
“What have you done now?”
“I don’t care who started it!”
“Wait ‘til your father comes home! He’ll teach you a thing or two!”
“How’s the weather up there?”
“You think you’re so smart!”
“What is it, again, that you do for a job?”
“Stupid.”
“Can’t you do anything right?”
“Think you’re better than the rest of us?”
“I should have found some way to get an abortion…”
Until even a secret friend can't survive,
No longer wants to be alive,
Tries to find an end,
For himself and his secret friend.
L
Fall Roundup
Fall Roundup
Cows caterwaulin’.
Calves all a bawlin’.
Steers buttin’, brawlin’,
Cowboys swearin’, callin’,
To the heelers as they run.
Black, tan, brown,
From the hills herded down,
Cattle drive of old renown,
Fills the road that leads to town.
Almost there.
The bull breaks away,
Belligerence on display,
Cowboy patience starts to fray,
Been a long, hard day.
Cutting horse is spent.
The hills, golden, dusty dry,
Geese above southbound fly,
Wind through aspens gives a sigh,
Frosted leaves drop and lie.
Fall roundup.
L
Cows caterwaulin’.
Calves all a bawlin’.
Steers buttin’, brawlin’,
Cowboys swearin’, callin’,
To the heelers as they run.
Black, tan, brown,
From the hills herded down,
Cattle drive of old renown,
Fills the road that leads to town.
Almost there.
The bull breaks away,
Belligerence on display,
Cowboy patience starts to fray,
Been a long, hard day.
Cutting horse is spent.
The hills, golden, dusty dry,
Geese above southbound fly,
Wind through aspens gives a sigh,
Frosted leaves drop and lie.
Fall roundup.
L
Eternal Moment
Eternal Moment
Such beauty and mystery,
Old, ageless in this moment.
My baby, cradles her baby,
Gently to her breast.
Sunlight filters through slatted blinds,
Dark, light, shadow, bright,
Patterning her face, her hair.
The room sits still…
Our eyes meet,
Heart to heart, soul to soul,
In this timeless silence,
Daughter to daughter to daughter,
Back and back and back,
To the mother of all.
L
Such beauty and mystery,
Old, ageless in this moment.
My baby, cradles her baby,
Gently to her breast.
Sunlight filters through slatted blinds,
Dark, light, shadow, bright,
Patterning her face, her hair.
The room sits still…
Our eyes meet,
Heart to heart, soul to soul,
In this timeless silence,
Daughter to daughter to daughter,
Back and back and back,
To the mother of all.
L
Lake
Lake
Hush, as a breath held…
Sky admires fiery fall finery
In the cerulean blue below.
Turtles bob and submerge,
Bottle-glass green, inquisitive.
Hovering osprey fold wings,
Rocket crashing onto finned prey,
Rising, winging away,
Trout silhouetted torpedo position,
To the nearest pine bough.
Breakfast is served.
The wake of a yard-long otter
Echoes the formation of south-bound geese
Toward a grayed and sodden deadfall.
Pulling gracefully onto the weathered wood
Grooming begins.
The rustle and rush of field mice
Crackles through the year-end grass,
The chill air eliciting urgency
In the hoarding of seed
Insulating of dens.
Rain tiptoes across the lake.
Thirsty earth sighs.
A north sough ruffles and pleats the darkening water.
In earnest the rain gives its all.
L
Bravado
Bravado
Queue of quail
Crossing the road
Right in front of my Subaru
And I’m doin’ fifty.
Male quail
In the lead
Shows no fear
And no sign of turning his
Brood to flee.
My foot hovers
Over the brake pedal
Ready to apply pressure
“Please fly!”
Mama quail
Turns tail
Followed by a flurry
Of fleeing offspring.
Papa quail
Toes the yellow line
Holds his ground
As my car streaks by
With only a slight ruffle of his
Feathers.
L
Queue of quail
Crossing the road
Right in front of my Subaru
And I’m doin’ fifty.
Male quail
In the lead
Shows no fear
And no sign of turning his
Brood to flee.
My foot hovers
Over the brake pedal
Ready to apply pressure
“Please fly!”
Mama quail
Turns tail
Followed by a flurry
Of fleeing offspring.
Papa quail
Toes the yellow line
Holds his ground
As my car streaks by
With only a slight ruffle of his
Feathers.
L
Bear with me here…
Bear with me here…
Bearing two X chromosomes
Entitles me to bear children
Married to an XY
With rights to bear arms
Bearing with each other
We barely scrape by
Life is good
But sometimes just barely
XY gets chummy
With XX at work
When confronted with
Bare-faced truth
XY bears the blame
Bares his soul
I bare my teeth
I bear the burden
Contemplate burial
Of self or XX
But life goes on...
L
Bearing two X chromosomes
Entitles me to bear children
Married to an XY
With rights to bear arms
Bearing with each other
We barely scrape by
Life is good
But sometimes just barely
XY gets chummy
With XX at work
When confronted with
Bare-faced truth
XY bears the blame
Bares his soul
I bare my teeth
I bear the burden
Contemplate burial
Of self or XX
But life goes on...
L
First Kiss
First Kiss
Where do you go to be alone?
The basement family room of Johnny B.
He with his duff colored hair nipped just beyond the scalp
In the classic crew cut, wearing blue jeans rolled at the cuff
Plain white t-shirt ala James Dean.
My hair confined in a ponytail and wearing denim cutoffs,
Sandra Dee wannabe.
Both thirteen, and thirsty for knowledge.
Television volume cranked up
Parents one flight above
Know we are watching
Days of our Lives.
We sit on the couch side by side.
Shifting, inching
Ever closer to one another,
My mind racing.
"Is he going to kiss me?"
His arm slips around my shoulders.
"Is he going to kiss me?"
My palms are sweating.
"Is he going to kiss me?"
The awkward angling of
Heads, noses, chins and teeth clinking,
Attempting the pose never before attempted.
And then ... the lips come together!
Gross!
Where do you go to be alone?
The basement family room of Johnny B.
He with his duff colored hair nipped just beyond the scalp
In the classic crew cut, wearing blue jeans rolled at the cuff
Plain white t-shirt ala James Dean.
My hair confined in a ponytail and wearing denim cutoffs,
Sandra Dee wannabe.
Both thirteen, and thirsty for knowledge.
Television volume cranked up
Parents one flight above
Know we are watching
Days of our Lives.
We sit on the couch side by side.
Shifting, inching
Ever closer to one another,
My mind racing.
"Is he going to kiss me?"
His arm slips around my shoulders.
"Is he going to kiss me?"
My palms are sweating.
"Is he going to kiss me?"
The awkward angling of
Heads, noses, chins and teeth clinking,
Attempting the pose never before attempted.
And then ... the lips come together!
Gross!
Bug Splat
Bug Splat
Bugs splat the windshield
At sixty-five miles per hour.
Mashed and mangled moths,
Bombed butterflies,
Kamikaze katydids.
Yellow, green, and red guts,
Smeared across the glass,
In gory, glorious color.
L
Bugs splat the windshield
At sixty-five miles per hour.
Mashed and mangled moths,
Bombed butterflies,
Kamikaze katydids.
Yellow, green, and red guts,
Smeared across the glass,
In gory, glorious color.
L
Country Water, City Water
Country Water, City Water
The “chick-chick-chick” of the sprinkler
Announces the season of watering
Sun-dried earth.
The “chuck-chuck-chuck” of the circle system
Works its way around
The verdant field of alfalfa.
The “KOOSH-KOOSH” of the water canon
Sends streams flying.
Rainbows are born
In its arc.
But city yards are dainty,
The watering done delicately.
Silently the plastic heads rise to the occasion,
Emitting mists of moisture
“shhhhh…”
L
The “chick-chick-chick” of the sprinkler
Announces the season of watering
Sun-dried earth.
The “chuck-chuck-chuck” of the circle system
Works its way around
The verdant field of alfalfa.
The “KOOSH-KOOSH” of the water canon
Sends streams flying.
Rainbows are born
In its arc.
But city yards are dainty,
The watering done delicately.
Silently the plastic heads rise to the occasion,
Emitting mists of moisture
“shhhhh…”
L
Cacophony of La Paz
Cacophony of La Paz
Church bells bong and dong the hours,
Baja trucks, and buses bustle,
Barking dogs chase children chanting,
Cars with drivers ranting.
Generators.
Accelerators.
Vendors.
Mechanical music blaring.
Doors open.
Doors close.
Squeaks, clanks,
Gratings, grindings.
Cooing of doves and purring of pigeons ...
Then the whirrrrr-chink of bicycles
Ridden yet another mile past possible.
L
Church bells bong and dong the hours,
Baja trucks, and buses bustle,
Barking dogs chase children chanting,
Cars with drivers ranting.
Generators.
Accelerators.
Vendors.
Mechanical music blaring.
Doors open.
Doors close.
Squeaks, clanks,
Gratings, grindings.
Cooing of doves and purring of pigeons ...
Then the whirrrrr-chink of bicycles
Ridden yet another mile past possible.
L
Cross Country
Cross Country
Long drive.
Driving alone, even longer.
I jab the radio’s selection button repeatedly.
White noise.
Then NPR and Lake Wobegon,
Wrenching rap,
Frenetic south of the border trumpeting,
Alto, por favor!
Country’s broken hearted
“Don’t need no rear view mirror,
I ain’t never lookin’ back”
Twang…
Ah, at last.
Crystal Blue Persuasion.
L
Long drive.
Driving alone, even longer.
I jab the radio’s selection button repeatedly.
White noise.
Then NPR and Lake Wobegon,
Wrenching rap,
Frenetic south of the border trumpeting,
Alto, por favor!
Country’s broken hearted
“Don’t need no rear view mirror,
I ain’t never lookin’ back”
Twang…
Ah, at last.
Crystal Blue Persuasion.
L
Lance
Lance
Four Years
And counting
It’s better now,
There have been enough years
You don’t look “just like your brother”
Now you just look like you.
You haven’t changed
Just my memories fading,
Remembering now occasions
Extra sweet, warm and funny
Tender times.
Remembering less,
Living more,
Seems traitorous at times
How can you “forget someone”
After thirty-two years
Of love and hate
Bills and babies
Faithfulness, infidelity
You heal
Soul scar
Jagged and deep
Looses its angry red
Fades light, white
You heal
And today I saw you
And you were simply
You
L
Four Years
And counting
It’s better now,
There have been enough years
You don’t look “just like your brother”
Now you just look like you.
You haven’t changed
Just my memories fading,
Remembering now occasions
Extra sweet, warm and funny
Tender times.
Remembering less,
Living more,
Seems traitorous at times
How can you “forget someone”
After thirty-two years
Of love and hate
Bills and babies
Faithfulness, infidelity
You heal
Soul scar
Jagged and deep
Looses its angry red
Fades light, white
You heal
And today I saw you
And you were simply
You
L
Are You Aware?
Are You Aware?
In the place where you rest
Are you aware
That you are a grandfather
Now, for the very first time?
Birthed by the child
Who walks in your footsteps
Working in the industry
That tried to exterminate
Your soul.
And not so strangely
Your firstborn longs
For the day he walks
In the forest,
Works in the wilderness,
That gave your soul flight.
And are you aware
Of my love?
L
In the place where you rest
Are you aware
That you are a grandfather
Now, for the very first time?
Birthed by the child
Who walks in your footsteps
Working in the industry
That tried to exterminate
Your soul.
And not so strangely
Your firstborn longs
For the day he walks
In the forest,
Works in the wilderness,
That gave your soul flight.
And are you aware
Of my love?
L
The Pool
The Pool
The scorching heat of the day lies like black velvet on her skin
as she sits silently, crossed legged,
on the cracked, crazed sod of the orchard,
her slim silhouette dim under cover of two a.m. darkness.
The leaves of the trees hang limp,
not a breath of relief from
an errant breeze.
By the mean light of a scythe moon
she can grudgingly regard
the hunching, hulking bulk of the above-ground pool.
She had always longed for one,
had begged him for one.
She had always thought she would put one right there,
where that one was sitting now.
His answer was always,
"No, we don't have the money."
"No, we don't need one."
"No, it's too much work."
She can see the glassy surface of the water
lying open to the night, no covering, unprotected.
Rising, she strides across the seared night lawn,
moisture starved blades of grass shattering under foot,
crunching like broken glass with each step.
She comes to the edge of that pool,
that fat, water-glutted, squatting polypropylene pouch.
Her ring-less left hand grips
the rim of the pool
as her machete-wielding right raises heavenward,
then brings it down with all the force within her,
rending the soft plastic tissue.
Ruptured, the tepid water gushes over her body,
down her belly, over her knees, to pool at her feet momentarily.
The starved earth gulps the life giving release.
L.
The scorching heat of the day lies like black velvet on her skin
as she sits silently, crossed legged,
on the cracked, crazed sod of the orchard,
her slim silhouette dim under cover of two a.m. darkness.
The leaves of the trees hang limp,
not a breath of relief from
an errant breeze.
By the mean light of a scythe moon
she can grudgingly regard
the hunching, hulking bulk of the above-ground pool.
She had always longed for one,
had begged him for one.
She had always thought she would put one right there,
where that one was sitting now.
His answer was always,
"No, we don't have the money."
"No, we don't need one."
"No, it's too much work."
She can see the glassy surface of the water
lying open to the night, no covering, unprotected.
Rising, she strides across the seared night lawn,
moisture starved blades of grass shattering under foot,
crunching like broken glass with each step.
She comes to the edge of that pool,
that fat, water-glutted, squatting polypropylene pouch.
Her ring-less left hand grips
the rim of the pool
as her machete-wielding right raises heavenward,
then brings it down with all the force within her,
rending the soft plastic tissue.
Ruptured, the tepid water gushes over her body,
down her belly, over her knees, to pool at her feet momentarily.
The starved earth gulps the life giving release.
L.
Homemade Dress
Homemade Dress
I spun around, around, around.
The skirt of cotton calico flared wide,
Spread and rippled and fanned the air.
I fell, gasping, delighted, into a chair.
Mama had sewn me a new dress.
On the bouncing bus ride to school,
So as not to crush the crisp,
I sat on the edge of the seat.
I so wanted to stay neat,
For it was Picture Day.
In the center of the classroom,
Blond and bright, demure,
In pink satin and patent leather,
Clustered together,
Stood the Princess and her court.
Her rosebud lips pursed flawlessly,
Her ice-blue eyes casually,
Viewed my dress and me from a distance,
And said with that glance,
"Homemade, isn't it?"
My dress hung limp, folds flopped down,
No more spinning around, around.
"Line up, class, for the picture."
We lined up for the class picture.
It was picture day.
L
I spun around, around, around.
The skirt of cotton calico flared wide,
Spread and rippled and fanned the air.
I fell, gasping, delighted, into a chair.
Mama had sewn me a new dress.
On the bouncing bus ride to school,
So as not to crush the crisp,
I sat on the edge of the seat.
I so wanted to stay neat,
For it was Picture Day.
In the center of the classroom,
Blond and bright, demure,
In pink satin and patent leather,
Clustered together,
Stood the Princess and her court.
Her rosebud lips pursed flawlessly,
Her ice-blue eyes casually,
Viewed my dress and me from a distance,
And said with that glance,
"Homemade, isn't it?"
My dress hung limp, folds flopped down,
No more spinning around, around.
"Line up, class, for the picture."
We lined up for the class picture.
It was picture day.
L
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