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 tablet 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.

Good Morning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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