Monday, April 30, 2012

Like That 4-16-2012

It's raining AND it's Monday...

what a combination but it is spring.

The sun is just reclusive, a typical artist.

Reluctant to shine or show off…

must be a self-esteem issue

as some days are bright and cheery

when belief in self soars.

Perhaps allergies are the cause

of moisture… seasonal itching,

red eyes, sneezing, sore throat –

who wants to be seen like that.


Sliver 4-15-2012

Hers was not a heartwarming story.

Just another voiceless soul accepting
a vaporous existence, dull, boringly dull…
not like her life before her parents died.
Traveling under their wings, her under developed
skills never matured to sustain herself without them.
Her tree didn’t make a sound when
crashing to the ground; the tree trimmer
wore heavy ear protectors and the neighbors…
they didn’t care for the eyesore of her youth.
The tree fort had been built by her father;
smashed to bits, the sturdy splinters exploded
upon impact sending one through her heart.
Sawing and trimming the branches, the worker
couldn’t hear her gasping clutching her release…
a sliver of 2X4 kiln dried pine wood.


Lobster Red 4-14-2012

Lobster Red

Waxy white, pale as cream,

naked legs displayed in shorts

burn indecent images on retinas

whenever the temperature reaches 60 degrees.

Warm weather gear’s rare appearance

confused many still coated in Gore-Tex.

They scanned the sky warily as if the sun was minutes

from disappearing behind solid gray banks

skirting the Pacific, heading inland to swallow

blue sky and disgorgingsquall fits.

Always ready for the next soaking, these

hardy souls squinted in the unusual glare

still layered for protection; others so carefree,

exposed snow white appendages.

Wonder how many sunburns made

geeky white legs turn lobster red?


Spring Wings 4-13-2012

Sat in the sun for a few minutes

neutralized the so sick of winter chant.
Today felt like the first day of spring.
Sun warmed bones;
leaves unfurled from tight bonds…
sap was on the rise.
Aches and pains unfurled;
sun warmed hope rose
carried on wings of merry sparrows.


Revision 4-12-2012

Flicks of scissor-ed words dismissed
as ungrateful joined the others having

been determined to be useless,
extravagant, unnecessary, too weighty.
Her vigilant mind scoured the remaining phrases
arranged on the dining room table.
Summer evening cooled turning into night…
preceding a storm, the breeze scattered her story;
racing before the rain, phrases slide across the floor.
The winnowed contents successfully revised…
Inspiration: Eudora Welty born in Jackson, Mississippi (1909). She wrote several novels, including The Optimist's Daughter (1972), but she's best known for her short stories, which she wrote, rewrote, and revised by cutting them apart with scissors at the dining-room table. Writer's Almanac

Safety Net 4-11-2012

Every now and then you come up
from the acceptable muck you’re stuck in.
Rising up above well inhabited habits,
accessing a vicarious freedom
before settling back into known comfort.
The comfortable known… a risk free safety net.


Behind 4-10-2012


Take me… seriously? Why did I even apply?

Coated in dog and cat fur,

extra texture added to my black fleece hoodie;

the pilling exterior impossible to remove too.

Her eye skirts my surface noting causal attire:

jeans, t-shirt, fleece hoodie – worn but clean.

Leaving my plump form [also worn but clean],

her eyes slip to another who is neater but less original.

A façade similar to clothing and make-up advertisements,

this one looks normal even clone-ish to her own style.

Rejection waltzes my way; the fur drifts on currents

settling on the less than original décor leaving my trace behind.


Middle School-ers 4-10-2012

Work in silence – never…

bursts of random sound effects
erupt from four sources.
The quieter ones sit stunned
pausing to watch the display.
Class clowning and out doing…
as if it’s a new thing.
I could give them lessons
from when I was their age.


Whispers 4-9-2012

Moon whispers…
sky selkie

luring one into night
to walk dark streets
following her call.
Feet fall into place
naturally enticed
by moonbeams kiss.
Walking, walking,
simple steps
transformed into
extraordinary movement
caught by moon whispers…


my way 4-8-2012

not worrying too much

about the order of things
sky was blue
sun shown brightly
first real spring day
felt light at heart
soul sang harmony
blending with bird calls
grass grew
leaves wriggled out
dogs shed more
spent the day
routine chores
full attention
on just what comes
my way…


reining 4-7-2012

the mice are running wild

in my skull today;
scampering, having a field day…
a hide and seek with where am I?
what was I doing?
where did I put that?
on and on and on…
the wheels churn
leading nowhere inparticular.
even tempting cheese
won’t rein wee beasties in…


Vigilante 4-6-2012

Dandy lions disgraced his pristine surface

manicured to a perfect green velvet.

A miraculous horticultural achievement

considering the soil conditions…

that’s what chemical fertilizers create;

that was the sole purpose for his weekends –

lawn care – his growing pride.

Glaring, growling, clinching teeth…

escaped seeds from blighted excuses -

environmental friendly pesticide free zones.

Ex-lawns surrounded his property…

wastelands filled with mulched native shrubs,

succulents and drought resistant perennials.

His perfect lawn invaded with yellow blots.

Pumping his sprayer, he waited for nightfall.

The cul-de-sac would be dandelion free….


Half… 4-6-201

Dad, better check the sofa…

we left him lifting a cushion.

Next day cushions were drying;

he sat enveloped in silence.

Winter’s ice was thick with frost on the lake.

His warm breath fogged the bay window
next to her empty chair, his life was now

as the half decorated Christmas

tree shoved into a dark corner.

Ornaments along with her clothing

were packed into boxes for donation.

Half empty closet,

half empty bureau,

half empty bed…

his heart was thick with frost.


Deformed 4-6-2012

Planted too close to foundation,

the Magnolia leans at a risqué angle.

It’s semi-circle of limbs scratch the roofline

instead of brushing against the sky.

The branches perpetually mangled

by pruning saw’s bite are forgiving.

Spring blooms and follow-up leaves

hide the asymmetrical deformity.


Spitting Swears 4-6-2012

Numb tongue lapsed;
drool’s swollen stream
dribbling as gravity prevailed.
Frustration burnt dulled eyes;
hands slapped the table.
Right there, words;
right there, see them in here
tapping her temple.
Eyes flooded tear rivulets;
her mouth spit swears.


The Circle 4-46-2012

Venus danced with Pleiades,
swirling skirts of seven sisters
spinning in harmony to a sacred rhythm
cast waves of light to infinity.
Never weary, their balanced trance
broken only by dawn entering the circle…


Moonchild 4-5-2012

Moon rode shotgun;

her silver layers graced the passenger seat…
she moved from front to backseat
slipping silently in and out of windows.
The car speed toward the glow…
sweeping over dusty roads,
leaving pastures behind,
leaving forest’s silence
leaving freshly plowed earth.
Neon, florescent, incandescent
threw their wattage skyward.
Diminished - moonlight retreated…
undulating glare sucked
her life out of the city.
One more restless moonchild lost
to metropolitan’s relentless draw.


Fond Of 4-4-2012

Another one out the door…
face it, men are beasts

except for you, my wee little beastie.
I’m very, very fond of you.
Another relationship failed … men!
How did my mother do it?
How’d she put up with Dad for all those years?
Last thing she said, I thought you’d be married by now.
Here it is ten jerk years later and no closer to a ring.
Being in love always starts out so well and turns unbearable…
well, fuzzy face, it’s you and me for now.

Marguerite Duras said, "You have to be very fond ofmen. Very, very fond. You have to be very fond of them to love them. Otherwise they're simply unbearable."

Outside 4-3-2012

How many hands lingered

on the door handle?

Moving through battered door…

feet wore the bricks down;

eyes peaked from glass panes.

Worlds collided and dreams

escaped permanence…

lost outside curtained windows.


Loveless 4-2-2012

All the misuse and abuse

comes to mind
as fresh as the time
it was dealt out over
twenty years ago…
only thing different:
now I’m not afraid of him.
He met his match;
she exacted a toll…
he is old, worn, beaten
and loveless but I am
centered and at peace.

Inside 4-1-2012

Opening a conversation…
who will share a story they have bottled up inside?
Looking at things from various angles,
you've probably figured out we are alike in different ways.
It’s the loneliness that binds us together; we’re all alone.

Find love – that’s the answer;
love fixes everything…
didn’t you think you would be taken care of and
if you just had someone to hold you,
you would not feel so sad anymore. Right?

But life just doesn't work like that.
Not that love is so wrong; it’s the assumption
that you’re fixed as a couple... sometimes depression
is worse than when single. Open a conversation…
share the story bottled up inside.


Howard Nemerov said: "A writer out of loneliness istrying to communicate like a distant star sending signals. He isn't telling orteaching or ordering. Rather he seeks to establish a relationship of meaning,of feeling, of observing. We are lonesome animals. We spend all life trying tobe less lonesome."

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Too Much Information 3/31/2012

Over the last super out, you revealed

your years of marital disharmony.

You left me for her…

like I wanted to hear that it was long dead…

I don’t care that she barely speaks to you,

that you both were beyond screaming,

beyond emotional explosions,

beyond throwing objects and worse.

You’re lonely; it seems as alone

as I felt when married to you.

I almost felt sorry for you.

I said, awkward, right [aimed at our son]…

too much information… time to leave

but curiosity got the best of me.

Why are you staying together?

Financial reasons… we can’t afford

to divorce. Who do you know that remain

happy in a long term relationship…

especially after twenty plus years?

You seemed reluctant to leave my home,

you talked about catching an early flight;

finally admitting,  I was stupid back then

as close to an apology for abuse and abandonment.

Later my eyes burned with fresh pain;

wounds never forgotten and only slightly forgiven,

your father left us for that bitch…