Poems


        Tree Frog

 

I miss the sound of the tree frog;

The endless chirping that speaks of

Eternity.  In the city, work

Consists of interruptions chained

Together by 15 minute breaks and

Half hour lunches.

 

Where the tree frog lives, time stands still.

The sound chains today with yesterday and the

Early summers of tomorrow.

 


Sharp morning light

 

Sharp morning light stabs through the trees

Soft carpet of pine needles beds beneath the leaves

Musci clings to the downed trunk

Raw cuts make one into two,

left to rot rather than harvested,

to block the path from view.

 

 

 

 

a little bird broken

 

 

After awhile, I knew that it was time to settle down.

 

Let’s pretend that we want to be together forever.

If you can’t do that, I’ll understand

Too many people never learn how to pretend

Take my 6th grade teacher-she didn’t get it.

Let that be a lesson to you: don’t trust authority especially those that don’t listen

Even when you pause before speaking; gesture before moving; you’ll cringe.

 

Bad ass gestures work better, don’t you think?

If you want to, just give it a try.  I’ll wait.

Rub it the wrong way, make the cat’s fur stand on end and pretend.

Don’t let them tell you what to do.

 

Because if you do, you’ll regret not knowing

Results are never guaranteed past the expiration date.

Ordinarily, we don’t recommend you take such a risk.

Kindle carefully, lest you burn the house down around you.

Extra-ordinary individuals should not apply.  Automatic rejection guaranteed.

News flash.  After hitting the windshield, she flew into the dark, unmissed.

 

 

Something’s missing

 

Could be Waldo.

Maybe it’s a rung on the ladder

or one crossword entry.

 

Perhaps it isn’t any of these.

Perhaps what’s missing is

gone because I simply

don’t know what it is.

 

Do you?

 

 

Bits and pieces of other poems I have written can be found below.  The whole I reserve for future publication.


Giorgio de Chirico’s Piazza d’Italia


So surreal, the green glow baking the earth. 

No longer the color of life, but the reminder

of transcendent death, gripping the world in its teeth,

claws unsheathed to hold tightly.  Slender hope. 

Sliver of sanity out of view….


Inner Tattoos

 

The weight of incredible,

intricately designed tattoos

now stain the inner folds of my body,

created out of painful memories

revealed to me by students...

 


Pubescent Autumn

For Katie

 

Two leaves curl against my windshield this morning;

golden, crisp, singed slightly with the taste of fall.

 

Summer lightness is gone……..

 


Wax paper

 

Indeed, Icarus flew too close to the sun,
Wax dripped down his side, slowly sweating away his life.


 

Add some white space.  Carve initials in the wax paper,

write the words that will celebrate existence beyond

the massive mess of paperwork traveling in circles:

in, out, in, out.