All my poems
are wanting
to rhyme

what happened
to the freedom

where's the open door
to ideas that held together
with just the words they were

not depending on a rhyme
words that sounded
so much alike
to be their ties to bind

I'm struggling here to find it
whatever I have lost

then again
I suppose I could be dreaming
fantasizing
about what never was

he doesn't seem
to mind
the shower

in fact, it seems
he glories
in the contrast
that his splendid feathers form
against the bleak
and somber sky

the drizzle
merely gives him
greater luster
a glistening
that
shows off
the one bright spot

in the dreary
winter rain

"Even rocks crack I tell you"

their fragile insides exposed
no longer strong
no longer firm

like barren clouds they split
spilling their dusty tears
unnoticed
freeing them
yet not

forming smaller prisons
that hold their tears
and wait
for infinity
to be the dust
of stars again

“One porcelain tea set!”
the auctioneer calls,
“looks like never used.”

“Looks?!” I think,
hearing in my mind
mother’s admonition:
“that’s only for special.”

but special never came.
instead I remember sitting
under the polished oak table

peering into the china cabinet,
daydreaming of ladyfingers,
tiny cucumber sandwiches,

maybe a strawberry or two
placed just so
on the dainty saucers,

wondering how tea would taste
sipped from the gold-rimmed cups,
their fancy curved handles held

between lace-gloved fingers.
“May I pour?”
“One lump or two?”
“Cream or lemon?”

surely all those magical pieces
held secrets within
the brightly flowered pattern,

the secret of when special
would be.

can I change my mind?

would that be allowed?

or maybe...

should I bid?

“Sold!” I hear before I can decide.

“special” would be
for
someone else
to find.

Hands raw
from working the land,
back bent
and stooped
he hauls the last load
from the hay fields,
sighing in relief.

The stock will be fed
for
another
winter.

The sun burns
the horizon
as it has his skin
bronzed and glistening
among the wrinkles,
wrinkles
that
furrow
his face
like the fields
he plows
in spring.

Removing his worn
straw hat,
he wipes his brow,
hears her call him
to the evening meal
as she takes
the wash
from the line.

Later
in shadows of night
their silver-streaked heads  
propped
beside each other
in bed,  
their thoughts
struggle
with finances,
wondering
how long they’ll endure.
No words
need to pass,
their minds
are as one.

as sleep approaches,
clasping
hands,
they close
their eyes.

For now…

the land is theirs.

With eager smiles they come
they come with widened eyes
like flitting butterflies they come
and pick the flowers they prize.

They taste **** berries, check what's ripe,
catch toads and set them free,
hopping themselves in synchronicity.

They say What's this? It's really tall
What's this? they ask and marvel at it all.

With eager smiles they come
they come with widened eyes
like flitting butterflies they come
and pick the flowers they prize.

Stacks of letters
saying "no"

rejection can be
such a blow

most every writer
has some

even Dr. Seuss
though he had a chum

that's how the book
expressed it

when they said
who would have
guessed it

he'd pleaded
to so many

said maybe
ten or twenty

supposed to make
for less regrets

bid you continue
in your
attempts

but

then they drop the boom
bring you back your gloom

they go on to say
in these very terms

he bumped into a "chum"
who worked
for a publishing firm

June explodes green
yellow summer sears
hot,
slow,
persistent

Hazy blue mountains
******
into sunset's rosy sky
that melts
over them

Singing under a full moon
shadowy seas dream
the white dance of dawn

The whispers gather,
becoming louder
swelling
to a thunderous roar

Dawn splits the sky
with golden jagged spikes

sooty clouds darken
to coal
quiver
burst
the world is drenched

Cold rain

winter's gray ghost

I search for the right words.
You patiently wait.
I speak...
slowly...
deliberately.
You understand.

Is it because we know
that each word
that passes our lips
carries with it
cradled somewhere
a piece of our souls?

For so long
as I moved about
in a foggy sleep
a dark and misty dream
my soul was held captive
a prisoner to fear and doubt
distrust and bitterness.

Then I awoke.
I learned freedom
learned to love again.
Yet even now
my soul flows out
with caution
choosing carefully its vehicle
attaching tentatively
to the words.

Like a fledgling
unsure
yet
certain it must fly
I speak...
slowly...
deliberately.
You understand.
I search for the right words.
You patiently wait.

You give me wings!

her morning walk seems
a spiritual experience
head held high
hair coiled on top
silver wisps floating defiantly

she keeps her routine
in enduring manner

some think her air aloof
indifferent

they do not look
into the shimmering eyes
or
notice the serene smile
they do not see
inside her head

where she dances
where the music plays

they only see her lively step
as one to keep pace
with the petite fawn terrier
seeing him
as her only dance partner

they are wrong
she has many partners

she dances with the breeze
she dances with the birds
with the clouds
with the sun
and
with the moon

on these crowded city streets
locked in her memory
duplicated
and
played back
in complete detail

she dances
with the foaming, crashing ocean
and
the verdant mountains  
mist hovering above
she dances
with giant oaks of the forests
and
meadows filled with scarlet, gold,
white, and amethyst wildflowers


many think her lonely


they are wrong

You can learn a lot
from a Facebook page
just from the pictures shown

what things a person collects
what kinds of things they own

their likes and dislikes
vacations that they've taken

how many kids
how many pets
even what time they awaken

but mostly I like to notice
how many "selfies" there are

sometimes it's quite amazing
you'd think they were
some kind of star

headshots would be another
good name
for those poses oh so hammy

smiling, grinning, grimacing
goofy, questioning, campy

those infamous pictures
on Facebook
shots showing a craving
that everyone look!

January 2002
…surgery

Doctor recited some number
I didn’t understand what it meant
but
when he said “not as low as
I’d hoped” my heart sank
into my gut

Later… home
with an ugly scar

on back of his skull
horse shoe shape

didn’t the surgeon know
horse shoes must hang ends up
or

the luck in them will escape?

where have all the poems gone
can't find them anywhere
where have all the poems gone
have they vaporized to air

where have all the poems gone
will no one help me look
where have all the poems gone
are they in some long closed book

where have all the poems gone
they're dying now some say
where have all the poems gone
why could they not stay

where have all the poems gone
gone to ashes
every one
where have all the poems gone
will they return when day is done

will words rise from the ashes
blow and swirl in wind
will they dance to joyous music
tingling beneath our skin

will they gather in a circle
will they place themselves just so
will they strike a chord in every heart
making poems
standing toe-to-toe

where have all the poems gone
flown off like traveling swan
where have all the poems gone
perhaps they're waltzing
with the dawn

must be plaid in there
in the cobwebbed little corners
of my mind
maybe paisley
pieces of a crazy quilt
on the washing line
being blown by gusty winds
whipped about
flapping wildly

one stroke
my fingers dance
in silliness
the pattern
crossing
left and right
colors mixing
circling 'round
forming no true
patterns

like stains from a paintbrush
splashed on canvas

no straight lines

splotches
swerves
circles
figure eights

when that
jitterbug
is ended

the dance card
fills
gently with a waltz

in prescribed
timing
rhythmic
patterns
made the same
for years

when the custom
of the final
bow is done

to the dance floor
my mind will drift once more

who knows
what pattern
will evolve
while it moves
its colors
to its
current tune

perhaps spangles and beads
under
spinning orbs
of light

or simply
black and white
two colors
forming a silhouette
of a two step

dancing
slow

pond shimmers in sun
dragonflies embrace midair
dance forming new life

Awakened
I sense a presence

a brilliant star
in a black eternal sky

hovering

elusive
ethereal
=================
sometimes
in the night
we feel her

she is the fog

drifting in

drifting out

just a breath away

a part of life
the other side

in those darkest
stillest hours
that hushed time
between
the worlds of dark
and light

she's just above
just around
twirling
flitting
changing partners
================
May I have this dance?

she takes a hand
and leads the soul
onto the dance floor
where it pirouettes

freely

separate from its fleshly burden
soft and circling

she smiles  
all is well

once more she has a partner

I sleep again
my soul intact
having not yet
learned the dance

they're in their own class
yet they get a bad rap
those tiny bright suns of
gardens and grass

they give so much
it's really not fair

to make such fun
of the clothes that they wear

clothes that are cheery
and chase away dreary

they're truly a prize
for both stomach and eyes

they offer their leaves
for a salad
it's really true, this is valid

their heads of yellow
made into a brew
can make you quite mellow
and satisfy you

if that's not enough
to give them their due
beauty and charm
sustenance too
giving their all for
a drink and a dish

give breeze
to their fluffy white seeds
they'll grant you a wish

Some people think I’m a ****
but that’s not exactly true.
If you let me
there’s lots that I can do.

My blooms are bright like sunshine
popping up, smiling at you.
They invite the insects
like bees and butterflies, too.

They light up the grass in most seasons,
fall and summer and spring.
Children pick them to give to their mothers,
a surprise bouquet they bring.

All the plant can be eaten.
Flowers, leaves and roots
are full of healthy vitamins,
raw in salad or cooked in a soup.

But maybe best is when seeds grow
you can wish hard and gently blow.
As they float away to grow anew,
perhaps your wishes will come true.

slowly night dissolves
sun and moon melt into one
pink blush of dawn

Day
what a hard time I have
letting you leave
your sprawling arms have
embraced me
your sweet warmth
has lulled me
your soulful cries
have torn my heart
and filled me with desire

Day
what a hard time I have
letting you leave
as night comes
with its own illusions
darkness folding
in upon my weary mind
brings soft and silent dreams
to fill the empty space
where I find cool and sweet repose

Yet
what a hard time
I have
Day
letting you leave

I've seen it now
mentioned twice
by poets in their lines

somehow I must have
missed
this mission that was assigned

I guess I wasn't quite
paying enough
attention

boy! I sure hope
I don't end up
in detention

I must have fallen asleep
in class

whoops!

better behave
cause
this way I'll never pass

I just found out
about
April's poem a day

oh well, too late now
perhaps I'll try it in May

Let this shiny ruby
of an apple
be as sweet as sugar cane

as soothing to the soul
as warm relaxing rain

as divinely decadent

as imported chocolat

(then again
even a Nestle's bar
would hit the spot)

And this yogurt
this plain and simple
"treat"
may it be
as creamy on my tongue

as indulgent

as cheesecake from New York

or just the bakery down the street

let all my healthful choices
my stomach
fully sate

and for heaven's sake

this time

let me

lose

some

weight!

"There's the little girl with green hair!"

She Runs
She Hides
She Cries

Aunt Mary Lou's visit...
Every time!
She weighed 300 pounds
the "fight" wasn't fair.

~Looking back would love to ask why?
Is it fun to make a little child cry?~

"Orange hair
orange freckles
and your eyes, too."

"No they're not! Stop it!
That just is not true."

She Runs
She Hides
She Cries

Big sisters time and again!
Big sisters jerking her chain!

~Later years..."Didn't you know we were just jealous?" says one.
Oh, she should know that, but you didn't know better,
it was okay when you would make fun??
even though you were older,
ganged up on her, too
making her cry
making her blue?~

So I ask...

Is it any wonder redheads are feisty?
Well, this one sure is!
Feisty and fiery, proud of it, too
Look out, her sharp tongue
could decimate you
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No, not really. She's soft as a kitten
mooshy like most of the stuff she has written
BUT
if it's needed the feisty comes out
she will use it plus fiery to muster some clout
SO
Do not, whatever you do,
do not give her crap
I'm warning you
do not make this Ginger Snap!

Each of us wants to know,
however vast and impersonal
all life about us may seem,
however hard may be the stretch of road
on which we are journeying,
we are not alone
but the object of another's concern
and caring.

Happy Pi day
have a piece for me

transcendental number
digits that go on infinitely

Celebrate 314
any way you want
make a splash
or party
just don't be nonchalant

Count some numbers
do some math
enjoy and live it up...

perhaps a bubble bath

go outside, climb a tree
any diameter will do
go ahead...I promise

I won't run circles around you

You are earth and water
to my fire and air

My once sailor
who now works the earth
and sweats the salty sea from his pores

My dark-haired, dark-eyed
"Green man" who holds me,
connects me to the earth
while
my thoughts skim through the air,
sweeping out towards the fiery sun.

You are earth and water
to my fire and air.

Your hair the deep brown
of rich fertile loam,
mine
the color of gold and orange sunrise.

You swim.
I want to fly.

You are earth and water
to my fire and air.

You complete me.

From earth's marrow comes water,
sparkling and clear.
A mother's womb creates life,
fragile and dear.

A pearl in its oyster,
a plant coiled in its seed,
dream of being unearthed
and their loveliness freed.

The poet's thoughts rise
like a mist from the sea,
having known her depths
long and intimately.

The artist's brush conveys
keenly the passion that wells
in the core of his being
that no words can tell.

What makes a flower bloom
is its soul reaching out,
giving love and spreading
its beauty about.

Unfolding brings magic
once hidden from sight
wondrous things from within
released when their time's right.

cattails wave softly
arrow of geese split the sky
summer's end coming

The sun descends lower
and
lower
spreading
a pink and orange haze
across purple clouds,
while stillness
diffuses
across earth
and sky
creating a space
for nighttime
till finally
the Daystar pulls up
its night covers,
letting the darkness
take hold.

The night swallows
the sun
bartering with the shimmering stars.

Every time
I think I'll stop

I'm not getting
through to you

Every time
I think it's useless

that I'm talking
till I'm blue

Every time
I bite my tongue

and want my song
unsung

Every time
I think that I'm insane

I open up
and words fall out again