December 17th - 22nd, 2020

I.
At an Old Park Bench, She Let Herself Drop,
Seagulls Soared as they Travelled at Her Stop
Below her Feet, She Saw them Land, and Stare at her Brown Paper Bag
But the Aves Brought her No Blooming Smile, No Joys of Generosity
To Her, their Eyes were Stationary & Sterile, Like Glass Models, Just Beaks on a Hunt
There was No Way for them to Relate

II.
Above Her Lumpy Seat, Nirvana was Seen in the Sky
An Emersion Filled with the Growth of Amethysts, Sparkles of Cider, and Deep Ocean Water,
To Her, All that Energy Didn’t Matter, its Beauty Bore her No Sightseeing Delight,
The Composite in the Clouds Held Empty Meaning
She was Blind to a Bright Blue Day, a Heavenly Rain, or a Pinprick of Snow,
With Her, the Day’s Dissolve Only Expressed Violence, Sewn Within its Violet Hues

III.
She Slid her Hand into the Old Paper Bag
The One the Seagulls Eyed,
Yet a Loaf of Bread Did Not Appear
The Bottle Wasn’t Meant to be Shared,
Like an Assassin’s Dagger, She Quickly Swiped the Wine Free
She Gave a Sharp Glance, Made Sure No One was Near
Then She Lifted the High Shoulder’s Spout to Her Lips
Its Meeting was Her Most-Desired Mix

IV.
Her Savored Sips Soon Became Gulps
The Burn was Indulging as it Slid Down her Throat
And She Turned a Blind Eye to its Dry Ice Effect
A Cold and Sterile Connection, Leaving Scorching Flames in its Track,
For Her, Merlot had Once Been a Beautiful Word, Like a Poem, or a French Verse,
Now She Thought of Coins Circling in her Purse
Protean Drupelets, Floral Notes, Lost Within the Nameless Tonic

V.
Swaying Away, the Birds Gave Her their Backs,
Without a Baguette at Arm’s Length, they Saw No Reason to Stay
Waving their Wings of Flight – they Took Off into the Impending Night
The Seagulls Soared Unbound – Toward the Painting of Heaven,
Left Alone on the Tattered Bench
She Tried to Sit Up, but Found Herself Slump,
Her Precious Liter of Red, Still Clutched in Her Hand
The Roots of Artificial Salvation,
She Took in a Breath, and Sighed in her Suffering
And Again, Drank from her Grapes of Poison
The Source of Her Love, & Her Agony

November 21 – December 9th, 2020

I.
Holding My Mug of Peppermint Tea
I See My Ride Arrive,
My Fingers Fill with Danish Cookies
Bells Sway in the Wind,

Spearmint Steam Warms My Lips,
Tisane takes the Chill Away from My Cheeks,
I Sip into Delicate Ecstasy
And the Pullman Comes to a Halt,

Chimes Ring Louder & Faster
I Bite into My Butter Biscuit,
Pinwheels of Snow Blow in the Breeze
The Air is a Lully Balm,

I See the Hoarfrost Hang from the Train
Dangling off the Window Frames,
Children Toss Snowballs Between One Another,
Among their Fun, Laughter is a Muse,

Upon the Platform, Rubies Spiral,
Snowflakes Descend like Flower Petals,
Leucojums Rise Through their Mingling
They Ribbon Around the Trees, and Coat them Like Icing,

I Savor My Peppermint Sip
As it Drip-Drops onto My Lips,
Horns Alert My Eyes to the Holiday Lights
Their Sound is a Bellowing Echo

II.
I Step onto the Trolley Car,
Riders Sit Down, Ready to Travel Far,
Green Apple Grapevines Enclose the Copper Walls
Their Light Bounces off the Raven-Shaded Trees,

Kids Sample Cider, They Leap Between their Seats,
I Gaze at Them, Acrobats on Trampolines,
Their Flips Make the Passengers Giggle
Chuckles Pop around like Snapping Peanut Brittle,

I Take Another Taste of My Tisane,
Mint is Fresh and Tepid,
Windows Align with the Picture-Books of Youth
Our Dining Car is a Giant Gingerbread Carriage,

Rolling By, the Jovial Jump Between Compartments,
Their Joy is a Gem More Valuable than Snow,
Watermint Heats My Hands & Throat
A Gift from the Tea Sommelier,

Walking up the Hallways of the Train
Each Entry is Marked by a Pinecone Wreath,
As if the Fontana della Pigma was Right Here
Every Cone is a Crown Made of Art, Faith, and Yesteryear,

Tea Mist and Conifer Seeds Awaken in their Wait,
I Witness their Blend Radiate,
Emitting Beams of Beauty, Flying Across the Carriage
Eyes are Transfixed in the Pull of their Passage,

III.
The Coulter Saplings Await their Bloom,
My Peppermint Tea Has Been Gulped,
I Take One More Look Outside the Train,
A Descending Breath is Showcased,

Cousins, Kids, Parents and Friends, I See Them All Return to their Seats,
They Huddle Together with Quilts & Crayons,
Tea Cups are Shared as Holiday Presents, the Air Hums a Soft Lilt,
The Warmth is Strongly Felt,
Thus Ends the Tale I Have Woven, of the Peppermint Tea Pullman

October – November 6th, 2020

I.
To Channel the Wisdom of a Prophet
While Reading Elegant English Sonnets
It Would be a Wonderful Power
One I’d Long to Share at Every Hour
With My Gift – Every Poem I Peruse Would Transcend
Far Beyond the Dead Laureate’s Pen
The Eras of Ancient England – I’d Showcase their Scenery
And My Listeners Would Fantasize with Me
II.
Together, We’d Stumble Atop the Rocks of Wales – Where Cuts & Scrapes would Scar Our Ankles
We’d Witness a Sea of Mist, & Get Lost in a Labyrinth
During our Crest to the Summit of Mt. Snowdon
But We’d All Prevail, and Entail the Trail
We’d Rub our Goosebumps and Click our Teeth – Until We Reached the Final Peak
There the Sun Would Strike My Voice – And All My Listeners Would Rejoice
Warmth would Melt the Water off Our Clothes
The Shock of the View would Scare Our Shivers Aside
We Couldn’t Help but Be Wide-Eyed – Seeing God’s View of the ***** Incline
Serenity would Blanket Our Essence, as We’d Gaze at a Hundred Hills Below Us
What an Adventure We’d Be On – A Present from the Pantheon
We would have Explored a 19th Century Endeavor, One of William Wordsworth’s Treasures
III.
Soon We’d Watch Nightfall Descend
Having Gone Beyond the Mountain’s Climb, We’d Give Ear to the Evening Chimes
The Ringing Wind Would Chill Our Cheeks, and it Would Whisper to Us . . . Look Over Our Brows
Ensconcing on the Stones & Grass, My Concertgoers and I would Sit & Rest
We’d See the Solstice Moon Above – In a Blend of Agate So Lustrous & Loved
Clouds Made by Masons would Veil Luna’s Light
A Silver Paint-Stroke would Streak the Sky – Twinkling Our Sight with Great Delight
Translucent & True, the Haar of Adam’s Ale would Act to Capture Our Visions
Our Joys Would be Leaping, Our Features All Beaming, Our Lips Endlessly Grinning
A Zephyr Would Cast Every Care Away
The Breath of Rain would Susurrate to the Top of the Mountain
And the Breeze Would Murmur, Frost is on the Horizon
Then With that, We’d Give a Few Involuntary Shudders
Cascading Snowflakes would Descend on Our Starry-Night Shoulders
Its Water Would Pierce Us Like Pins
But in the Serenity of Selene, an Unseen Star-beam Would Warm Us
In the Lake of the Lost Sword Beneath Snowdon’s Feet – Steam Would Rise like the Ring of Fire
Its Heat Would Give Us the Strength to Endure the Chilly Weather
The Eerie Blossoming of Darkness, Created by Percy Shelley’s Madness – Would be a Blessing For All of Us
IV.
My Stanza-Seekers & I Would Gaze at the Celestial Maze
Dwelling in the Time of the Evening Tide
Smiling & Enjoying the Moment, Awaiting More Community Bestowment
I’d Grasp My Breath, and Look at the Rocks Below
And in the Moonlight, A Spiderweb Would Catch My Sight
My Concertgoers and I Would Bend to Our Knees, and Watch it Bob in the Breeze
Our Eyes would Seek the Spinner of Silk, and We’d Find Her in the Center of the Ilk
Envisioning the Land, Each One of Us Would Stand Upon her Soft Yet Sturdy Sand
For Life on a Spiderweb would Never Be Dull – We’d Be Captains Always Making Our Calls
Recognized as Keepers of the Protein Warrens, with Memories of Each & Every Direction
Flies would Be Our Fish & We’d Hunt for their Meat
When Caught in Our Mesh, Our Prey Would Always be Fresh
The Daylight, Sky, & Stars would be Our Sundials
Living in the Open Air – Wind Eternally Blowing in Our Hair
Raindrops would Spring Mountaintops – Building on Our Pathways
Around Us – Everyday Would Be of Great Height
The Web of Our Weaving Would Hold So Much Meaning
Each String would Be an Expansion of Our Passion
Inside Christina Rosetti’s Realm, where the Cold & Lonely Dwelled
We’d Find Embracement, Like Missionaries’ Ears to their Church Bells
V.
Gaping at the Mountain’s Peak
My Discerners of Verse would Gaze with Me – Listening to the Whispering Waves of the Irish Sea
Skipping Winds on the Water would Leap into the Air, And We’d Feel them in a Breeze Oh So Fair
All and Sundry Would Rise, With the Gale Great, Divine & Innate
At Our Side, Birds would Fly, We’d See Peregrines, Ravens, & Merlins in the Sky
Travelling Beyond Snowdon’s Summit, We’d be Spellbound by Astonishment
Soaring Beneath Pearls in the Night’s Azure
Twisting Inside Zephyrs, Seeing the Water-Gloss Portraits of the Marine
It Would Be a Sensational Scene
My Fellow Flyers & I would Watch Our Mirrors Ripple in the River, & We’d Make a Weave for the Trees
Around Every Oak, We’d Swing & Swerve, Until Snowdon was on the Horizon
My Adventurers & I would See Honey-Bugs at their Promised Sites
Where the White Tongues of Lilies would Open for their Nectar, & Reveal Fireflies in their Centers
Rays of Daybeams would Shoot from the Poppies, Crystals would Perch from Every Sundew
Losing Our Breath to Endless Wonders, Our Elevation would Spring with So Many Colors
Suspending Ourselves Mere Inches Above Ground
My Stanza Seekers & I would Sway Between the Rocks, Flowers, & Leaves – Until We Returned to the Crest
Then We’d Levitate Down for a Rest, Suspiring After Our Visit to Nature’s Breast
We’d Lay on the Hard Surface of Stone – Starring up at the Stars
In Our Lounging, Recounting the Incites of Robert Browning, it would be a Bittersweet Parting
VI.
Fantasizing Down on the Imaginary Ground, Each One of Us Would Draw a Breath
With Sighs Ever So Deep, the Dream would Descend
We’d Return from Our Imaginary Climb
My Paramours of Poetry & I Would Open Our Eyes
We’d Find Ourselves Sitting on Our Carpets of Lea, and I’d Hold My Book of Anthology
I would Have Reached So Many Listeners,
Every Lip would be Curved, Every Mind Transfixed
Still Lost & Mesmerized by Snowdon’s Secrets
Remembering the Words that We Hale, & All the Tales of Wales
My Chance to Channel, there Would Be No Greater Gift
To Share the Wisdom of the Poem’s Swift

September 29th, 2020

Air from Terra Rising
Quivering in the Mountains
Rocks Rumble Beneath Earth, & One’s Feet
Wind Blares Down on All of Us
Nature Plays Tambourines – Touching Each of Our Ears
Terrene Mother Drums her Hands’ Down on the Planet’s Crust
Manmade Iron Rails Roll their Human Cargo through Scenic Landscapes
Man - in their Fibbing Imaginations’ Believe that they Overcome the Mountain’s Rocks & Horns
Sights Behold, & Sights Lost in Time
A World Without Flesh Arrives with Urbanization
Voices Born & Silenced through Oppression
Mothers Can’t Pay for Milk,
Feet Thump on the Aggregate – Pasted Over the Once Fertile Ground
Steps on the Concrete of Our Grandparents’
Skyscrapers Block Out the Open Sky
They Lord Over the Sight of Homes Lost to the Next Generations
Parks Become Sinkholes in the Modern Age
Beats from the Boomboxes of Youth
Converting themselves into Car Radios
Words Walk By
but their Unheard by Invisible Bodies,
Gibberish Blends in the Air
Whispering Echoes of Past Lives – Lost Within the Smog
The Sun Sets on the Densely-Driven Divides

September 9th, 2020

The Skies Once So Proud – that Mirrored the Ocean Blue
Now Coated with Hazy Orange Fumes,
A Settled Step into Purgatory,
Passing Us By – Apollo’s Chariot has Flown

Ashes Bop Beneath the Unforgiving Ambience,
The Drowsy Haze of a Drunk Bewitches Ones’ Wit,
Nature – Bleary and Blended,
Morning has Refused to Arrive,

Our Trees Leave Tears Beneath their Roots, Blackened by the Loss of the Sun
Love has Left, Limbo Leans
Unearthed by Gods’ Means

June 9th-10th, 2020

In the House on Woodland Road – Love Weaved in Many Molds
It Came when Two Little Girls heard a Woman’s Voice Announce, “I Have a Surprise for You,”
And Sitting on the Fireplace – there was a Videotape, and it Showed Tigger’s Smiling Face
The Tigger Movie had Just Arrived, much to the parents’ surprise
It Came Again when the Girls Looked in the Cookie Jar, the one Topped with the Smiling Cartoon-Cookie Man
Inside was a Tower of Oreos, Waiting for the Girls to Pull Apart and Lick
Love was there by the TV-set – Shown with a Stack of Madeline Tapes
Love was even by the Bookcase – with a Bing to the Brim of Hardbacks Neither Child could Understand
Seated on a Shelf’s Corner, there rested a Crayola Box – Filled with Crayons to the Tin’s Tip-Top
Love was in the Bedroom, with Crayola Crayons Stockpiled – and Sitting on the Closet’s Ledge
Love was on the Rounded-Rug Below, as the Child Played out a Tick-Timing Clock while Laying on their Back
Love was by the Twin Seat Cushions, as the Girls Bounced from One to Another – and Played Leap Frog Between Each Other
Love was in the Garden’s Grass – seen when one of the Children Pulled Apart Presumed Pickles from the Tree, and Sprinkled them all over her
Love was by the Cats’ Food Bowl, Awaiting a Stray to Walk in and Take a Bite
Love was when the Child walked into the Family Room, and took out the Classic Game Candyland
She Played with her New Puppy till he Crossed the Finish Line, and Declared him Champion
Love was there as the Children went for a Walk in the Backyard, and Saw all the Birds and Conifers
The Birdfeeder Hung, and the Bathwater Rippled, – and they awaited its famished and filthy Aves
Love was there for many years, long before the Children Appeared
And then One Day, the Children came, but all the Love had Died
They Noticed the Dust, and the Cobwebs, and the Chill Attached to the House
They Noticed the Trees Chopped Down, and their Smiles were Lost
They Noticed the Change, and it Made them Very Sad
The House had Lost its old Charm, the Children Fell into Monotony
and the Gems that Once Gave the House its Glow – Would Never Again Come out and Show

September 17th – 18th, 2020

The Tourists are Attracted with Smiles, Laughter, and Photographs Among Each Other
The Men in Blue Vests – They Spy Art, They Glimpse it, & See it Spreading like Wildfire
They Think it’s Message is Meant to be Contained
The People in the Neighborhood – They Distinguish them as Individual Landmarks
The Colors Inside a Kaleidoscope – Sunset Orange, Chocolate Brown, the Rainbows Found Inside SweeTARTS
They Light up the Wall like Imaginary Streetlamps in the Woods of Tahoe
It’s a Place Filled with So Much Beauty, but it’s a Vision that Many Will Never Get to View
Murals – they Speak the Voices of Cultures of the Past, Homes of Today, Ancestral Voices Echo
The Generations of the Future Gaze on Now
Fruits Shared in Baskets – Births, Babies, Nectarines, Coffee Beans, Lentils & Honey Wine, Held in the Painted Woman’s Hands
Eyes See through the Graffitied Concrete, its Too Much for Many to Bear, Some Refuse to Stare, Yet they’d Leave their Mundane Sight Behind if they Did
It’s a Reminder of Oppression, the Portraits Once Blacklisted, the Beauty Once Boycotted
The Colors on the Wall – They Remain Something Many Try to Silence & Quell
But the Murals are a Gift, One that Still Beams in the Optics of the Youth, when their Parents Drive them in the Backseats of Explorers, When They’re Stuck on the Ride to School
It’s a Badge of Home, a Symbol they May or May Not Know, a Mark they Both Love & Hate
The Pictures Spoke Louder than the People