hitchhiking from Rome
dressed from head to toe in white
woman driver stops

The autumn harvest
rowan thorn elder and yew
winter food for birds

For them a short life
Easter lambs cavort no more
dinner on Sunday

I have a relationship
with my god,
he knows I'm not perfect
and allows me the leeway
to make mistakes,
making up for them
is my job,
he gives me guidance
if I ask,
gives me the get-go
if I'm right
and a go-round
if I'm wrong,
we're in a long term relationship,
it works well for both of us.

There is a train in my head
that shunts from ear to ear
whistling at intervals,
sometimes the train diver
goes high to the top of my skull
and my ears pop.
I was thinking that there
should be clouds this high
I haven't seen any yet.
I haven't seen any eagles either.
Maybe my skull is in the back country
where nothing grows and nothing lives
I will get another train tomorrow
and will bring my own lunch

I thought that if I took my writers block
And cut it into pieces
I could build a wall
And, being higher
I would see the Eastern Dawn sooner

That way I would have a leg-up
so to speak
on all the other writers and poets
and gain an advantage.

My words would be brighter, cleaner, newer
Ready to go
To fit into my line
And make a poem.


But clouds came,
the light dimmed
And the words stopped.
There will be a tomorrow the weatherman said

Part One. The Kvetch

I am starting to wonder
about the Daily Poem:
Is love always forlorn,
never requited.
Is there an alternative to angst.
where did laughter go.
smiles that blaze like  a sun
turning  a face into an ode to joy:
are they forbidden.
poets write of *** and their lover’s bodies
mostly cold, mostly clinical.
Never feral, never lyrical.
Oy

Part Two.  It’s Spring after all, time for a change

Can the algorithm be dialed up to happy
set to silly and plainly sappy
I started this poem sad and gray
Somehow I changed to light and fey
It’s Spring after all, time for a change

Irony is not believing your mirror
or alternatively
sensibility at its finest
(not my line but I will add it – it fits)
bald head, wrinkles, skeptical eyes
are just the outside.
quietly, privily, absolutely
the inner me still canters along
well, not canter really,
just a steady trot
with frequent pauses for
let’s call it reflection.
trouble is,
as some of us know
and ruefully acknowledge,
time speeds up,
birthdays come so quickly now
last year’s card is still on the shelf
and the envelope too
If someone makes a time machine
I will volunteer
to see if it works

the sky crane lifts slabs
third floor in a new building
lots of noise today

As a child
I was born a catholic
and unknowing
and not yet averse to religion
my knees endured
the long pains
of high mass services
in my monastery school
where the old abbot
held up by god
eventually finished
and the sun still shining
outside the church door
we hormone confused bodies
were released
to boyhood

flower in her hair
enigmatic smile for you
forever in your dream

In the warmer months
The ladies sit on the bench
And watch the passersby.

The ladies are old now
Some very tired and frail

They talk amongst themselves
And watch the passersby.

They were all young once
They were all girls once

Some sassy, some quiet
Some thin, some on a diet

Some undoubtedly wore lipstick
And tight skirts

Some went to Sunday school
Some were flirts.

Now they sit on the bench
And watch the passersby

When my daughter rides by
on her tricycle
She smiles and waves

The old ladies smile and wave back
And just for a moment
You can see the girls they once were

Is it wrong to be serious
and somber of mien,
with downcast eyes
and a body so lean
that a ray of sunlight
making dark into day,
would find no impediment
on its straight made way.

So I live my life
not too-giggly much
but happy and content……………        
……………..my days lived as such,
that all who know me
cry “fellow well met”
and time will quiet spin on
while I live ……..no regret

my pet dog emma
ten city blocks is not too far
the rain is not cold

words click in my head
liars dice in a barroom cup
spill fact or fiction

moment of madness
SPT makes nice likes twice
gift of a goddess

dark fire,
images on my eyes
are they real?
I see the road where I walk,
broken cobbles
they cut my feet
my blood the color of a rose in summer
I walk because I have to.
I dream??

custom chocolate
with drizzled caramel sauce
morbidly obese

daily sun shone hot
bright summer blue in London
back to gray today

april fool today
most pranks are just plain silly
sadly some can hurt

The autumn harvest
berries of rowan thorn elder and yew
winter food for the birds

My child plays
and mutters
to her other self

the two of them
one dominant

the other passive
act out the game

Alpha and beta
vie for equal time

My child plays
and utters
her right to rule

Two parentheses
above and below white space
"Liked" by many. Why?

whipped by the wind
the waves wash ashore
tidying the beach and
making smooth the sand
so that lovers
drawing hearts with sticks,
can make public their desire
for one tide at lest

words thrown all about
egos and allies in thrall
no one really cares

Men are men
and women are women
and never the two will tweet

my brain
failing two times
to achieve the hour of two
does lie awake
and seek news
reassurance from familiars
wonders from the untutored
wisdom born in by stones
who come to frolic
and leave cairns
to say goodbye
till tomorrow

my pet dog emma
a schnauzer from end to end
her barks shatter glass

contemplation
has not helped me overmuch
action works faster

Today in the park
new smells enrapture my dog
again and again

Death gathers us up
In manageable packets
we know our sell-by dates
are strictly enforced and
unknown to each other
we line up to go
to that final place.

Now?? we ask.

We fervently avow
Our belief in god
hoping for a last minute reprieve.
when do we go?
how do we get there?
Is there a real difference
between destinations?
As dead do we have rights?
is it a democracy?
is it really a one way ticket?
can I be on standby?
what if I don’t like it?
can I come back
and have another go?


As yet I have
no answers to your questions.
I will keep you posted.

Last night was scrub-sky time
lightning for light
thunder for admonition
rain to wash away all trace of the day
wind to dry off the wet branches

today is a bright day
clouds like spring lambs
chase and frolic with the wind
playing the trees and chimneys like harps
dusting all the corners

my dog
streets now cleaned
every pole a beacon of desire and remembrance
what’s a girl to do
with a multiple choice question

me the writer
observers of facts and fictions too
just feeling good
tree music in my ears
the warm sun promising Summer

my pet dog emma
giving and loving her all
too hard to resist

took the train down south
fabled city St. Louis
the river flows through

forgiveness is all
to each other our benison
there is a tomorrow

Huginn and Muninn
fulfilling the augury
fly North at nightfall

my followers come
three by three makes nine in all
a crowd starts with one

emma trending  now
her internet fame now real
sleep is the answer

creativity
works in mysterious ways
found object sculpture

No haiku today
my mind just says no way bro
just take the day off

in perfect order
the waves all with white fichus
die quietly on the beach