the sun is setting across the pond
silhouetting the tree line
with its golden fire
mirroring on the water
rippling with the wind
seems the catfish are getting big
"I wonder how much
my granddaughter has grown?"
the clouds are scribbled in wisps
no discernable shapes to ponder
such a lonely sky

for Yarrow

the sun rose at dawn
its filtering soft brightness
gradually warming
the coolness of the wee hours
awakening chirping birds
opening morning glories
giving sunflowers focus

the day begins like any other
a stretch
a yawn
a cup o’ joe
a new day’s problems and delights
yesterday’s thoughts lingering
fresh ideas sprouting
in a fertile mind’s garden

but on this day
so many years ago
a child was born
her beauty springing forth
like Venus on a seashell
with the morning’s radiance
emanating from her innocence
and life echoing in her first cry

it floated down from a street sign
without a single flap
floating down slowly
as if by parachute
like a single feather
gliding on a current
or a dandelion seed
fulfilling a wish
its sleek black wingspan spread
using tail feathers for balance
landing on concrete with a gentle hop
was it an omen of sorts?
a black bird crossing in front of you
portending a warning?
or was it a metaphor for life?
following signs
choosing your way
traversing gently if you can
arms outstretched, all encompassing
appreciating each moment
keeping your balance
always landing on your feet
knowing you can fly

clear light skin
dark hair with big curls
he resembled a kid we used to babysit
slight in stature
humble in posture
a look of shock and disbelief
deep seated in his baby face
and bubble eyes
his demeanor saying
“I don’t belong here”
a soft peach colored long sleeved shirt
clean, pressed and tucked in
with pants pulled up
no gangbangers’ stereotype
a picture of innocence
clearly a child
being tried as an adult

I kept close watch
during jury’s selection
with the miracle of real-time captioning
listening with my eyes
darting from screen
to arena’s drama
back to screen
observing potential jurors’ interaction with
defending and prosecuting mouthpieces
body language says so much
trumpeting the seriousness

with capital punishment looming
jurors absorbed spiels
the presumption of innocence
the credibility of evidence
the ability to objectively choose death

I would tell myself
the defendant didn’t just do this
to the decedent
I would tell myself
the defendant did this to himself
I would tell myself
it’s not my job to decide
if he lives or dies
I would tell myself
only to decide
if the crime defines death’s statute
all personal feelings aside
but I’d also tell myself
this is just a kid

thank God
I wasn’t selected

she appeared in a dream
way back in my younger years
a solemn, solitary white woman
kneeling silently at the altar rail
her long brown hair covered
beneath a long white veil
looking like Mary
she spoke not a word
her hands clasped in prayer
we all watched from the pews
mesmerized
without moving, she called my name
sounded like Mrs. Pino
my 5th grade catechism teacher
she kept calling
she wanted me to come forward
to receive recognition or an award
glued to  the kneeler in the pews
I thought to myself
‘Lady, you’ve got the wrong guy’

he appeared in a dream
many, many years later
decades
he drove a red Honda
up to my back porch
in the projects
I often dream of that childhood place
as still home
he got out of the car to address me
tall with faded jeans
gray hoody and sunglasses
obscuring his face
couldn’t even see his skin tone
as if he were purposely unviewable
my unempowered eyes searching
he stood there in glory
looking like a son of man
he wanted to know if I knew him
I kept ogling to see who he was
but I couldn’t tell
he asked again
I didn’t answer
still focusing on ****** features
instead of the all of him
he turned back to the car
got in and drove away
leaving me still wondering

the elders say the sky is changing
stars aren’t where they should be
Earth has shifted her axis
misaligning the heavens

driving home on date night
respite from daily’s grind
ice cream cones and country songs
breezing through open windows
with Charlie in the back
wailing and wagging to the music
spruces swaying in clear evening sky
“stop the car”, she said
“the moon isn’t where it’s supposed to be”
he rolled his eyes and got out with her
Steph, Mel and Charlie on his leash
trekking a quick adventure
searching for the misplaced moon
walking in the beauty of the night

it took a short while
but they found her in the tree tops
shining in full magnificence
conversing with Venus and Mars
while the man on the moon stole a kiss


Del Maximo
©06/16/2016

shadows of rolling clouds
changing my mood
a herd of buffalo stampeding sky
intermittently blotting out my mind
with flashbacks of sun
the days are warm
the days are cool
Meteora is consistently confused
do patterns exist in chaos?

the world is racing faster it seems
its pendulum tick talking quickly
hate rears ugly reminders to love
to tolerance and neighborly acts
calls for peace
cell phones ringing rapid-fire-like
attempting to communicate with the dead
a worst rated shooting on American soil
leaving family, friends and strangers
questioning, “Why?”
dance club mourners echoing
our schools and movie theatres
for pain and loss
can happen anywhere

the game has changed
they’re shooting more threes
vitriolic rhetoric runs rampant
he hates everyone not like him
she lies to your face
both seeking glory over service
popularity trumps decency
in this age of reality celebrities
talent has lost its voice
seems it’s all about money
poisoning the earth and its people
GMO’s and pharmaceuticals and pesticides
OH MY!
each new generation a product of its times
can we turn back the clock?
should we even try?
if we knew now what we knew then
would we be better off?