it is the little things
that consume me...
the daily minutea
that others miss...
or deem discardable.
it is these.....
small moments
i am drawn to..
that.. i focus on......
as the big picture sails by
piccolo thoughts
and lilliputian dreams...
.... engage me.
encouraging me to ..
flights of fancy....  
expansive in expression...
....snatches of conversation
half finished gestures.....
are bread and butter
.... sustaining me.
...tiny bits of tree twiglet,
when they grow...
what stories could they tell.
a christmas stamp stuck to the
cement pavement...
i would hate to pay
the postage on sending that package.
always...and always
in the back of my mind....
the sea....
full of teeming....
tiny floaty things for me...
to inadeaquately... describe
and love... i write love  well....
then there are....
.... the familys forgotten moments
...gathered by my quill
we..... as poets... are life's truest horder's .....inscribing life on sky and tree.....
we see and hold....
....and feel and scry.
the minikens... of all .....mankind
with little.. splot, spotches..? of inkspots ..joined to form a line.
of words to open hearts...
..and free encumbered mind

twenty minutes to write a poem
to stop and think and scribe
to create an etude, a vignette
from daily life,
minutea



teapot sits
still warm
rendolent
of terraces
of camelias
in foreign lands

crumbs sit in clusters
on the worn pine table
survivors of the toast and jam war

underneath the tuxedo cat
basks in a sliver of stainedglassgreen sunlight
hopeful of something wonderful


the clattering of the boychild
can be heard, akin to rollerblading rhino's
as he prepares for another day of learning


I sit, running fingertip around teacup lip
as I contemplate procrastination
with regard to all things domestic

outside, the world reverberates
as some one begins to cut grass
and the the Beach Boys sing Kokomo