"wynton" poems
Last night I went to a jazz concert
and I bought an eight dollar jar of cocktail nuts
during intermission
from which I only ate
the few wasabi peas I managed to pick out
in the dim of the theater.
I thought about you
and then my thoughts were interrupted
by trumpets and saxophones,
and I wished it could always be that easy.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
Chipmunks, squirrels collecting
bitternut hickory, chirping
against a small owl cruising
low beneath the trees.
Everyone has gone this morning
to school or work. Laundry rolling,
carpets vacuumed, cleaning
in the bathroom on my knees.
I'd like to be Whitman, praising
the pure contralto, Wynton practicing
all day. But like my father dying
I cannot hear what I cannot see.
Locally there's politics, processing
points of view. Eventually coming
to a decision, building or not building
windmills on the sky, bridges in the sea.
Insignificant and mighty happenings
seem the same from my vantage ageing
gratefully, inexorably, planning
how to die in my own **** way.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
Chocolaty men with sandwich sized lips
Wynton Marsalis playing, swinging, and
moving his hips
Singing Christmas carols in Italy to
large crowds
Getting together with friends to
debate aloud
Going to church to praise and sing
When I go away to do my own thing
Thoughts of true love and romance
The few times I let loose and dance
Long distance calls from abroad
When I run into someone who believes in me
despite my flaws
Just the thought of being kissed tenderly
on my lips
My heart is skipping right now as I write
My eyes are beginning to mist
I have to stop
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 5:39 PM UTC