52 to 40
Driving in, the leaves shout
Farewell in yellow and red,
Preparing their cheerful mass
Suicide. It seems a long time
Since I have driven this freeway
To this town in this state in
Sanity. It is pretty and, I see
Now, utterly, perfectly,
Not my home.

Beautiful, All
The bride got healthy in the
Bathroom while we searched
For the last orange kitten
Beneath the house. Sugar
Skulls melting in the drizzle
Made reflecting pools for the
Backlit bubbles. Brown flecked
Yellow leaves fell on our heads
As we danced, lodged in cleavage,
Caught on stiletto heels. We were
Beautiful, all, by midnight. We
Decided on love, toasted truth,
Defended to death our right to
Fall into, from, out of each
Other’s bright arms.

[I’ve been in NC at a friend’s wedding for the past week. Off now to see if someone started a November goal or to start one and post those. Good to be back!] 3 years ago

a single one. 3 years ago

If necessary call
Your dental criteria
Receive extension injury

They’re performed
Within scope of
Otherwise functionally
Sound pap smears

Copay waived if
‘Prudent layperson’
Has average knowledge
Of internal medicine

But not cuts
And scrapes or
Potential living
Donors

This page
Intentionally
Left
Blank

))){3 years ago

Your spaces
between the stars
dark hair

Traveling fast
at night high
above water

It’s not like
moving at all

It’s like
gathering in
your long hair

All the way
to smiling you

))){3 years ago

but wanted my friend to okay me posting it, since it’s about his daughter. Dear man, he said he’s going to post it above her crib. It was inspired by a picture he had taken of his daughter at six days old and the look in her eyes.

Cecilia
Beyond mere calm, a seamless
Something fills her eyes as she
Nears one week of life outside.
Impossible to label, forgotten
By we who gaze into the soul
Resting light in her expression.
We have, as humans, looked at
The stars for centuries; today,
As a person, I see how stars
Found a way to look back. 3 years ago

I want a lot. You to like
This poem, to like me,
Money enough, a new
Car every ten years, a
Lover who sighs when
My arms encircle after
A long absence, beauty,
Grey hair that lies tame
Next to brown, painless
Joints, muscles, smooth
Skin, a mattress that loves
Me, a few children, not
Too many, in my life,
Peaceful deaths for my
Loved ones, a job in which
I am all of me, a sweater
Dress that doesn’t make
Me weep in the fitting
Room, the perfect red
Lipstick, white teeth,
Food that makes me
Smile and, more
Important than I like
To admit, you to like
Me. Yes, you. 3 years ago

This is getting
embarrassing!

I grabbed some out
of the neighbor’s
planter box

And walked down
the path until it
trifurcated

The one to the
left – the one
the funky travel

And I joined the
others and queued
up in the sun

With our flowers
and accompanying
bees being swatted
at half-heartedly

So we could hand
them to the dark
haired princess

Who smiled at me
when I handed her
my bunch

Even though they
were borrowed..

She winked and
sniffed them
anyway

..being mindful
of the bees

))){3 years ago

He dreamed of reeds, singing,
Two days before he died, felt
Sure he had heard the song
Before. He hummed a first
Note, shook his head, grinned.
Eight years later, I notice on
The herbalist’s calendar that
The Celtic tree month of
Ngetal, reed, has begun.
The old bastard was piped
Into heaven by ancestors,
Leaving me to wonder
What note I will hear
And when. 3 years ago

Loss control prevention
is what his shirt read.

I nodded and he nodded
back a little warily – I
dress kinda weird.

I wanted to ask him
where I could find the
shirt he was wearing.

Which aisle? You don’t
carry them you say?

How disappointing. I
could wear that anywhere
and look like I worked
there.

Fortunately, there
were other clothing
articles.

I’m lucky because I’m
slim and boyish and can
wear slim and boyish
stuff.

Plenty to choose from
so I browsed like an
unconcerned goat on a
spring day.

And all the cows in
the next field looked
on hungrily as there
was little for them
to select from.

))){3 years ago

She lives so consciously it
Exhausts me. Twelve minutes on
Coffee, breathing, child rearing;
A chance meeting and I’m down
For a two hour nap. She’s off
Sugar, of course, and has started
Exploring her relationship with
Wheat. It makes it hard to enjoy
The cinnamon twist that they make
So well here, a local business I’m
Honor bound to support. Her skin
Glows, hair shines, limbs move
With conditioned grace and yet,
Seeing my reddened face in the
Mirror, I’m struck with affection
For that flawed being, knocking
Her hand on the faucet, intuitive,
Kind, clumsy, in love with her
People and most of her life. 3 years ago

I have never been ready.
Disaster, travel, breakup,
Love, rain; I am unprepared,
Lacking umbrella, comeback,
Water, socks, a firm enough
Sense of self. Time runs out,
Regularly, before I snip the
Right wire. Somewhere at
The heart of my not quite,
Good intentions took root.
You arrived and I had not
Yet missed my ride, train,
Plane, carpool. A moment
Of right changes everything.
Yesterday, I had correct
Change; the day before, I
Remembered the task before
My employee review. I am
Still unprepared, blissfully
So, for the good that is us,
But I haven’t missed
Anything else since
We met. 3 years ago

The man on the horse was
A horse’s ass; smoking, he
Put his thick hand in front
Of the tarantula we were
Releasing to find its mate
And then die. His lathered
Horse grazed as he challenged
The ranger, Parents curled
Their lips as his dog nearly
Stepped on our prize specimen.
The stressed lothario paused his
Eight legs and changed course,
Heading into the grass and
Safety. We went back to our
Cars and talked about idiots,
Eagles, spiders, the thundering
Of hooves and feet, searching
The ground for web-lined holes
And hopeful doomed males. 3 years ago

Rough, lighter, two pieces,
Wood, brace the corner
Where the black dove rustles,
Once, near the curved ceiling.
Too far to read into its blank
Blackened red eyes a projected
Expression. Visible, theoretically,
To one third of the restaurant, the
Kitchen, certainly, were it real.
The boy, no, but the girl who
Hangs over the back of her
Chair, the woman in the neck
Collar might see it, should I
Share my vision. The food
Arrives. The bird never leaves. 3 years ago

There is so little to write
About; only everything
In a standard life. I have
Not been seduced by evil
Or loved unrequited. My
Choices are fairly routine,
My eyes do not swirl into
Anger or lust at the scent
Of raw meat. I compose
These fantastical columns
In bed with a laptop and
Cranky cooling pad propped
On floral pillows not mine.
I am annoyed by unsatisfied
People and have never long
Lived in contentment. I once
Ran naked along a seaside
Hotel balcony, long ago, but
These days, there is little, if
Anything, about which to write. 3 years ago

I can see your smile. Nodding,
You support my excavation of
Resentment, find my joy less
Mature, more tiresome. You
Have never tired of hearing
How I struggle, at times, to
Remain calm when the larger
Truths hit: I am forty, own
Nothing, not even a chair of
My own, am afraid that the
Clotted untruths in my brain
Threaten my life or love. I
Have hurt you by choosing
Lighter companions, those
Who laugh often, do not
Dwell upon fault or inherent
Design flaws of the human.
I see on your mouth a smile;
In your eyes only pain and
Devouring greedy concern. 3 years ago

I eased my way
left out of the
4 way stop.

Enjoying the jazz
on the radio and
sipping my coffee.

So, the oldest
couple in the
world were driving
towards me.

A red minivan
moving at 1.4 miles
per week – I mean
slow, slow.

They looked waxen
and dead and didn’t
blink or anything; I
expected to see cobwebs
attached between them.

I feared for anyone
crossing the street
in front of these two
upright corpses…

Bump!

“Henri?!”
“What?! [will this woman
ever leave me alone?!]
“Henri!!”
“What already?!“

I laughed my
way down the
road and spilled
hot coffee on my
lap – yeeow!

))){3 years ago

Something is not quite wrong.
It is this: what you love most
Is where you spend the least
Time. Those tears last night
Are the best of the too few
Good signs; you are learning
To mourn what you do not
Have, who you are not or
Are no longer. They were
Softer, cooler than the
Angry tears that usually
Mat the blanket, force you
To flip the pillow after you
Take a pill to sleep. Tonight,
Don’t take the pill, or the
Wine, or the TV, computer,
Phone, video game. Lie in
The dark and rage, weep.
Let yourself be as lonely
As you are. You will wake,
After too little sleep, to a
Day that is beautiful without
Your consent, as beautiful
As you have been and will
Be again, if you dare. 3 years ago

We laugh, joke about mating
Season and its hidden tragedies,
But it is disturbing, the number
Of lifeless raccoons on the roads.
All agree, more than last year or
Any year remembered, they carpet
The meridians, shoulder, country
Lanes, freeways. Careless bastards,
Arrogant in their disregard of porch
Lights, humans, brooms, they seem
The same as ever when you happen
Upon them or they roll to the patio
At night, digging up plants and
Sitting on the chairs, speaking in
Garbled voices. Perhaps this is
Cyclical, a fourteen or forty year
Cycle. Perhaps they are tired of
Their bad reputation or evolution
Has sent them down a blind alley.
They have no fans here, but still,
We agree, it is troubling, as if
Mischief itself has been massacred. 3 years ago

If you were still enough to
See that you hate your job,
Life, house, self, choices,
Would you change, after
The necessary despair of
Honest regret? If you saw
That nothing in your closet
Fit, your hair was dusty, the
Good china dustier, what
Then? I have lived to avoid,
Above all else, one word on
My gravestone: Coward. Let
Fool or Wastrel be carved in
Thick letters and I shall lie
Peaceful beneath. My legs are
Weary from too little leaping.
Let me be now stretched toward
A future preferably impossible,
Certainly challenging, surely mine. 3 years ago

If, dropping all metaphors,
I told you I was angry, the
Purifying smoke might bring
To your eyes the first tears
Cried for me and not your
Dead image of me. Perhaps
Not. This is a mountain of
Iced over insecurities,
Pockmarked by fear and
Righteous rigidity. No, it
Is not. This is a relationship
Gone, friendship curdled by
Timing and expectation. No
Mountain, no smoke, no
Curdling; you and I, angry,
Innocent, raw, and betrayed
By ourselves, no one else. 3 years ago

A room with yellow lights,
A thick green blanket with
Creamy stars, roses, candles
Peace. Call it my Virgen de
Guadalupe fantasy. The sun
Is too bright today, the body
Too painful a costume. I’d
Prefer a quiet night with a
Woman who loves me, a
Common enough dream.
Let us pray for compassion,
Soft fingers to catch our
Uncried tears and to see,
In the tilt of a mother’s
Uncrowned head, the
Divine. 3 years ago

It’s pure cowardice that keeps
Me listening to your recitation
Of wrongs. There are a hundred
Metaphors I could use for what
I see in your life, but this is my
Poem and not the one I wished
To write. That poem, shy and
Wild, was overshouted by drama,
Annoyance, my weak need to be
Seen as understanding, kind, on
The right side. It would be kinder
Still to choose the side of the
Sweet voice inside me and
Bluntly refuse to join angry
Choruses. Consider this, then,
My resignation from drama in
Favor of art, which has no sides,
Only prisms that shine in dark
Corners and fires that warm or
Burn clean our sharp hearts. 3 years ago

The social security readout tells
Me how much I made each year
Since my first yearly income of
One thousand forty four dollars.
A timeline and if I were a bad
Statistician, I’d draw a connection
Between the highest income and
Highest pain. This is not the
Scorecard I wish I was sent. I’d
Like to know how I’m doing in
Forgiveness, humor, honesty,
Generous love, fierce compassion.
I am happy enough to glow like
A gas lamp. I get a lot done at
Work. Both matter. Funny how
Disparate the tangible results,
But no bother. I am, always
Have been, rich beyond
Measure in love. 3 years ago

I am running a
5K which is a
run that just
warms you up for
running when you
are finished.

Some road workers
wave me over; they
are working or drinking
coffee – I never
know which.

Aren’t you the
guy that crashed
during the triathlon?
I heard you were
winning.

Ah, yes – maybe I
should crash more
often for the attention.

))){3 years ago

A night of candles, quiet
Questions and though no
Nearer an answer, I am once
Again in love with myself,
Enamored of humans, ready
To check the leak in the
Bathroom, ceiling tiles
In the kitchen, the task list,
Computer, demands of the
Day. I had spread myself
Too thin; last night’s
Coalescing around the
Round center was long
Overdue. In my multiple
Dreams, some violent,
Some strenuous, some
Courting danger or death,
I was not alone; I walked
Or shot strangers with
Friends at my side, a lover
So wild the old man who
Tamed animals shunned
Him. I walked along
Crumbling rocks surefooted,
Paths sprung up before and
Behind me and waking, I
Smelled the ghosts of wax
And hugged my warm body,
Once more fully in it, alive. 3 years ago

Exploding bridges
gunfire, falling
bodies in the snow.

Tossing rich folks
over a cliff to the
rocks far below.

Gary Cooper seems
rather constipated
by the whole thing
maybe it’s the fake
backgrounds and bad
foley.

Ingrid Bergman speaks
five languages and
acts poorly using any
of them someone said
once.

Bombs fall
More people shot
Heavy drinking
Non-filtered smokes
..and
Machine guns

This is a love story

_Bang!

))){3 years ago

More is taken than is
Earned; yet we wait
As if the scales will
Balance and those who
Delayed pleasure, stayed
Well back in line, will be
Called to the front and,
Finally, rewarded for
Patient endurance. The
Meek inherit the earth
After everyone else has
Abandoned it. Earth is
What we gave the poor
Brown fools who dared
Live in a land that we
Wanted, and what dry
Dead earth. Taking
What is fair for your
Efforts turns out to be
Not such a crime nor
Meekness a virtue. 3 years ago

Practical and dreamy have
No argument with each other.
They live in peace, each aware
Of what the other offers and
Glad to stay in their own
Sweet space. I will never
Choose one to the exclusion
Of the other. I pay my bills
With money I’ve rubbed in
Ginger powder or washed in
Lavender essence and all in
All, it works out, except in
The mornings, when dreamy
Needs stretching and bed and
Practical needs to get ready and
Go to work. Practical wins that
One, often, but when she’s not
Looking, dreamy pours extra
Milk into the coffee and
Notices finches and the
Pattern of light on the
Cellphone charger
And smiles. 3 years ago

At least once in your
Life, you will give birth
To beauty by doing what
Is right, no matter the
Cost. This is being
Human. Also human is
The terrible wrong you
Will do, our clumsy
Method of learning our
Strength before finding
Our mercy. Let the wrong
At least not be choking the
Right in its dawning. If we
Must be murderers as well
As midwives, let us keep
Them well separate and
Grieve for our victims.
If you think this does
Not mean you, living in
Beige gray conformity,
Know you are someone’s
God. The least turn of
Your restless head on the
Pillow may change the
Flow of countless rivers.
Let us lose the myth of
Powerlessness. Become
Pregnant with wonder.
These things do not
Apply to a few and I
Write them for no one
But you. 3 years ago

She kissed me so soon
After the last shot of
Single barrel that her
Tongue burned like
Fire. I thought I would
Not change my mind;
I was wrong. This
Morning’s reassuring
Smells of butter and
Onions, coffee and
Sausages can’t cover
The dark vanilla notes
That have made of my
Mouth a window,
Transparent. 3 years ago