A family of six pine trees in the backyard
three were killed in last year’s hurricane
one died this year—maybe out of sympathy.
now there are only two pine trees left and sadly,
they don’t speak to each other.
The morning rain continues
Fog shrouded mountains
I have nothing new to add
You are my ocean
Please don’t drown me
You come in and you go out
You rise and you fall
Kissing my sands
Sometimes you are lovingly warm
Other times you are ice cold
You are my ocean
Please don’t drown me
All this time
I still don’t know your depths
All your surprises
Your gentle waves I ride on
Your riptides that threaten
To pull me under
You are my ocean
Please don’t drown me
Maybe someday
I will understand you
Maybe someday
(This originally appeared in Gemini Magazine)
The birds singing in the trees do not know of your sorrow
One ship has sailed and along with it went some of your dreams and as it did, another ship pulled into port carrying treasures for you that you can’t even guess at...
There are more interesting stories to be found in a graveyard than a library...
I could listen to Dave Brubeck all night
and pretend I could play like him
in some dark and cool club
two blocks off of reality street
i’m old now and jaded
but that impresses me to no end
it is the ultimate of ultimates
i need a dark place
i need a glass of something cool
and some dark glasses
and a leather jacket
and a don’t give a damn attitude
but it’s probably too late for all that
I should have started sooner
----------
Some days crawl by
Like a wounded man
On his hands and knees
Each second, a moment of agony
There are other days though
Happy days
That pass like a shooting star
And if we are lucky
Time builds no barrier
Between us
---------
I sit in the den
Staring into a dying fire
In the old stone fireplace
Then I go to my studio
To finish my latest painting
That will be stacked up against the wall
With all the other masterpieces
That no one wants
Then I pick up a book
And read about a poet I have
Always admired
I read with great interest
Until much to my dismay
I find that he died at an age
Much younger than I am right now
And somehow he loses some of his credibility
For the aging man
The passing of days is merciless
He waits for the unsaid
One foot in the grave
And another on a patch of ice
His afternoons are slow
But time speeds past
He longs for the old days
Some of which he can’t remember
But he wants them anyway
The body is now frail
The hair gray or gone
Stranger in the mirror
Looks at him with dark eyes
Those that know what is coming
-------
-------------
-------
I enjoy a cool and rainy day
Days that most others don’t
I enjoy a sunny day now and then
But I’ve always been most comfortable
in a cool damp mist
Somewhere in the overcast skies
A spirit or some such thing
Is awakened inside
Though I’m not sure that’s what it is
Or if it really exists
All I know is a kind of oneness
An extension of myself
Going out and falling among the trees
And the wet streets
That I walk
-------------
The day I did nothing
But lay in bed until five p.m.
Was the best day of work
I have ever done
The day I learned how to live
From watching the passing clouds
On a small patch of grass
On a fall day
Was of far greater value
Than all my years of learning
In a brick and mortar school
The day I gazed out the window
For hours and hours
And watched the snowflakes
Fall into their perfect resting places
Told me more than I could ever be told
-------------
One side of his family had been English
Classy, stylish
Earl Grey tea from the bone china cup
Expert gardeners, bowler hats
The other side of the family had been from Russia
Exciting, dangerous
Vodka straight from the bottle
Cossacks on horses
He himself was from American middle class suburbia
And he hated himself for it
-----------------
There was the old house
With the green swirly carpet
And the big TV antenna outside
That somehow only got three channels
And then there was the house with the cerulean blue carpet
That we said was so perfect for a place in Florida
Where the rain played drums
On the metal roof of the porch
These were houses, but not home
Home was where
We had the bright red carpet in the bedroom
And in the coolness of the basement
We listened to music late at night
And pretended we were popular
Sweep, sweep, sweep, sweep, sweep
The leaves continue to fall
My broom is tired
---
As the snow falls
As the snow falls
My mind falls away
Melting into the ground
---
Gazing at the moon
Wondering how it got there
A hot cup of tea
----
Raindrop on window
Reaches its destination
You have come so far
---
Yin is in yang
Yang is in yin
I am in pajamas
---
Do the stars look down?
What do they see?
What must be their dreams?
Listening to the music
---
Opening the blinds
On a chilly day and sitting
On the floor in the sun
---
I watch the dogs play
Under the sprawling old oaks
By the cemetery
---
On the way to work
She dreams of missing the exit
Going anywhere else
---
The
Muse
Everyone has a muse
Some have more than one
Muses are often quite
mysterious
They seem to find you
more often
Than you find them
They come in a variety
of flavors
There are muses for
painting
Muses for sculpting I
suppose
And of course there are
muses
For the musically
inclined
They emerge from a
shadow
Or breath of wind
Filling up that crack
Or in some cases a chasm
That amusingly we
believe there to be
Maybe there should be a
museum
For all these muses
To honor their
accomplishments
The things they have
inspired
The lives they have
changed
Real
Poetry
Someone once told me
“Your poetry ain’t real
poetry
because it don’t rhyme”
I told him
it was because
my poetry was about life
and life dosen’t always
rhyme
you have blue
and you don’t always get
you or new
sometimes you get
bottle or street
i thought it was a
pretty snappy answer
Fake
“She’s fake” my friend grumbled
Over his glass of Jack
As the woman with more curves
Than a mountain road strutted past
Inviting a thousand eyes
Flipping her hair as she click-clicked
Down the street in her high heels
“Women are all fake these days”
He said
I didn’t add that we are all fake
In one sense or another
And if we weren’t
We’d be killing one another in droves
I mean how many people
can we truly stand?
Company
Outing
It was an awkward company outing
so her and I
shared some beer
I admit I always was smitten with her
And vainly waited for her to
Make me her next flavor of the month
on a non-descript Friday night
at a bowling alley
in the seedy part of town
we got to feeling silly
alcohol has a way of doing that
even for those with admirable restraint
and for one night somehow
I looked good to her
we gazed into each
others eyes
and there was magic
it got late
and we found the inside of her car
many kisses later we said our goodnights
but by monday morning
when we saw each other at work
Robert-Houdin had left town
She looked awkward
and the whole night
was never brought up again
I always thought there was a curse
Following me around
And when I’m taking a ride in the hearse
I won’t make a sound
When something could go wrong
It always managed to
Sure things were never sure
There was nothing I could do
Last summer a drought
Now, sandbags at the front door
Yin and yang indeed
10,001 steps today
So says my Fitbit
Yet I’m no closer
To where I want to be
The doctor said I should exercise
And I told him I have been
My whole life
Has been an exercise in futility
Everything is zero to the left
To Die In Paris
To die in Paris
has a romantic flair about it
as though you perished
in a higher class of death
other places are too anonymous
too un-adventureous
but to die in Paris
suggest a sort of worldliness
perhaps not found in life
but cemented in death
dying is not pleasant
I am sure
but where we surrender
can make it more palatable
and memorable
Uncle Dave
Had an uncle named Dave
nobody’s idea of an uncle
I hated going to his house
He gave us kids
carrot sticks and apple juice
when we wanted
candy bars and pepsi
always lectured us on being healthy
said he never missed a day of school
a day of work
because he was so careful
about what he ate and did
One day healthy uncle dave
was downtown
and got distracted
and stepped off a curb
and got creamed by a city bus
so much for that healthy crap
Shy Young Man
the shy young man
was as nervous
as piece of glass
in a child’s hand
he stammered over his ad-libs
he had rehearsed earlier
she just smiled
and said thank you
but she wasn’t interested
he exited stage left as
the vanquished knight
with a feeling in his gut
and heart
that couldn’t quite
be described
Fake Bikers
here come the fake bikers
down the interstate
pulling their machines
behind their 50 grand suv
they bought a leather jacket
and when they get down
to daytona
for bike week
they’ll go to their
four star hotels and then
they’ll pretend
like they are real bikers
riding up and down
a 1 a
but if they were
real bikers
they would have rode
their bikes down here
i’m sure the real bikers
can tell who’s who