Murmurations
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Visitations
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We’re counting on not seeing her horse hop Or daringly die, due to an awful rift Between neighbors, who sang goodnight While swinging candelabras. Stop and consider this night From your broomstick and lay an egg. You can’t deny the luck of a gentleman When he called for your tow truck, Since other moments are cursed. We stand in our dormitory shelter, Under a flimsy night, clinging to superstition And break the lantern and its’ light, While we raid the nearest star. In kind, we remove from our sight The dinner that was prepared In honor of our leaving 5/22/22
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Hagfish
Laughing, Make a wish In the mirror Of a vicious host. Tomorrow welcomes Another dish, That's seldom ordered By most. Brick and mortared, Labored, toiled, Badly boiled, Buttered, battered Burnt offering. I know you'd rather Not bite into this plot, But awkward moments Tell a lot. Pull the hornet's stinger And leave your senses. Let go the consequences, Too many to worry. Step into the slurry And sloosh about. No one will find out, And I am sure That your trouble passing Will occur. And in the depths You will endure. Hag 4/30/22 Whippoorwill,
Standing, still. World goes by, A buzzing fly. Sing to me. I’ll dance with thee Out on the limb, Discarding him That aches me. Broken, breaks me. Sends me skidding, Side-rail hitting, Into the trunk. My will was sunk, But then the song No more raked wrong. Whippoorwill, What did he do, That rises you to rally? Upward from the valley And from the sting, With outstretched wing And swollen breast. This mind’s behest So longing. That’s right, No wronging. I’ll take my beating Heart’s wet bleating Out to the wood, Where poor Will Once stood. 2/9/22 Tall, thin beach grass.
Smothered, smooth clear glass. Circling sand dollars and Burping kelp bulbs. Chasing horizons and gulls, Then running smack Into the backseat's way back huddle, Splashing through puddles. With the single, troubled mother. Heading home to remember The sand in our shoes from The every other weekend blues. Lonely as a Like. Happy as a Lark. Sincere as a Symbol. So bright in the Dark. It’s the thought that counts. Gestures now weighed In equal amounts. I heart when you're here On my page with a thumb. But my calls, straight to voicemail. I wonder how come. I see you with all your stuffed animal friends, Frozen in smiles, happy happy to the end. This room’s getting cooler, by silver screen light. But I’ll type you a warm and fuzzy good night. Where do we go when I turn off the power and Unplug connections for an endless half hour? Where are my memories that don’t have a place? In pretty pink backdrops for a soft, filtered face. My world, surrounded in flat colored green, Lets me go for a walk in sunny serene. So many friends and so much love, I feel it within and around and above. This chair is so kind, it swivels and adjusts. I'm lucky for its’ support, it always shows up. The warmth of its’ touch, so soft to the skin, Keeps me cozy and comfy, upheld from within. 9/7/21 In this orange mood
I burn and brood I use for food I take it in Under my skin A wish to win Enough has been All this time I’ve had refined Combed and sifted A polished shine Cast if off On water ripples Skips and coughs And settles into A spotlight circle Spinning purple Rippling out Past the hurdles: Jumps and jags Tangled snags Wheels that drag. I’m tired of pulling. Push and churning Magnetic tension Static suspension My own invention. Squeeze the pulp Upon suggestion From the answer Peel the question. 4/27/22 A martini has two olives.
This car will run out of gas. The neighbors yell out their window. My cat has studied, cautious eyes. I could lay down And close mine. But where would it get me? An inverted balance. A breath lifting up Into the Ominous, Contained by a corner And a buzzing sense of self. A vase in the hallway holds A bouquet of purpose. Purple, distinctive, purpose To make me notice My own, reflecting. Once in awhile, This makes sense. Now and then, I get it. But mostly, I roll back under The surface And answer the doorbell When it rings. 4/28/22 Runner Up
Rational Rubric Functional Fabric Soldier’s tunic Now battles in the attic. I know nothing of their ways, Only golden end of days and Dreamy sunsets' longer light, Far off looks and hope that might Fall into my lap. The leaf spinning Into its’ course. Pining for centrifugal force And gravity, Keeping a promise. While I’m still a doubting Thomas, I have to wonder if These venial sins Now set asunder, As gentle days with Amber rays really Bring the night. I wish I may honor bright With all my casual Flapping flight. A ragged, disconnected kite Half-hearted from defeat, Stopping off for a bite to eat. Unable to find a counter seat. 4/18/22 Through steam and sweat, A green patch welcomes You, Icarus. The window of Winter Opens your bones, wrapped in poultice Of farm flowers, soaked in liquor. Not brown, But clear syrup. The kind That gives burlap and calyx A melting fragrance. Say softly With wax lips, the same prayer That blew into your wings, And know that promise and vision exists. Into the vortex, Icarus, See yourself As a luminous moth, pale As a petal, sharp As a nettle, clean As a quiet moment. Lay hands on the minute, a gift. A promise Released from the fist Of a corpse, No longer needed. Breathe the extract in Careful atonement. The lights in the street glimmer In powdery dew on your bed clothes. Fold up your shoulders, Icarus. I give you my deepest Condolence, with eyes cast down, Focused on the mound, Where beetles come crawling. Black doves of the soil Churn honor and exist To winnow the night From the dreamers, The crops of crow carcass And toys of the children who fall, Magnificent dolls. 3/4/22 On those steps, Above the yard, We grin at you, shyly. We’re trying so hard. Leaning into each other And into a voice. Yours, now our, mother, Builds a bridge on our backs. In her dark widow colors, My tan poly slacks Elena, white leggings and Black buckled shoes, The frame corner kicks And broke daisy grips So tight in her fist. Ofelia, the blackbird, Gleams pride in her smile. With soft talcum skin And eyes of a chid. Simple and solid. Quiet and stolid. The face of a mountain On a warm Roman coin. You tell us, “hold still” And scan the viewfinder, Searching for signs, A hopeful reminder That life has a plan. We are bright little markers Coloring the eye of a man. 5/4/22 I have a house. Across the track. I had a job. It broke my back. I have a wish. Sometimes they win. I have a goal. Try to fit in. I was a painter. Sometimes I paint. I was a player. Now, just a saint. I have a drive. A lonely road. I use the heater when it gets cold. I have two cats, Maurice and Vlad. I have to laugh, or I’d be sad. I have to love, or I’d be mad. I have to learn, since I’ve been bad. I have a yard. It’s not a garden. I say too much. I beg your pardon. I grow my Nonna’s flowers. I take them to her grave. I pick up every penny. Head’s Up, the one’s I save. 1/28/22 Execute a fool's pursuit Exercise your alibis Exonerate yourself, when late Exacerbate your heart on a plate Emphasize the plaintive cries Realize the truth is lies Reconvene once you get clean Recognize when dumb is wise Regurgitate the words you ate Fornicate the popular ways Facilitate a wondrous gaze Anticipate the doubtful mind Accelerate the curve when blind Celebrate the happenstance Circumvent the circumstance Modernize the stodgy ways Memorize these fleeting days 2/2/22 |
