7:18 am
a cold wet nose grazes my knuckles
as our leading lady willingly waits in the wings
gowned in glistening gold, she makes a brilliant entrance
Category Archives: Other
untitled
The leaves are falling quickly now
in hues of royal gold
and as I dream beneath this bough
my naked nose turns cold.
Tea Time Talk (after Ko Un)
Last night I dreamt the dangling from the
Manhattan Bridge dream – I was Bill De Blasio
What kind of dream did you dream?
Facebook Ghost
This morning close to six past eight
I placed a bagel on my plate,
then opened up my Facebook page
to see what news was all the rage.
Kate Leary had a baby boy;
she barely can contain her joy.
The selfie squad was here of course;
that gal by Ann looks like a horse!
My social justice friend is back;
for starting fights he has a knack.
It seems that Susie’s Grandma died.
I read her post and nearly cried.
Joe’s breakfast bowl looks so delish,
I wonder if that’s meat or fish?
Naomi’s pics are always great;
that’s all she posts at any rate.
Last night Sebastian got quite drunk
in his own words, drunk as a skunk.
Tom’s sister did a 5K run;
I gather it was lots of fun.
Jill’s birthday party is tonight
the theme this year is Rainbow Bright.
I comb my fingers through my hair
and try to think of things to share.
But on this windy autumn day
I just don’t have that much to say.
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*edited after initial posting
old friends
vermilion cloth brushes snow gently
the wilted arm of a monk reaches
down to greet an old friend who is
curled up under a white oak wheezing
through a toothless mouth
her once golden paw feebly bats at
flowing garments begging for the
heated floors of nearby rooms
these allies have spent many winters
together in this sacred place
when spring comes both will be gone
Do You Remember?
flickering candles
whisper on a weeping night
next to reticent mountains
flaxen hair shimmers
beside sparkling frosted glass
warm lips on cold porcelain
Five For My Eye: III
tears drip on cold brisket
in a not quite empty room
where broken toys snivel
at thoughts of sweaty arms
and flimsy sheets while wondering
where the dollhouse went
Ma doesn’t know that
I sneak out on Doko days –
those Mondays of madness when
honeyed tricks sift onto brandy
laced tea cups and pinched skin
on Skalitzer Street sooty soldiers
dust my feet in darkness
above me
peach silk
peach knees
below me
brown shoes
brown earth
above her
white light
white clouds
below her
yellow hair
yellow stars
we look on
we look on
you are lost to us
————
This is the third in a series of five poems inspired by the photography of Constantine Brassaï.
untitled
When you’re staring up at me
I sometimes wonder who you see.
Am I the infant who you held
when the fruits of August swelled?
Or am I just an unknown she
who holds your hand and brings you tea?
Over the Ridge
Silent night
Unholy night
Beneath the silver popping trees of yuletide, scarlet
spotted pearls lie shivering beside frost covered hazel eyes.
Twisted twin crescent moons grimace at scores of faceless
souls strewn upon fate’s sanguine stage before perishing
within the enslaving silk of the Great Spider Above.
What I tell you three times is true.
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*edited after initial posting
No One’s Child
When did I become no one’s child?
the route home should take 20 minutes; 50 have passed
behind me, school girls with rain soaked raven hair
chatter away about the day’s nothing somethings
heavy eyelids collapse
I’m not going home, am I?
sundry folly 