Sending poetry to the world
crazy people
rock on white wicker chairs
and sit on green paisley cushions
and chain smoke
because it’s a crutch or
a good way to pass time
or to remember to breathe
and they write in little black notebooks
and they scribble and scratch
nonsense
like its god damn poetry.
the simple flick of the light switch
is nice to come home to. it
lights the kitchen walls so you can
water the Gerbers, give them a pat,
take the leftover spaghetti from the fridge —
the sauce you made for family
when the apartment filled with noise
so much bigger than the TV —
watch the bowl spin round, round
the heat picks every particle and bursts
tomato in a fine spray you’ll clean
later in the night, when you can’t sleep.
green chair you sit patient
with generations you speak
“i am always here”
[author’s note: my green chair is beyond a piece of furniture… it is a deep connection to the past and strangely enough, a friend]
across the way
the children come from church.
she is naked
from the shower,
hair drips falling from shoulders
across belly and down each leg
steaming the window, warm.
he closes the blinds.
when he asks her to kneel
she takes and eats.
from her, he drinks. all is dark as
in the beginning.
[circa creative writing class 2002]
the small window
is a speedway for mist racing
past till my eyes grow tired of the closeness
and with refocus
and a press of the small lightbulb
the dark pours in with flashes of lightning
lining clouds beside us, i
break to swig ginger ale bubbles
and the man across
sleeps with an open mouth
pop another cracker snack salty
on my tongue
turn my head to the next small window
and catch the last glimpse
of the sunset flaming out past the wing.
La Jolla, you in
your stillettos- upturned nose-
hazy your motives
holds promise despite –
in spite, the waves Pacific
still wash the beach clean.
love lost (and never had)
reappeared in a dream
the same car my driving hand
pounding nervous on the leather
of the steering wheel
while the other
twirled with your left in air
-the space between, unspoken-
fingers of each folding
over again and again
palms pressed and teased
together apart together
until you leave, step outside into
a space of darkness
and i double over myself
in the wrenching realization.
suitcase catches flies
lazy like a bullfrog, one tongue
a red blouse casually
laying as if a humid breeze
slowly lifted it’s hand
and with an “easy chile” slipped
back comfortably against
a cool mint julep bra.
[author’s note… this poem is just another thing i’m doing rather than packing my suitcase]
smalll bony legs crook’d
over a driveway of shale
“here’s one!!!”
to a fossil, and our cousins
visiting…
“let’s go!!”
tossed aside, then
scampering off to that place
where rotting wood is our
breakfast – in our fort,
a few saplings
leaned to a trunk, first creep inside
“Snake!!!”
racing fast to the river,
there a high crossing keeps
out intruders and
Indian-style
we eat pockets of winesap
apples, ruddy green
red
like that one pesky leaf
floating downstream
throw a rock, watch it sink….
Happy labor day weekend to all those in the States! Take some time to read poetry 🙂 Try out the search engine or the categories and see if you can find a new fav poem. Then when you find it- leave a comment (!) take care everyone, j
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