Category: Issue 18.1

cherry buds
the blue tit’s beak
stuffed with string

 

Spring rain
a sprinkle of arpeggios
from the street musician

 

 

between showers
brief intervals
of butterflies

 

 

with each deep breath
I find more of myself
in this world
the scent of rose petals
after the rain

 

 

this life
paper boats
on a stream

melting away my pain— garden dew

 

 

 

(from The Heron’s Nest, Vol. XV, No. 4, December 2013)

 

with no thought the goshawk carries a mouse to heaven

our last dinner date
the bones
picked clean

the way rain begins our second thoughts

 

sushi bar
 making eye contact
  with the koi

 

loneliness…
my spit draws
more minnows

 

he holds her hand
a tad longer than needed
bangle seller

wildflowers
the friends we make
by chance

 

meant for each other
this light
and the daylily

 

eye exam
in the dark he compliments
my retinas

 

 

 

(The Heron’s Nest, XVI:4, December 2014)

tilting my head
to see the rainbow
in a spider’s web

 

ladybug
up a stem and back
quiet afternoon

 

 

drunk at noon
in my next life make me
a honeybee

 

the wind’s
distant tang
wildfire sunrise

neon motel sign —
concrete slab scoured
by desert wind

the vast west
railroad cars decouple
in the dark

 

commuting to work the iambs of trains

self-employed
I set my watch
by the sundial

Supermoon
the night sky
surrenders

born this way …
the orientation
of winter stars

the crunch of frost
bare branches of the oak
alive with stars

 

 

 

snow
its own
cathedral

All night the rattle
at the iron gate
the color of winter

an old friend
without a name
fallen leaves

 

my thoughts
this way and that
wild rabbits

 

 

Fragment of Thought during a Panel Discussion on Contemporary Poetry

Do I want to know there are anti-lyric factions, anti-narrative factions, anti-whatever…I

trying to put
a number on it
skipping stone

 

 

one day at a time losing count of it

 

my mother singing
on my answering machine
another year

 

changing my mantra
to a
blues tune

 

all the way down
to low E, the trombonist’s
eyebrows

in the space
between falling rain
and loneliness . . .
the song
that once was ours

 

Mozart’s birthday–
the slow decay
of the last chord

 

french lavender . . .
in love with a song
I don’t understand

the old blind cat
listens to the birds
morning brightness

 

Webcam

Insects land on the white umbrellas of the Queen Anne’s Lace along the trail leading to the pond. Beyond the cattails, vibrantly colored drakes gather

a lone teal
circles the mallards
first school day

 

drive-by splash . . .
the line of pre-schoolers drenched
in delight

sea shells
a child’s summer
packed in a jar

rumors of war
I pull the dandelions
more gently

long drought
our prayers for rain
go unanswered
the one cloud on the horizon
mushroom-shaped and growing

shrapnel scars
her fingers tracing
Orion

 

touching your photo
the need
to mouth the words

my brother’s gun
in the lock safe
condolence cards

leaving no will the wind

bee tree
the emptiness within
slowly fills

rugged hillside
the shape of the sapling
still in the tree

 

autumn leaves
an old window in the yard
reflects the sky

morning light
painting over
my painting

ballet shoes
in the Goodwill box
a child’s dream

autumn light
the school garden scarecrow
wears a tutu

asking directions
the uniformed schoolgirls
point three ways

 

 

opening night …
the stars arrive
right on time

 

sitting down to rush home subway

red eye flight
a round of Bloody Marys
before take-off

 

passive-aggressive
a slice of lemon
in her filtered water

 

summer breeze
the scent of juniper
in my tumbler

partying solo
I double dip
the salsa

resort town…
the watering hole
the locals use

lingering jet lag —
the clunk of a foreign coin
in the clothes dryer

winter sea
before refugees
beyond refugees

 

less water in the vase
than yesterday
nursing home

 

another funeral
for a childhood friend
flickering campfire

summer twilight
a long fly ball settles
into his glove

paperback romance
 a bend in the spine
  at the sultry part

lost love –
the snow buries
everything

another autumn
the rot reaching
into the heartwood

our back and forth
the icicle lengthens
drop by drop

late February
the last wisteria pod
drops its seed

 

midwinter
unrelenting
robocalls

winter rain
the dog-eared ace
shuffled back in

 

afternoon heat
the missing dog’s
sun-bleached poster

 

moonspill
on the welcome mat
an old friend’s boots

the darkness of my skin
 on my soul
 this stickiness

 

 

(Originally published in is/let, November 2017)

by the tiller
the sound of a dolphin
taking a breath

sometimes tame
sometimes wild
my old rocking horse

beach combing
where we made love long ago
shell shards

seeing my dentist
of twenty years
on the beach
I recognize
his eyes

 

 

 

summer’s end
the skin slips off
the last marshmallow