Poetry - Contents

Bear Creek

First it's the myriad chorus of birdsong
that tickles the ears and lulls you awake
from deep, transcendental slumber.
Then your eyes open to rolling patterns
of light bouncing off the ceiling.

Upon sitting up and peering out
the old but reliable casement windows,
you are temporarily blinded by the
million diamond dance of light
beaming at you, a magical road
laid down by the sun across the water.

Large cup of tea in hand,
guitar slung over shoulder,
I scurry down the steep incline
to the weathered wood outcrop,
eager to enjoy the morning
peace and sparkle.

The human melodies
blend well with the rhythm of water
lapping the rocky beach,
the creek of boats
massaging the dock
the wildlife ...Look!

A mighty heron soars by and
disappears into the green hills
surrounding the lake.

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Theory

for A
   
humans have pondered light for centuries
first as their god incarnate
now in numeric calculation
wave or particle or both
we ask
bouncing off a full moon
or warming our flesh with
an invisible fiery dust

i sense a solid at work
somehow maintaining potency
millions of miles from launch
further study yields
kinship to ripples begun
on a still pond by a solitary stone
the separation of peaks
affording us color
magic and danger
present in the extremes

love shines
or so they say
and can warm or burn
the heart and soul
human emotion devoid of substance?
or like light an energy to be exchanged
a particle passed on
reflected
bouncing from mind to pen to
eyes reading the silly poem
from your distant lover

is my light for you
love entering a black hole
received but forebade to return
or is my useless pining
akin to an AM radio wave
clanging into an FM receiver
the broken particles
landing on your table
Sorry about the dust.

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Teetering on My Aluminum Giraffe

Teetering on my aluminum giraffe
Amid sculptured hollies
Speckled with the same white goo
Covering my hands
Gripping the leaf filled gutter for balance,
I rest my aching muscles

A blue dragonfly
Wades ever slowly
In the freshly-laid wetness
I reach to save him -
His delicate wings
Melt into the still-moist paint
On my fingertips

A mockingbird swoops
From a chirping cluster of sticks
Under the gable
Startled, the giraffe loses his footing
And I gaze at a row of smothered tulips
Cursing the indiscriminate captain
And his hemorrhaging tanker
 

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Pulling Chains

I'm pulling chains
Just pulling chains
The earth ebbs and flows
And I hear it moan
I almost escape
But it sucks.. me down

And I'm Pulling chains
It's an empty park
The pipes are losing their bark
And I wonder aloud
Am I a child no more
Or no more.. than a child
 

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Mom

If I won the Nobel Prize,
my hair would still be too long.
When my father told me of the lump in her breast,
I dropped everything to see her, hug her,
drop tears on her shoulders,
let the beast inside know
my mother was not alone.
Understanding is great,
but love will indeed suffice.


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Tasty Weeds

Isn't it neat
when your cat's curled up
in a bundle of clothes with those
raised cheeks from that
heightened curve of a cat smile,
his eyes partly open-
not sound asleep, but unaware
you have crept up close
just to observe
true peacefulness
for a moment
and surely a dream
of tasty weeds,
sunshine
and butterflies....


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Orb

Where do I begin?
From distant memories
or from this moment,
my brain,
like a sparkler held by a child,
fires seemingly random seeds
into the clouds that billow in my mind.

I am glad to be alive and
do find amazement in myself:
this container,
this flexible flask of rushing wine
which extends itself from the warm orb
where the reality flows.


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Aroma Therapy

Minute particles take flight from the small container,
enter my brain like a circus crashing in on a small town.
Once their foothold is established,
I cannot control the level of perception;
nor the thoughts that tumble out like smoked honeybees,
first dazed, then returning to their purpose.
How the complexities of shortcake can be
liquified and bound in such a small vial,
the touch and bite of the sweet strawberry
relived so effortlessly,
is a mystery.


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Strings

My piano strings are sympathetic
to your name called out
in a desperate telepathic plea.
Pressing the damper lets
their quiet roar resonate deeper
as the wires struggle against their tension
surely passing on their call
to particles of ether whose brethren
rush into the void to find you.


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Liar

No one will ever read this poem.
 

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Haiku

I told the round moon
as it sneaked behind the clouds
how much I love you

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Warm woolen mittens
as close as I can be to
the wondrous maiden

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Casting on my love
loop after loop I promise
warmth without tangles

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Scared of computers
but want multiple undos
on my coping saw

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First computer: loom's
binary switching of threads
weaving up and down

         •  •  •  •

Emil the emu
plays the udu in his band
Overweight Airship


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One Nice Thing

One nice thing about Winter....
wearing thicker clothes
and a sweatshirt indoors
Mao rides my shoulders as
I dance my cat dance
his claws holding him tight
just touching my skin
as I pitch and swing
and he purrs
delightfully


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Salt

Freezing
She knits me
A sweater of ice
I pronounce my love
Like a beacon
She fears something
Beneath the surface
An iceberg of passion
I wish I could melt
Into any sea
But her salt remains
On my tongue
Words fail
Hope is a crutch
I hold tight
Without shame
I hold dear
Like a beacon.


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A Poet Naught

Am I a poet not
who doesn't know but ought ?
Is the message trite
and the words far too easy ?
Like Icarus do my lyrics soar reckless
falling short of truth and
sufficient deference to the classics ?
More Simpsons than the Illiad ?
Would Garrison keel over
upon reading my almanac
of whining and pining
intertwining little between the lines ?

If I were a dentist
I'd stock the waiting room
with my ruminations disguised
by covers from People and SI
then listen through the door to
the searching and loathsome cry
for pamphlets on proper brushing
as I turn up my latest
homemade CD.

But I'm getting long in the poem
and this page is far more comfortable
spooning the previous...
as would I.
 

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Elegy for the Kayak Kat

Mao died this morning at dawn
but he was just a cat.
So many we lose
-parents, children, friends.
Mao was just a cat.

I kayak this morning
minus my first mate,
moon to my left, sun to my right.
A maiden fly takes precious time
to land on my knee.
A curious turtle pokes his head
and is gone.

The shrunken furry vessel
leaves a void so much larger.
And Mao was just a cat.
To give such joy, take so little
and leave with such grace..

Mao was just a cat
and that was plenty.
 

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Signs

It's a scary sign.
I don't read them anymore.
So I push instead of pull
and wait in the wrong line.

I bought a book on signing
to eavesdrop on the deaf.
So far I've learned "hello"
"you're cute" and "I'm sorry".

It was there in a large font
amid the clutter of imaginary news
and the incessant taunt
of long legs, candy bars,
phone cards and long legs.
"Sorry I didn't see the sign.
What about this card ? No ?
I'll put it all back...really."
But they don't let you, no
they tout your mortification,
place your error in neon.

Wait... that woman
four aisles over with too few items...
a kindred spirit ?
If I could only sign
"join me for a coffee ?"
Then I see the sign on her left hand:
Proceed with Caution.
So I leave the market empty-handed.
Thankfully the door swings both ways
and there are signs of Spring in the air.
 

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Midnight Kayak

Pop !
Another aborted walnut
slaps a cabin's tin roof.
The slow cadence of autumn sleighbells
permeates the moonless night
as frogs and six leggers
blend with the cavernous echo of barks.
I'm floating,
peering out upon infinity;
the shy, dense ring of the galaxy
snaking it's way across the speckled sky.
Alone in my plastic kayak,
a sneaky breeze
steals me to the broad lake's belly
where I'm greeted by darkness
and leaping legless swimmers.
Dipping my paddle, I merge
with the organic pool;
a burgeoning coacervate
yielding to intelligent design.

 
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