Tybee Island
Tree frogs play güiros in the night,
cicadas gently shake maracas.
The air smells thick with salt,
a gentle breeze blows off the ocean.
Tree frogs play güiros in the night,
cicadas gently shake maracas.
The air smells thick with salt,
a gentle breeze blows off the ocean.
Sometimes,
one finds her calling
when she can down a
quesadilla
while watching
a forensic anthropologist
sift through a concoction of
gelatinized bone and flesh
with a soup ladle,
and bile does not
coat her throat.
Today’s a have a Coke
and soak in the bath
while listening to Fiona Apple
with a fresh bowl
blazing
kind of day
My father has always been
present, has
gotten his hands dirty
with diapers, with dishes,
Has driven us to the emergency room
for stitches and x-rays.
My father showed up, stood up, put up
with my temper tantrums.
My father my friend,
We are so alike that we can
talk on the phone for hours,
but cannot ever live in the same house again.
Keats wrote, “Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
When you need truth today, you need our expertise.
The smallest oversight is sometimes the biggest clue.
An asset review can reveal whether a person is being honest.
A 15-minute background check special costs $99.
Do you suspect your spouse may be cheating on you?
Then there are steps we can take. Look for the signs of lying:
nervousness, not wishing to talk, not making eye contact.
Credit card and phone statements are a great start.
If there are suspicious charges, ask what they are.
Study reactions and you may discover your answers.
Check emails on a public computer or an internet shop.
Remember to mark the unread status
to avoid revealing your investigation.
If you need more substantial evidence,
a sniffer dog can do a sweep of office or home.
If you suspect drugs, this is the best way to tell.
We can perform tasks through the Internet, including
Location of Alter Egos and True Identity Discovery.
Your use of the site and our services is at your own risk.
So, you see, poets are not the only seekers of the truth
Nor is truth always beauty, though it can be a Cold Pastoral,
as Keats wrote generations ago.
Moreover, as the writer of Psalms also knew,
Time, like an ever-rolling stream, soon bears us all away;
we fly forgotten, as a dream dies at the break of day.
Father I want to be a weeping willow
No son, you will be an axe
Father I want to be a seahorse
No son, you will be a great white
Father I want to be the purple rose Mother was
No. You already have enough thorns
Father I want to be a constellation asleep
on dark water
No son, you must be a fisherman
of the stars and the sand that slipped
through my fist
Out of all the images in the world,
choose one,
deepen,
repeat.
Poems emerge
from tea steeped
in the leaves
of life.
Calved
(with thanks to Rudy Thomas)
another poet* reminds me I am far more
the poetry I have not written
an iceberg, whose mass lies most
unseen and fresh beneath
a sea cold enough to kill
but too dense to freeze
* “The Voice,” by Rudy Thomas (http://www.accents-publishing.com/blog/2015/06/22/the-voice/)
five directions to my house – after Juan Felipe Herrera, Jay McCoy, Sherry Chandler and others
1.
on summer solstice
follow a murder of crows
find the greenest spot
with your Ariel vision
behind the wooden gate
midnight butterflies dance
2.
in October
go explore on gingko street
steeped in yellow
follow rows of sycamore
trees who stretch white branches
into blueluminous sky
3.
be careful
if it’s April you may be
enchanted
by fields of dandelions
vast lawns of violets
you may never go home
4.
climb inside
the fairy tree where children
learn to speak
elven languages run
widdershins round a brick walled
garden wander farther
5.
open the gate
enter the cottage
if I hear you
I might swift vanish
follow the crow’s call
6.
Beware of all the butterflies at midnight.
