Posts for June 25, 2017 (page 2)


Wonder Woman Revisted

My son was surprised by the real villain,
relished the sidekicks, and knew all
about Gal Gadot.

My daughter enjoyed the training montage, pondered
whether Wonder Woman would see her mother again,
and wished the hero hadn’t died.

The more things change, the more
they remain
the same.



Poem, Sunday Evening  

I came to the office to stay
only long enough to write a poem.
I am the only person
in the room.  

I have written words for flowers in bloom;
& about my father, the person
in the few lines of the poem
I will write on this Sunday  

evening. My father taught me
how to work on a car
in case I did not make it
in college. That way,  

I’d be able to stay
employed, & it
would be far, far
better than writing poetry.  

I’m sure he would say it  
if he were alive, but he for
sure is alive,
in my words.

Song birds
sing, because they are alive,
not out of hunger & sing for
sunrise, the way it

comes up over Grider Mountain.


Necessity is the mother

She sewed a lace doily
to the back of her jeans
jacket because her momma told her
she couldn’t afford to buy
the one she saw in the store
window. It was shaped like a spider
web, and for thirty years she has looked
for a patch shaped like a spider
for the center of the web.


Daily Delight

Experience pleasure
in the aesthetic
of thinking,
as in solving
trigonometric identities
or differential equations.
Revel in logic.
Savor Sudoku,
from folding paper,
picking the pencil,
positioning eraser at hand.
Accept the challenge
of the exercise,
its elegance of reasoning,
beauty of symbols.
Admire the result,
all squares realized.



when your heart breaks
do not try to hold it together
with scotch tape 
and call it strength
with white glue
and call it impenetrable
do not hang it from a string 
and say to yourself
hang in there

let it fall
let it shatter
the pieces will scatter
some lost forever


when time has worked her magic
and you have felt the jagged edge
of every bit that is left,
new pieces emerge to fill the gaps
and they all bond together again
in a way you never thought possible
impossible if you tried to hold your heart together
as it was before

so when your heart breaks
let it


We Are Left

We Are Left…

Perhaps we should have seen it coming:
This loss of reason, this loss 
Of love.

It had so recently seemed—oh! so hopeful—
But now
The table is stripped
Down to the rough wood;

Dark night has fallen quickly,
The chance we thought we had is gone;
And we are alone, bewildered—

So close—it had all seemed so close—
We did not know
It would be this hard.




we might find defining life
a chore we regret
life should be lived, not studied


Feeding the moon

in its quiet cage of sky
folding golden light
into its mouth
with a spoon of stars
she seems docile    thoughtful
and sleek to her pointed ends—
celebrated horns
of plenty     of goddess and god
of ocean     pull of tide     push of shore
of fecundity and impulse
glow and shadow.  

In the same vein I feed
brain in its cage of skull
folding words
into its synapses
with a spoon of memory
and brain is lit and churning
and thirsty down to pointed spine—
celebrated path
of sacrum     of bone and ridge
of chakra     fierce rattle     ragged strength
of grace and angle
color of moon.



In Bethlehem is a yard sale’s old
mower with a cracked head and 
a wheel-less baby carriage with 
Ken and Barbie in naked repose.
Across the way an empty salon
welcomes walk-ins with squirts
from a concrete hippo in a blue
fountain and front lawn whimsy
of a half-moon outhouse.                                     
                                     Oh, a whiff of 
hog-shed where sows  give birth!  

Three men in Sunday shirts smoke
on the steps of church with mud on
their boots  and rain in their eyes.
In tatters, the stars-n-stripes wave
at the self-service post office.
Here’s a field of broken balers
and Bertha’s Corner Store where
the gas pump’s had a stroke.                                   
                                         Up the road
is a sign for Elementary Summer
School: Drumming & Dancing           



A poem a day 
is alot to say

I’ve hit my wall
 goodbye to all

 Thank you for all  your wonderful comments.