Posts for June 19, 2021 (page 7)

Praise for the dining room window which holds a mountain-a-day,
            to reveal blue or gray or brown mystery over the city.
Praise for the copied daily Sudoko to mute our chatter,
            making friars into Trappists, brain-teased to silence.
Praise for cheeses Bruce buys to share with diverse toast,
            flavors imported, palate tempted
            (they will become for us a future bowl of mac and cheese).
Praise for the green smoothie mixture which appeals to health and not to sight,
            vegetables surprising me with tart and tang.
Praise for spread and slice and spoon,
            for crunch and munch and sip.
Praise for an out-loud-laugh,
            heralding a gem from the comics.
Praise for the brothers, in-and-out, day-planners moving
            from contemplation to action.
Praise for coffee, and coffee and coffee
            which transforms to human, to meet what waits.

The barista doesn’t know
your name, but she starts
your drink as soon
as you walk in.
Of course, you don’t know
her name either, but you tip well.

This is what it means
to be the nameless god of caffeine
with a folded and jingling offering.

Tut, tut, looks like rain.
Time to paint—
thunderstrokes, eye whorls,
hail blobs, wind-swept skylines,
angry ship prow bleeding
acrylic on an unrecovered beach,
cross-hatched crevice torn
in the colonial grandeur,
fate of the dark cargo undetermined.  

They tell me that this,
like every other storm will pass.
Silly old bear.

Silver maple drapes
like a hovering mother

comforts the critters
on the deck couch

reclined, wind strokes
skin like a heavy feather

gulls never stop laughing
skimmers skim and sandpipers pipe

harpooned by the bay
crabs ghost under water

I remember a tree
like this one

low branching, a palm opened
straddling the crotch like a saddle

what we are making
are pathways to travel again

memories formed like trails
to last through the wilting years 

I’m as calm as the catbird
sitting quiet by the gate 

welcomed here to live a great story 
to shape the coast of your heart

tethered to a bed,
a retired sword by your side.
instead of your wreath of laurels,
a vase of flowers;
another bouquet of bad news.
you are baptized in light—
bathed in the glow.
i can only see slices of you
on the screen.

This moment of clarity
Like a deep blue summer sky
Which even the clouds
Have abandoned
So there is nothing
But the deep blue
That seems to be both
Right here now
And never ending
At the same time

left
left
left-right
left

left
left
left-right
left

I don’t know, but I’ve been told
          I don’t know, but I’ve been told
the universe is very old
          the universe is very old

Came from apes across the sea
          Came from apes across the sea 
Maybe you and them–not me
          Maybe you and them–not me

I came forth from mom and dad
          I came forth from mom and dad
Their love–the best I ever had
          Their love–the best I ever had

I fight so you might someday live
          I fight so you might someday live
All my blood and guts I give
          All my blood and guts I give

The universe has just one plan
          The universe has just one plan
Create–destroy–do it again
          Create–destroy–do it again

I will fix more than I break
          I will fix more than I break
give away more than I take
          give away more than I take

Sound off
          One, two
Sound off
          Three, four
Sound off
          One, two, three, four,
          one, two–three, four!

I always begin the day with a bowl
of redemption and a banana.
For a little while my mind is big
enough to contain emptiness.  

Then lizards and snakes wake in
hidden glades from where they toss
toys and hand grenades that make
me angry before I even see why.  

My objections condense to a
surly growl that follows me as I
chase my tail and flail at ghosts
inflaming my mind and find  

at the end of the day’s race
I’m still in the starting block