Skipping stones III

somewhere along the way I’ve missed
that sidearm throw that makes stones skip   

skip like meteors off the atmosphere
that finally fall down scorching the ground  

like a hula hoop on little girl’s hips
and candied applies staining my lips

is it the years between us
that tightened my heartbeats  

making them short and quick
as I slowly climbed down  

from the tower where I’d been placed
or was it just my fall from grace   

before the years opened up my eyes
when blue was always in the sky  

somewhere forgotten and missed
is that sidearm throw that makes stones skip 

gathered on a green
hill
remembrance of
outlaws
our lives connected
by music

A loss for words

Some days, there are no words

to contain all the hate in the world
no words for the pain
no words for the tears.

What are the words that can soothe
a mother whose child has been gunned down
a senseless accident
or worse yet, intentional aim?

And which words will you choose
to tell the world of war, of strife
of famine, of flood, of fury?

Which words will allow you to
sleep tonight – and me?
What can still the soul
give the unbearable sound
and sense?

Maybe-

the soft sigh of the wind,
the chirp of a late winter cardinal
the peep of a frog.

Maybe-

The heartbreaking dawn
first rays, lightening sky

Maybe-

The warmth of sun on shoulder
breeze on upturned face

Maybe-

The scent of morning rain,
soft mist in the air.

Maybe, just maybe-

All life renews
In the light of a clear blue morning.

Typhoid Fever I

Typhoid fever is caused by a salmonella bacterium transmitted through food and water.  

Typhoid Fever II

Historical victims of typhoid include Abraham Lincoln’s son, Willie, age 11, who died of typhoid fever in 1862.

Typhoid Fever III

Animals do not carry this disease.

Typhoid Fever IV

When traveling to India, expect an additional vaccine.  

Typhoid Fever V

If Typhoid Mary (who was asymptomatic) had washed her hands thoroughly, she would not have transmitted the disease through ice cream with peaches.

Can’t quite get a breath
this first day of summer
cloying comes to mind,
sweet to the point of sickening,
talls trees sway, an invocation
for rain.

On my phone Instagram shots
from my traveling grandson
Glacier National Park, steep
granite mountins, peaked
with snow, icy turquoise water.

A peephole escape from this turpitude,
this miasma.

morning yoga
on the lawn
ends in mountain pose.
bare feet root to earth.
chest extends to rising sun.
shoulders square,
body long, bones
stacked one on one
find space between,
separate as far as
ligaments
allow,
endorphins
percolate strong brew
through blood,
palms open, also
to receive the sun.

creature here,
lean like earth
in this north hemisphere,
tilt away, arms up to
sway, tree branches
backward arch,
fingers
reach
for
western
sky.

longest day is
this long yawn,
farthest stretch
from our sun.

swan dive now
to forward fold.
exhale spring.
torso hangs
from hips.
now half lift
with straight spine,
heart shines
summer time.
again to fold,
nose to toes,
and then to rise
once more to
mountain pose,
breathe this
cycle growing
old. older
than we can know.

Please stop apologizing for
not responding within
five minutes–

Unless you’re my lover
or have an organ on ice
for me, I don’t care
if you take 2 days.

It’s much better than
being left on hold, 
and I love you much more
than the internet provider.

(with thanks and apologies to Joyce Kilmer)

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a bee

Buzzing free from flower to flower
Drinking nectar by the hour

Pollen sticking stomach and legs
A bee works hard and never begs

Nectar is mixed with precious wax
Creates honeycomb stack by stack

Honey sweetens, making smiles
Spreads joy for miles and miles

Bees are lovely as you can see
Let us preserve them you and me