Wu You
Empress Wu
was the only female emperor
of China & the name of the hosta
taking over a quarter of my front yard.
Just thought you might want to know.
Under a blanket
My favorite sweater
Heat on high
Cabin fire
Cozy socks
Knitted hat, scarf, and gloves
Hand warmers in gloves and boots
Warm my body
Dutch Oven
Beans, black, kidney, or white
Chopped onions
Hamburger, turkey burger, or veggie meat
Tomatoes, crushed, chopped petite, or pureed
Paste or sauce of tomatoes
Spaghetti, macaroni, or no pasta at all
Chilli Powder
A dash of sugar cuts the acid
Warm my tummy
Puking in a hospital pan, I knew
The blue moon was rising full
behind us as we drove
dead ahead into the dying sun.
The silhouettes of rickely stick fences stood
black like fish bones
against the ember glow.
We passed a pickup truck,
its back loaded full with waving children.
We came upon six wooden crosses
planted on a cliff above the ocean and
stopped to read the names–
Hector, Timiteo, Raul, Jose, Oscar y Joaquin.
Up the coast,
we saw what looked like a flock of big ducks,
their heads cradled back
in against their bodies for the night,
floating on a peaceful bay
but became small boats as we drew closer.
A sign announced Castro’s Fishing Place
and we pulled in….We picked bungalow No. 3.
Not having any cards,
we broke open the mezcal….
I had never french-kissed the worm before
and it was not my intention to start this night,
but the bastard caught me unawares
and slid into my mouth
like a limp screw,
wiggled around a bit
and jumped down my throat.
The experience was so profound
that I had to burst out the door
to savor the moment
in private.
It was a struggle,
but I kept it down
and am a much wiser man for it.
After that, things got a little fuzzy
(and I have the pictures to prove it).
I do remember us walking out
on to a rocky jetty
where the surf gushed into the crevices and
shot up in 50-foot geysers.
And I remember us serenading–
half in Spanish, half in Ingles and totally in gibberish–
Castro’s Fishing Place
with a joyously off-key song.
The words escape me now,
but they were surely profound.
And we surely must have sounded
like los tres happiest dogs in the world
yelping and howling
at the biggest,
bluest
moon.
Found Poem from Todd Kleffman’s “Blue Moon Over Mexico” in New Times Weekly, San Luis Obispo, CA, (Jan. 11-18, 1991.
Shadowy furniture lurks:
a leg
a foot
an arm
theirs to mine
to bring me down.
Aiding & abetting:
shoes’ complicit stealth
protrude toes
to bring
me down.
Night draws new doorways
sidejams
& spins me
to porcelean commode \
\
\
bowled
wide awake.
Seat up.
Again.
There will be mornings
When you wake up
And nothing will have changed,
It will still be yesterday
Like all you did was blink
No fresh start or clear mind,
The sheets are still dirty
The clothes still need folded
The house hasn’t moved
And the blinds are still closed
These matriarchs shared the best
Stories, laughs, heartaches
Memories from childhood
Drink the bourbon
Straight down on occasion
Appreciate the burn
Split the banana split
Two cherries Always.
Wear the shoes
Always choose the slit in the skirt
That you think
Dare be too high “Smoke with Mary Jane”
Love your lovers
And love them hard.
Try something new
Plant seeds when it rains
Dance because a rainbow
is showing up
Somewhere
Dance every time
A hand is offered
Or that song in your head
That only you hear
Why waste a song?
Take the picture!
Give the hug
Keep the letter
Send a letter
Hit the snooze
Take the dive
Take the trip
To take the dive
Go and see
See and do
So you can Become.
Give that kiss
Watch for deer
Send the leftovers
I love you
More And Most.
Being a mom is one of my favorite roles.
I enjoy being a teacher
A musician
A wife
A daughter
A sister
An aunt
A great- aunt
They are all amazing.
However, being a mom is a special gift that I will always be grateful for.
a dive into deep brown eyes
sad basset hound talking in his sleep
a lot not new i saw as i went on to L.A.
ears drooping like weeping fans
fudge brown basset eyes curl up into Holy Mary stretches
paws folded twitch
eye lands not a wink or a quiver
bony tail balances in an m.c. escher’s infinity curl
tongue tied parable on bone breath he tells himself,
gotta teach ’em to listen . . .
in the ethers his words fall on deaf ears
basil drools a dog-god palindrome fed up with his human quotient he declares firmly
madam i’m adam, (not basil)
giving himself a strong pep talk he continues in his deepest voice . . .
STEP ON NO PETS
I’m stuck in a metal cylinder
thanks to pesky lightning that couldn’t have waited five minutes to strike.
Raindrops slide down window
like I’m the star of a rom com
and the love of my life is at the airport
waiting to start a new life without me
(what irony).
Reeds brush together in the lightening downpour.
An egret swoops toward the tree line,
a stark white star against a gray horizon.
A rainbow paints the heavens,
arcing over the emerald forest
in pristine whorls of prismed light
welcoming us to a land of bubbly pastel mornings and firework-studded nights.
I suppose stormy weather
is worth a spoonful of serendipity.
