Posts for June 4, 2025 (page 8)

Against a clear sky,  
wings of grey swirl round in midair—    
wings that whistle     
in the wind as they flap in a flurry,     
in rapid maneuvers—     
with determined force, their grapple,    
their jostle—  when one hits hard    
into the other, who flies away.    

The victor lands and pecks        
     between     stones,    
finds a worm straight away.   
 
This dove flies off, and I spot      
the largest of my country cats     
lurking in a clump of bee’s balm.     

All shocking to see,    
this first sight of my morning!     
Forecast today?     
Not so clear. 

Not quite mates of the soul–
but more ship beyond friend–
we were a crew of two traversing unknown seas,
never daring to choose a port or flag;
in this memory, I love you like the ocean loves the shore—a crashing drink of water,
though never the same again.

Dreamt I lost the handbag my grandmother left me –
the beaded one with the broken clasp and a wine stain.
I looked in the flowerbed she planted with rose-red geraniums
and behind the gas station she used to run in coveralls and perfectly curled hair.
Searched the old house she raised my father in
with fried eggs, and card games, and something you couldn’t quite call love.  

When I found it, full of glass eyeballs (the sort favored by taxidermists), I cried,
thinking of all the small creatures that had passed through her hands.
Who would ever keep a purse full of eyeballs?
I really didn’t know her all that well.
But she read my first poem, when I was 8
and said she loved it.  

At the bottom of the purse, with the unblinking conclave
was a diamond- unset.
Still sparkling amidst the menagerie of her wildcard tastes.
Cosmic wink, from wherever she is now.

Poetry in Letters:  from the Next American Civil War / Vol.1 Pg 1 – Accidental Haikus

Hey Babe

What’s up, I’m starving

Are you thinking spaghetti?

see u soon, k bye

Rich died.

So quietly, so accepting.
So full of grace.
He found it harder and harder to swallow
and so he stopped—swallowing. Then took
a quiet week or so to pass—pass is the word—seamlessly
over.
I thought I knew him, but his memorial brought out parts
I didn’t know. I sat as I often do at funerals, regretting
not knowing better. Not having visited one last time.
Why did we rush off from that last porch stay? Off to
do what trivia?

When I thought I was dying, how unimportant
so much seemed.  I thought of the people
who would  grieve me and I sorrowed for
their sorrow.
Rich wouldn’t have wanted people to make a fuss.
But a little fuss, surely, Rich? You can
swallow that?

A gentle grief for a gentle death,
remembering you as your sons remembered you,
with wry humor and misty love, a grief
settling the soft earth over you as tenderly
as a heavy dew covers
an April garden.

That’s not too
much fuss,
is it, Rich?  

It was a mighty mouse
who lived in my house
and left his caraway seed
droppings in the cupboard.   

I called him Daniel.

He dined on broken Wheat Thins
and stray Cheerios.
He fashioned nests of hair,
dental floss,
random strands of yarn.

I found him to be
a compatible roommate.

Things were good
between us
until his girlfriend moved in.

I tried to be patient,
but in the end I arranged
for an exterminator.

She was such a diva.

Next room over, screen saved, through starlight sought.
Love line broadcast, and, after Loveline, Art
Bell, clear-channel, live from the High Desert
SETI pings: We are ready to depart.

Sign the petition to maintain amplitude modulation transmissions for the public good.

Sunrise birthing a new day
Gather here every morning holding hands
I stand with my parents and all ancestors
          past, present, and future
We bow in gratitude of this brand-new gift
          honoring our dear ones and all beings
          in peace, peace, peace

6425 Poem

Left sleeping on a pillow while a box of memory spins in jewel casings sold for pennies at four way stop signs aka reconnaissance of hell.

Hand printed Baroque born prints fill a page occupying a wall called home rather a house in actuality a place that has transcended into a home at last. 

A sarcophagus of anguish washes through at a spam call ordering the death of god from fake annoymity on the end of an idiot cube.

Ready for sleep by midafternoon