Dawn right after the rain
Blazing pink sun
Intermixed with ominous black and fluffy white clouds
Droplets sparkling on grass fields
Wildflowers lining the stone-fenced road
Mare and foal silhouetted against an old black barn
Breathtaking beauty on an ordinary morning
Global warming’s done run away
with the temperature tucked
under suns armpit, I’m afraid
Lizard-like habits have hidden
us under gravel in a game of
Hide-and-go seek from
deadly laser rays
only to find by the time
The sun is done toying with us
When the sidewalk is safe again
And the floor is no longer lava
Life will look like
a library book, overdue
They turn away—
truth is softer than promise,
love left in the dusk.
Grief grows in silence,
memory clings to her hands—
hope aches, undivided.
After all she gave,
she stands—worthy of her rest,
gentle in release.
rollie pollie on a rock
banjo rhythm bumps
a kitchen door
a broken screen
all the bugs come on in
coffee jiggles
wobbly rocker
the porch
robin’s egg blue
I am near the ocean,
a river, a pond
I am the mist
draped over
a gray stone bridge
I am anywhere everywhere
in the backyard
on the porch
a catbird squawk
garden gloves
a peony and
paint brush
Anacoluthon on 2 Corinthians 11:14
Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light
henny penny, chicken little
sky is falling
someone’s calling
raining cats, dogs and men
and men and men and men
keep on telling keep on yelling
a video clip on today’s news exact same as one
on last weeks news different locations
don’t know about channels who’s lying? the sky is falling
…not surprising, then, if his servants also masquerade as servants of righteousness…
He says he says he says
someone’s putin putin to the world
master puppeteer idiot piece of wood
manipulate you and you and you
watch chapgpt endlessly believe what we see
or not then do, then don’t, then do
who cares what you wear
my pee pad—carcinogen filled
will stop a fire but nothing stops my pee from flowing—
there’s a fix, but it means doing tricks
who wants to work at it just hand out a pill
take for this then another to mask what the 1st manifested
the ocean, filled with currents, winds, storms and clouds
fins on fish like wings on birds but sea’s go down—sky’s up
who says mankind isn’t a bunch of nuts?
Philosophers understand 10 commandments—common-sense rules
written by men not god ideas on how to be and do good
who are the fools?
the buffoons?
the blowhards?
God—reality or concept in the sky heaven up? hell down?
some men—pink some—brown olive skinned yellow toned
few white—many ivory or ecru few black—more shades of gray a clan of blue—true
yet man speaks of each other not as colored
God’s servants or Satan’s servants?
Who dresses like whom?
Is mankind servants to both
or are some too good to be bad?
18 months since the move yet still
I plow irregular rows through the morass of boxes, plastic tubs,
and enormous black trash bags of fabric, notions, and yarn.
Today, time found me the space
to delve through another cardboard box.
Hadn’t I already unearthed all my old poetry?
Carcasses of drafts rise through the sludge of file folders,
boxes of little silver pencil sharpeners, paperclips,
magazine pictures of birddogs for me to render on canvas.
My stash now finds repose
in a file cabinet. The grave
I’d been digging for myself still isn’t deep enough.
me and Mary,
swinging our legs
as we sat on the bench
in front of Sam’s Drugstore,
enjoying our orange popsicles
sticky hands,
looking up at the man
climbing the utility pole,
tools in his belt making a jingle-jangle
sound as he made his way
up
my mommy was inside Sam’s,
talking to the pharmicst in
a hushed voice, my Aunt Margie
at her side–it was she who gave
me and Mary
our popsicles
the sun came out from
behind the grey clouds,
so we licked our popsicles
quickly–
racing the heat,
the climbing man,
the pharmicist
filling a plastic bottle
Mary finished hers first,
wiping her hands on her dress
and smiling over at me,
then, telling me all about
the new doll her mother
was going to get her for her birthday
the scary police man drove past,
in his loud car, smiling at us
from the driver’s seat–
he said something,
I don’t know what, but
Mary dropped her popsicle stick and
ran inside the drugstore
I kept at my popsicle,
juice all over my hand,
the man on the pole
shouting something
into a walkie-talkie
across the street,
I saw the Dargan’s dog,
peeing on a fire hydrant
Today is Juneteenth
Celebrate Freedom
For All
160 Years ago
The enslaved people
Of Galveston, TX
Received the word – June 19, 1865
2 years after
President Lincoln’s proclamation
2 years
They suffered
Not knowing freedom
Words on paper
Mean nothing
Unless they are enforced
160 years later
Are we free
We have the Constitution
Words on paper
Mean nothing
Unless they are upheld
In 1865 they were free
They didn’t know it
In 2025 our freedom is being taken away
We act like we don’t know it
We are one America
We are stronger together
United We Stand, Divided We Fall
Will Americans stand together
Or will they stand separated
Watching
Our country crumble
Into dust
And blow
Away in the wind
After Sappho
Your sibs embrace my gift of song pillows—
I Love You a Bushel & a Peck—
but you are angry, your face a cloud.
Your priorities are clear:
you love pups and planes and space, heroics,
not useless things, with words you can’t read.
As I age, I want my songs to sift into your soft skin,
your head on the pillow as white as my hair.
When you throw the pillow down and stalk away,
I feet myself shrink, ache,
no light dancing in my eyes.
Or yours.
I cannot roll back years, hours, minutes,
only cling to the hope that time will change you,
as it has me.
I will love you dawn to dusk,
bring roses to scent your way until light ends, earth turns,
for you are beautiful and young. You too
will journey forward, finally grip my years.
May my spirit accompany you,
still singing.
