ON POETRY

is it wrong to call a stone
a stone and fire fire
I hold myself to words alone
and seek desire in desire

I do not hide my thoughts in clouds
nor practice magic in my mind
but I speak them all out loud
my meanings are not hard to find

and can an honest wordsmith play
in this garden so obtuse
I try and try as try I may
to put my words to simple use

so leaving not offense behind
I ask read my poems and know my mind

new snow covers old grass
where did I go

a tree bare and bold
blue sky shines

black drops fall with no sound
winter’s melt

dog shit in the snow
too cold to smell

192,000 miles
rust and streaked dirt

shadows stand still silently
wind blows snow

spider plant sags in cream and green
forgot to take books back

new light fresh day
I am older still

sleeping dog lies near
I type stale words

cold bird’s crisp chirp
plowed streets are bare

Nefertiti’s black bust
books stacked unread

stuffed lamb stands by the rocker
water spots on the wood floor

cds stacked on the speaker
no sound

camera phone points up
re-charges

heart in heart on folded card
no message inside

yearning anxiously
phone does not ring

I would not be here if not for that
am I happy

stretched out between my calves
fat bare belly in the sun
he raises his head
tries to raise his head
nothing to get up for yet
little hairy guy
struggles
then (eventually) rolls onto his side
sets his back to the sun
goes back to sleep
she'll be home soon

ON WHY WE SHOULD MAKE A SUICIDE PACT

the candle’s flame throbs against the shadows on the wall; dancing, dancing.
Mary Oliver’s voice from the speakers is clear and bright as a morning rain
stuffed with shrimp and chips and salsa I sit on the couch. replete
I am a long way from your warmth cradled in the near dark.
“yes I like her a lot that last was brilliant”
I am here in the now but really back with you putting together a cake for Chloe
happy birthday happy birthday
lying naked skin on skin
“do you hear the wind”
what does it all mean
we have come so far together
one day one of us will have to go on alone
I don’t want it to be me
but I don’t want it to be you

COZYING AT PANERA

slouched in the faux leather chair by the fire
I see the sleet outside
and wonder when the streets will freeze over
I feel like a trespasser
as I watch the people come and go
unaware of my intrusive blank stare
I sip my coffee and feel warm
surrounded by the gentle din of the place
I'll have to leave soon
but not yet