Month: March 2011

Human Nature

“if it bleeds,

it leads …”

that’s what they say

in the paper business

and people on the street

shake their heads and say

they’d rather bathe

in the fuzzy, feel-good fluff

not death, destruction and demise

“Oh, My!”

yet circulation is high

off a homicide

not so much

off a “Syrup Sop”

and so it is

and so it goes

sad stories sell

murder’s front page

“fall from grace”

headline every time

so, remember that

next time

you’re sitting there reading ‘bout

death, destruction and demise

“Oh, My!”

TL

One Way Street

to have

a car

or a truck

or a motorcycle

or a boat

or a mower

or a golf cart

or whatever on wheels

and climb aboard

whenever you please

owner of the key

and for decades

you’ve sat at the wheel

millions of miles

open and shut

crank and back up

cruise and return

and you know every bump

every back road and dead-end street

every turn, every stop, every bridge, every track

could close your eyes

and still get back

and then just like that

the key’s on the rack

and somebody tells you

you can’t go back

and for the rest of it

there’s a window seat

and you pass the same tree

go through the same neighborhood

sit at the same lights

and watch the person

to the right

owner of the key

sitting there

at the wheel

with millions of miles

to go

and they think

they know

where they’re going

TL

Mr. Smith

he used to

stand

in his driveway

staring

not sure at what …

but he’d stand

that way

for a while

each dawning day

there in his undershirt

and uniform pants

maybe he was admiring

the pristine green

that was his lawn

courtesy of his wife’s

diligent demeanor

 or maybe he was

following the wing

of a bird

or a butterfly

or a bee

he could have been

watching the wind

play with potted petals

or following the line

of his shadow

end to end

who knows

but him

later in life

he’d be joined

by a little, fluffy, yapping dog

white as his hair

that he’d treat like a child,

the child he never had

but the dog

did what dogs do

and got old

and sick

and too tired to yap

or stand in the driveway

guess he did, too

last week

he made his wife

a widow

after 59 years

but something

tells me

he’s staring

at her

each dawning day

TL

Porch

home is

an endless V of trees

a red apple

that fell up

a cardinal not of Rome

where the train trumpet blows

and the church bells chime

where the soft sun

readies for the moon

and sips the raindrops

off the roof

where an agile squirrel

swings from vine to vine

like a tiny Tarzan

where somebody’s grilling something

that smells awfully good

and the guy on the corner

catches a whiff

on his way to his horse

the one with the mechanical mouth

that chews all the grass

round his two-tiered box

where the loud voice

in the little, bitty body

draws closer

and closer

and further and further

from the creek

and then she’s there

dragging her daddy and her dog

leaves in her hair

dirt everywhere

speckled in sap

and powdered in pollen

she smells like

a forest in springtime

and where she is

is where I am

and I know

I’m home

TL

Stare

still, the cherished gift

is without coin

or care

it is a blink

like a small bird

that lands on a ledge

and sits there …

looking back at you

through the glass

that separates

the two

TL

Today

before they

sprinkle dust

on the door

let me be

more

TL

Silver

“violet eyes”

no longer blink

or beckon

or drip

TL

Away

and one day

as expected

as arguably accepted

we, too, shall

lie lone

and helpless

in the abyss

our skeletal selves

no longer ripe

or wrought with reason

our soul

at lift

no longer weighted

by our shells

or the longings

of our heart

our path

converged

“in a yellow wood”

we will

away …

TL

Orphans

is there

a deeper sorrow

than that

of a child

left on the bank

ever searching the sea

for the face

of her mother

the face

of his father

TL

Rays

opened the door

like the day before

and thought it was fall

standing there

but the breath was warm

wet with rain

sun’s been on siesta

but woke up yesterday

and walked around

with a palette and a paintbrush

and took to town

and followed a country road

like a steady stream

a dab of yellow fluttered by

lawns of green

stretched with imprints

petals ever shy

and the ladybug is back

on the launch pad

of my hand

TL

Moonlight

he couldn’t recall

any food at all

not a forkful

 

he couldn’t recall

any roof at all

not a shingle

 

he couldn’t recall

any laundered length

not a thread

 

he couldn’t recall

any wealth at all

not a shilling

 

he couldn’t recall

anything, anything at all

‘cept her silhouette

TL

Good Sleep

would that

you tire

a blanket

beneath that tree

rooted where

long you stood

long you stared

but the fog

it sat there

and fell asleep

and dreamed

of spring

an evergreen

and there you woke

fresh and free

a bed of bluebells

“far as the eye could see”

TL

Character

it’s not elementary

it’s not that easy

it’s not about

yes and no

good and bad

“thank you” and “you’re welcome”

truth and lies

hello and goodbye

it’s not about

all your good works

accolades and fair-weather fans

it’s not about

what they think of you

it should never be that

or you’re through

if you believe

the gushing good

or the spit of hate

then it’ll always be that

even the one

who loves you most

can’t be that

alone you come

and alone you go

and what you do

in the “mean” time

the “hard” time

the “floor” time

the “tear” time

the “solitaire” time

is what it’s about

it’s getting outta that bed

back in the ring

face to the wind

cheek to the floor

stagger to stand

been there before

it’s the give out

not the give in

it’s the person

within

not

without

TL

First of March

under a budding

weeping willow

we ate our lunch

and watched

two ducks

dip their heads

underwater

and the rocks

along the bank

plopped in

and took a turtle swim

and the breeze blew

the willow strands

across our face

and the music

of rushing water

was surround sound

pushing the blaring bird

above our head

higher and higher

like the bubbles

Tiny blew

with her plastic wand

and park people

came and went

strolling or jogging or prone

and suppose

we’d still be there

tossing roses

had the sun not dipped

and so

we headed home

with two balloons

one to keep

and one to let go

TL