Thursday, February 23, 2017

missing Cobus


I don't have to count exactly right
and he ignores the wrong notes,
I can hum and sing and play in no particular order
and he finds it refreshingly "new"
He lets me be free and embraces it.
I miss Cobus.
When I listen to him play, my heart sings
and I don't care if he plays the wrong notes
or the wrong rhythm, even though I know he doesn't.
He just plays to my heart
And even though I know I will never play like him,
his generous heart created this magic playground for me
where anything goes,
as long as I show my heart.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Being lost: the experience of postage stamps

what is it to be lost, forgotten, misplaced
unsure of the future, what hands will slip you into a dark drawer,
what tongues may lick you, how your skin will be peeled away.
purchased, then forgotten in a post office envelope,
of value, yet discarded, what mystery
like an underemployed engineer in a world of need.
she left five sheets in an envelope, thinking we'd been
transferred to a box, we were smaller and her fingers
 left us behind in the dark.
$34 left behind, no chump change, 100 postcards without
postage, you'd guess she would return to look for us.
and she did, clumsily, not seeing the envelope, going to
the counter, glum-faced, to buy another 100, another $34,
only to finally spot us in a bent envelope.
she was happy,
now we are 200 stamps for 200 postcards.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Dear Cory


Dear Cory,
You hear us, even with earplugs,
the din is deafening, the signage singes your eyes.
Dear Cory, Senator Gardner, the cards keep
arriving in Yuma, Denver, Ft. Collins and Pueblo,
in Washington, at your senate office, at home,
at your mother's house,
they keep coming,
we keep standing outside your door,
calling you on the phone,
and we'll keep doing it,
until you listen and act for us,
or until 2020 when we vote you out,
whichever is sooner.

Monday, February 20, 2017

we need each other


no one loves us like a dog.
doesn't even have to be our dog,
their paws will reach under the chain link gate
towards our human hands
asking to be touched,
petted and loved
as they love us.
a warm paw meets a warm hand,
claws on fingernails,
pads on skin.
our thumb strokes their soft fur.
a man may be stoic in human tragedy
but show me a man who does not
cry at the loss of his dog.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

making crepes


you have to move fast
between melting butter, pouring in the batter
flicking the wrist to spread it over the pan,
flipping it
flopping the perfectly browned crepe into
the waiting platter.
no lolly gagging, reflecting on
whether there's a better way.
Reflection is for another day.

la recette:
250 g farine
4 œufs
1/2 l lait
1 pincée de sel
2 cuillères a soupe de sucre (pour les crêpes sucrées)
50 g de beurre fondu
Confiture selon votre gout

J'ai fait une recette double pour 6 personnes.

Friday, February 17, 2017

fake news





Russian army withdraws from Crimea,
Families all over the country open their doors to the homeless.
Americans lose weight and take care of their health.
Corporations pay their fair share of taxes.
All children regardless of class or race graduate from high school.
The Tibetans regain control of their county.
#45 completes a phrase without referring to himself,
#45 admits that the Russians hacked our election.
We all make daily choices that show respect and care
for our only Home, planet Earth.
I wish these fake news stories were true.





Thursday, February 16, 2017

spring cleanup


if I'm not running late
I grab the rake.
If my lunch is made,
I'll shout hurray
and weed away.
the crocus is rising, 
yellow buds are surprising
how brilliant 
how starry
how lovely
how darling.