New Zealand Poem II: Fox Glacier

rocks move in its sinuous
streamlines, huge boulders reappear
on the surface, popping up
from under the ice, surprising as a
jack in the box, only to melt
the ice under them seeking to
rejoin the mysterious below.

New Zealand I: Horizontal Rain

dark and sodden skies,
windows rattling against horizontal rain,
the skies awaken them from that heavy sleep that
accompanies the music of tapping raindrops.
still bleary eyed reaching for raincoats
to walk trails filled with waterfalls.

wellington snapshots

walking inside clouds of
mist and jetlag, droplets
coalescing on sleeves only
to roll down to the ground
in an endless cycle of  wet.

shorts replace pants,rain boots
are removed for ballet flats
before dinner  at the waterfront
in a small restaurant warm
smells delight the tongue.

Off to New Zealand

it's amazing how much can fit into a suitcase:
socks, raincoat, grape nuts, medicine to combat
sea sickness, toothpaste, underwear,

dreams of glaciers, wine over dinner, tramping
in deep forests overlooking the sounds, long naps,
flocks of sheep spread across hillsides

maybe I'll swap it all for summer rains,
afternoon hot tea, a vacation in paradise.

Le Poeme will be off-line until I get back. Happy Holidays to all!

Hot and Cold

hot and cold stream in separately

 only to intermingle briefly, merged

with soap and human flesh

before draining into the sink,

water against water,

soap embracing cells and sorrows

reflecting from unforgiving mirrors.

Dried up and half eaten

Triangle of chocolate bliss

drizzled with chocolate glaze

left me in a daze

of uncertainty, desire and restraint

afraid of yet another complaint

of cake offered, then eaten

half way, left out to dry

so when S would see it, he would cry

that once again his cake was half eaten.

Tortured eyebrows

she could not decide
which was best after she
plucked, dyed, shaped,
removed, extended, thinned,
plucked them thin,
grew them thick,
left them dark, bleached
them light.
she asked her boyfriend
which was best to which he
answered what?

The treatment of stomach aches

red wine soothes stomach aches

as does chocolate cake and crackers

she said while writing poems

about dancers, poets and other

eccentrics who read dictionaries

in their spare time, think fysics

is fun and host Thanksgiving parties

in summertime heat so that

food doesn’t get cold so quickly,

and gravy does not coagulate

on your mashed potatoes. 

The Reading

after all that

she stepped onto the stage, graceful

as any dancer

white cashmere on black,

tasteful heels, silver pendant

slightly cockeyed, no doubt

still askew from her last

pirouette; slightly breathless,

apologetic, she read

as a flurry of snowflakes

blew in the open door and a 

Rabbi wearing a Santa Claus hat rode by

bells ringing, bike lights flashing 

 Merry Christmas to All. 

Charles Simic writes a poem

he writes one thousand times

the same poem, over days, months, years,

one word changed, one word kept,

always keeping the same spirit alive

at times whispering in the dark,

scraping each word against the other,

 lighting a match to

watch it all go up in flames

only to start again from memory,

words partially reemerging from

the ashes.

Empty refrigerator

I'm hungry; I swing the door open
like a starving teenager, my head disappearing
between the shelves, eyes pivoting from side
to side, emerging with a scowl. 

a meager offering:  eggs and some moldy cheese
that could be cooked into a delectable, fluffy
omelet fit for a queen.

Hot Chocolate

he told me to write about hot chocolate.

it’s the good stuff, ground gourmet chocolate,

local, organic, the expensive stuff mixed into

steamed milk, and it’s ok, not great.

it cools in the mug, each small sip leaving

behind a chocolate ring.

A pleasure taken must be worth the calories.