Snapshot out the Window during a Windstorm

a man walks by head down

gripping his case of Bud Light

as if the wind would carry it away

a girl dressed in a white dress rushes

the other way, alternating between

leaning back and reaching forward to

push down her lofting skirt with

every gust; she glances around to

make sure no one saw anything

the clouds watch it all as they

rush overhead, never pausing to

look any closer.

The Look

black mini-skirt

black fishnet hose

[ tight ]

black cashmere sweater

yellow keds

perfect look

A Day at Work

I sifted through piles of micrometeoroids

splayed across countless reports; they were all small

and ineffectual, so I shuffled through larger piles of

shattered rocket boosters, hammers and spent fuel

tanks, and found something of substance, things

that could do some real damage, worth thinking about

and so I had to think for a long time about these

objects circling our own earth waiting to shred

our satellites, ripping cuddly blankets off telescopes,

severing cables which connect them to us,

and us to them.

Image generated by European Space Agency

Listening to a Nobel Laureate Speak about Particle Physics

we watched him from our seats in the auditorium,

not even noticing the fluctuating gluons

moving in space like miniature lava lamps between

him and us [oblivious to their beauty, we read our newspapers

in our three dimensional Cartesian space, watching

our clocks tick]; one dimensional time is hard enough

to manage what with getting to work, picking up the kids.

in another dimension of a supersymmetric world,

we would be beautiful and thin to balance our chubby,

gluttonous selves, all we have to do is get there.

A Rock, Paper, Scissors poem

This poem comes from a prompt at poetry workshop to take three words and relate them in the same (or similar way) to rock, paper, scissors. My words (randomly selected from a pile) were lemon, thoughtfulness and light.

by nature, lemons create light in the darkest teas
the splash of single droplet leaves behind a royal crown
suspended in air as it forges its way from the still rippling
surface to the bottom of the tea cup.

let ubiquitous light overshadow thoughtfulness, a flash
in the pan, a lovely surprise

thoughtfulness clearly trumps lemons, that dour look
coupled with a snide remark
in response you surely walk away a little
less sweet.

Photo:  http://edgerton-digital-collections.org/

Cured of Corn Syrup and Junk Food

the damn dog had a treat sitting on the arm of my couch,

the banished dog, the dog that jumped on people’s laps

without asking, the dog that wasn’t even there but still

had a dog bone sitting on the arm of my couch.

I was incensed and demanded a treat also; the dog no doubt

had treats that cost a small fortune; I demanded good treats, too.

She came back with a small cardboard box filled with

lunch-size packets of Cheetos,  caramel corn, BBQ chips,

the bad stuff that someone brought anonymously to her party

and left behind surreptitiously, glad for it be gone from

their basement when someone else left it at their party.

this person I loved [did she love me] was offering me junk food instead of

a beautiful, organic, wholesome treat like she would buy for her dog.

I was crushed and I ate a whole package of caramel corn

Afterwards I felt sick, but cured of eating such things in the future.

Not sure if it’s tough love, but I know we will have to talk of this while

the dog sits on my lap and farts in my general direction.

Layers

as one layer falls to the earth

another child raises her arms through

the dust towards the sun, like a flower

pushes through a layer of composted

leaves from the last generation, once

green, once bright and encouraging,

now only to feed the new life, that

child, that girl who will then reach for

 the stars, only to bow graciously in

time yielding to another layer of seed

rising to the sun, again and again

and again.

Wash It Away

wash away the years in 35 minutes
while doing the dishes and paying bills,
all for $14.99 plus tax.
what a bargain.

4/20

crowds gathered as street-corners
chatting amiably waiting for stoplights to turn green,
streets bustled with activity, groups of young people
strolled under a canopy of newly green trees, one
young man pausing to climb up a particularly appealing
trunk across the street, calling raucously down to his
friends who did tricks on skateboards in the street
below, every parking spot in the neighborhood was full
and the windows of many were opaque with smoke,
they all showed up for 4/20, if only they showed up
in such force, with such enthusiasm for something
that was worth fighting for.

Signs of Easter

the most disgusting, the most delightful
yellow/pink/blue marshmallow chicks that herald
a new beginning, the soft pastel sweetness of renewal
and regeneration, the true sign that Easter is coming.
Wicker baskets to be filled, easter eggs to be colored
and hidden, chocolate bunnies, malt ball speckled
eggs, all the trappings of the season.
Forget long boring services at midnight, ham
and boring relatives, bad coffee and prissy
dresses and white socks!  Celebrate with
Peeps, Kraft and Proctor and Gamble,
Easter has arrived.

Lonely Stars, Seeking Souls

A billion stars and more, intergalactic debris, clouds, lonely atoms

missing their electrons, gamma rays and x-rays, all seeking

life, our tiny lives with blue socks and missing shoes we look

for under the couch before getting the daily newspaper hidden in

the bushes.

We look heavenward through a haze of city smog on summer nights

holding the hand of someone we love, seeking life outside

the cramped box we call home with greasy ceilings and unswept floors,

mangy dogs licking themselves, briefcases unopened.

A billion stars, a billion people and more gaze at each other

across lightyears wondering where they have been and where they

are going. 

picture from Wikipedia.org

Nobel Laureate Refuses to Memorize Periodic Table

In memory of William N. Lipscomb, Jr., Nobel Laureate in Chemistry, dead at 91

“Well, son, probably not best to follow in my footsteps

in that way” he chuckled as he leaned back in his rocking chair

caressing his granddaughter’s cheek as she slept.

“Didn’t like me much, he didn’t and can’t say I blame him

after all that.  I was a young whipper-snapper too busy to

waste my time on his priorities” his eyes were starting to

droop just a bit like Clara’s, his coffee long gone cold.  

I watched a smile spread across his face, “The old man, though,

hopefully smiled from above when I was in Sweden,

knowing that eventually I must have committed the

periodic table to memory” 

Friday night

big plans cooked up all week,

happy hours and movie houses.

laughing with friends, energized.

Friday night we drag ourselves home

to T.V. dinners or worse, feet up on

the couch, canceled plans

and the lethargy that follows

too much work.

Spring is Tenacious

spring forth
pushing aside that which is past
scattered light glistens through
watery ice, so nice, to see
grape hyacinth reach for the
brightness of spring

The Cruelty of Springtime

we bask in sunshine, take off our heavy coats,

watch seedlings sprout, bikes creaky from a

winter off weave down the sidewalks, we rejoice.

a cold wind blows through our skimpy blouses,

blossoms fall from trees, our coffees cool quickly

as we rush back to our cozy offices, we sit

inside glumly watching the thermometer drop.

Spring, so cruel. 

Memorizing a Poem

book of poetry in my bike rack

I reach for it, balancing steadily

as I turn to the correct page

read one more line, one more line

committed to memory

Ming, ming, such a lovely thing,

I sing, I ride merrily along on

this lovely day.

Bluebird in Spring

before I go down the drain with the rest of you,

feed me thistle seeds nestled in pistachio shells,

let me feel the sunlight reflect off Namibian sandstone

onto my weary wings, let me write my memoirs

in seven colors and place them in silver boxes.

before I go, wrap me in precious cloths of silver,

purple and red, but let me see the place to which

we go, eyes wide open, a song rising in my breast.

The Evidence is In

they hid their guilt,
swearing they did not go out last night
in sleet and snow to sniff the wetness on their noses
but I know they lie behind those innocent eyes,
the evidence tracks across the kitchen floor,
busted, all three of them.

The Perfect Spoon

the perfect ratio of depth to width,

not the length, heft, the sculptured handle or its embellishments

is what your open mouth desires, yearning to be entered

delicately, but substantially

too big and its delectable contents spill over,

too small, visceral dissatisfaction, a hunger

for more, such urgency comes over your face

as you lurch from your chair towards the silverware

drawer, seeking the perfect ratio.

Driving to the Airport

Never! will I drive to the airport

only to turn around and drive back

unless it is to listen to the sweet chorus

of tires on the pavement interwoven with

particular voices that never resonate

against my eardrums often enough

and in finding myself in sweet solitude

on return, listen with contentment

to the sound of my heart inside my chest

to be alive, yes, to be alive!

Chinese Take-out

advantage: 

appears magically,

already cooked,

ready to eat.

He's 25

he sits across from me, his torso anyway

a sprained ankle rests on the bench beside me

where we have sat so many years, he and me,

on me, beside me, across me, blurred boundaries

of mother and son who started as one after all,

sharing morning sickness, did he throw up too

or laugh inside at his power before arrival, now

having grown from microns to meters, from fuzzball

to curly haired wonder, he’s 25 after all.

Homage to Vasko Popa

Imitation is the Highest Form of Flattery - in admiration for Vasko Popa, although I apologize for making this imitation so incredibly dark

I started writing this poem while watching the Moon;

One runs away holding her hands

towards the heavens hoping to catch raindrops

that will quench her unending thirst

and feeling hungry, I continued the next stanza;

Another watches from inside the white picket fence

chewing turnip greens and gulping Coca-Cola,

he drops to his knees, sobbing, 

and I realized I would sob also combining those

two foodstuffs,

his tears staining the bloody earth

this stanza can only come from the rather

odd lines from the great poet himself;

The third stands on the roof

looking into the distance, 

upon seeing nothing

he jumps joyfully to his death.

Ensconced in Glenwood Springs

butter dripping down grins
filled with margaritas and brownies
in tummies of happiness, wine drowning
in contentment, cars passing by on
highways of snow rushing to tunnels
filled with darkness, we sit by candlelight
in warm restaurants, sleep on feather
beds as traffic pulses to jobs
which can wait another day.