Spring is Falling

upside down in confusion

looking for blankets of snow,
what blazing sun and dry soil
now in this garden where she
wanders out barefoot with her
scissors looking to cut us
for her vases, there is nowhere
to hide, do not forget us in
our bluest blossoms, red
purples and pinks, our delicate
yellows graced in white frill!

Blue Rain

his eyes match his shirt match the sky
from which raindrops fell through viscous air
with gentle gravity their presence a millenia
ago where now men stand gazing at fossilized
tears from ancient heavens, peeking out from
under the tiny feet of a meerkat.

I was fascinated by this account of fossilized raindrops. http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2012/03/120328135928.htm#.T3RhXf7Evu4.email

Two Left Feet

two left feet in dance shoes

that don't match, you can't buy two left

shoes without paying double

so we manage somehow limping

from side to side,

smiling nonetheless.

Tuesdays at Zolo's

She is always there, like an old couch that
embraces you as soon as you settle in, on your
own schedule, your own rhythm, your own way.
it may sound like an insult to be compared with a couch
but it is the highest compliment, to offer
a stranger or a friend a place to sit comfortably,
to let them be fully themselves without
demanding stimulating conversation, good looks
or the right level of attention,
yawning is an appreciated response as you settle
into a glass of wine and shrimp tamales
like you always do.

bird nest

the nest will surely blow off the porch, housed
neatly in its blue toy gazebo swaying perilously in
wind that comes upon it like a freight train

sure to carry it off, the nest will be torn from
its mooring, each strand so carefully woven pulled
to breaking, the ends fluttering towards the east

Dance

foxtrot, lindy hop, waltz
dresses that flirt, high heels,
perfect rhythm, his foot, hers,
her hip, his, right foot, left
step forward, back, she leans
this way, he leans that
until the music stops,
they gaze shyly at each other
then seek another.

the struggle of memory against forgetting

we become glassy eyed in our forgetfulness
a smile plastered against our vacuous faces
insisting on happiness when there is no reason
to celebrate what we no longer remember
the long summer days and languid nights
of laughter and forgetting, we close our eyes
against the darkness of memories long forgotten,
our glassy eyes brittle against tearless eyelids.

I forgot (!) that I already wrote a poem using the prompt of The Book of Laughter and Forgetting by Milan Kundera. 

why, why not

why study the stars
he asked, but why not I asked,
of course it costs money, he said,
but isn't gravity and dark matter as important
as homelessless and war I asked,
yes, he replied, they all endure
throughout time.

Stumbling on happiness

it wouldn't have made sense to read this
in those days when I ate the last bits of last year's
Lucky Charms from the trunk of a '67 Mustang,
the pink marshmallow squishing
between my teeth, when happiness was nothing
more than the sticky sweetness in my mouth.

sad news, fraudulent science

we drank, raising glasses and drinking to our health
all good they said, antioxidants and other good stuff
drink up, all you want
until January 2012 when they carted him off to that Place
where all scientists accused of fraud end up, where
no one drinks red wine or eats Raclette, where they only
serve high fructose corn syrup in shots, sure to be the
best for you in the long term.

Red Wine and Guacamole

red wine and guacamole
the spoken word tumbles out so much more quickly
than the written in blue or black, splashed across pale blue lines
with cappuccino, not red wine or guacamole
a different face, older, blonde hair, not brown
in a noisy restaurant, spoons and forks clattering on white plates
absent the clack of a keyboard, the heavy flirtation
across tables, open books, wary faces that smile,
red wine is good, cappuccino missed,
your face, missed.

Peeling Carrots

I want to gather the peels and head upstairs
to that little bundle of fur called Daisy instead
of placing the peels into the already full compost bin.
She would run at me, growling like the old days,
lunging onto the peels to devour them greedily
only to turn her tail at me as if I didn't exist.

The Big Decision at the End of the Day

forget picking a partner for life,

whether to have children or not,

the best job

these decisions pale in comparison

to the one at the end of the day

when heart, mind and soul are tired,

incapable of making the most important decision,

what slippers to wear.

Happy Hour for Geeks

over margaritas and chili rellenos
what better topic than electrostatic discharge
or high vacuum systems,
what more interesting that the average number of
electrons on a dust particle on Mars,
or whether we will go back to the Moon
or bypass her?
I frankly feel allegiance to her beauty
up in the night sky, or rising above
the horizon in her red dress calling all
of us to halt our silly preoccupations
and gaze awestruck

photo courtesy of http://home.hiwaay.net/~krcool/Astro/moon/moonorange/

Shoulder

shoulders carry the world
hunched over, arms draping down
alongside the knees, noses pointing
downwards, smiles sag
under the gravitational pull
stand, then! shoulders shoo'ed back
the edges of our blades clack together
and we see the blue sky.

New Years Resolution: Sacked!

so young, it died on the vine
next to stacks of library books
written by authors starting with "D",
having suffered through "A",
wandered through "B" and "C".
having skipped "E" and started in on "F"
I said "F" this and bedded down with
Milan Kundera, a sweet "K", entirely
out of order, but so in keeping
with the love of reading.

A Paucity of Prompts

she's not sitting across from me
her furrowed brow, concentration on some words
splashed across a page, it's my fault
for drinking something else in another location
I wonder if she is writing without me
how lonely her words would be without
mine so nearby.

Boulder, CO

I wish she was here with me on this road
looking towards these mountains
watching the cows drift across these plains
the clouds marching across the skies in the distance.
my tires hum on these roads she has traveled so
many times, now her feet touch other streets,
cross other roads apart from me
I can only carry her with me in
my heart.

SuperGeek

I have joined my community of choice

SuperGeekdom with Bluetooth in ear

talking to the walls or open sky,

the tomatoes in the aisle, the person who isn't

there, not to the one who is.

Supergeekdom, what delight to talk

without stopping anything else.

a beautiful day

white snow
gleaming under white skis
white clouds whisper across blue
skies, white skis, white snow.

On the platform

I was heading out of town
so was he, both furtive in our own ways.
my tears, hidden behind too large sunglasses
his behind a blue muffler with white stripes.
I could see the sadness in his eyes,
both fleeing unhappiness as one does
as city, as if it were just a matter of
location.

Ten Minutes to Something

ten minutes until something

changes in your life, two minutes, one minute

an hour, two days, did you notice

that your hair has turned grey, that the

dimples you always wanted masquerade

as smile lines across your cheeks,

did you notice the green in the garden,

how the city is now taller than it was,

ten minutes to something that might

change your life.



Two Men Smoking in the Dark

One:
The cigarette glowed against the chain link fence
quivering as he raised it to his lips,
a spark fell to the ground
a cloud of smoke hung in the air

The Other:
acrid smell of cigarette smoke
floated behind him
the glow hidden in his hands
still cupping the match against
the wind.

New Pants

a pile of pants

a needle a thread

a machine

pins in place

an empty drawer

places to go

laundry

a need for pants

the pieces fell

in place,

stitches replacing pins

new pants.

hangin' out

he just sits and watches the world go by
without asanas, meditation or a whisper
of competition; no chanting, no books, no prayers,
no nothing, just waiting patiently chin down, eyes
up, maybe hoping for a treat, maybe watching
with some caution, not too much, just a little,
he watched her go in, hoping the revolving door
would produce someone he loved.

The benefit of distance

the hotel was too expensive for what it offered
the small tastefully decorated room
when she wanted a King and a mirrored ceiling.
he relished a venison steak
not a fou fou salad at the yuppy restaurant she picked
the clouds obscured the full moon
the trains squealed on the tracks all night
no spooning tonight
cold butt to cold butt
they sulked
his snoring woke her up
her leg twitched as it did when
she was stressed and unhappy;
he woke up early and limped downstairs
to the kitchen to see her still in her frayed nightgown,
her thinning grey hair framing her translucent eyes
that he always loved even as they faded
and they reminsced about that romantic weekend in Glenwood,
how in love they were
and still are.