Traveling by Train

 

it's so civilized.

we stand on the platform in our traveling clothes,

suitcases and umbrellas, a sheet of rain doesn't touch us,

our gaze disappears into the distance, squinting eastward from which

the train will emerge, pushing forward a 

long whistle which will cause us to reach 

down for our suitcases and handbags.

inside, we'll settle into blue plush seats,

twist off the cap of the small bottles of wine

and watch the spectacular scenery roll by.

this is America by train.

Adhesion Conference

we all stick together, packing into the elevator,
appendages adhering to the rails, our sweat the elixir
that fosters collaboration and communication,
a few dislocated females disrupt the male crystallography,
we manage anyway in spite of spacing loss and
electrostatic repulsion, a few cross-linked polymers
enable 3-d printing, the scaffolding of community.

A view from my room

it may not be Paris, but

after all these years of crummy hotel rooms in 

crummy cities, I feel nothing but delight

at the view out on the bay, the sun setting

on the bay, we'll be dining out tonight

on the water, a soft chug-chug of the engine

churning through the water, the clink of

wine glasses and forks on china laden

with salmon and antipasto.

a late flight, missing the first talk of

no consequence, all that was missed

can be made up by offering a smile

in return,

he'll take it.

Wind

the wind cuts, dry like fresh snow, hexagonal edges
slice across the softness of the skin on my face,
the rest protected behind space-age technology fabrics
and reindeer hide, thank you, Iceland.
a yellow crocus crouches, open, behind an irrigation hose,
how can one describe bravado and cautiousness in one flower,
she does it, every February when the wind cuts across
my face and I wish for Spring.

Sher at 64

she probably never imagined being 64,
hearing those words in a new way,
"will you still feed me, will you still need me,
when I'm 64", I never imagined her being
64, or imagined her sitting across from me
on that day, exactly that day when she turned 64.
she doesn't look 64, blonde, cheekbones an
actress would die for, her tailored shirt open at
the neckline, her necklace dangling down a
tasteful distance, no need to answer those questions,
the responses are obvious, yes and yes, but
she's too busy being beautiful, smart and
64.

The Generational Difference in Approach towards Useage of Social Media

Baby boomers taught to be polite and stick to the point,
GenX, it's all about process..impressive, positively outrageously awesome if no curse words percolate
up through the posts among accusations, throw-back and
it makes me throw-up at how mean everyone sounds, the salient
topic long lost, drowning in self-righteous finger pointing,
it's all social media,
how anti-
social.

Sliding on Ice

The well-traveled trail was covered in a sheet of ice

and we were supposed to walk there, while

the surrounding forest floor was soft in rotting pine needles,

an occasional green shoot reaching out towards the sun.

I walked well off to the side, away from the ice, now bordered

with mud, the well intentioned result of hikers trying to stay

on the trail, a blemish of erosion and ugliness.

I smell the aroma of crushed pine needles  rise to my nostrils,

the earth springs back the moment my foot lifts from the 

soil, I leave no trace, I break all the rules.

Valentine's Day

we talked standing on rounded stones scattered in the mud,
a disembodied dot talking to a line.ear thinker that was just making his point
that nudged the dot over a bit past her comfort zone until spherical tears rolled
down hemispherical cheeks and then the line reached across to the dot,
over the mud and past the still muddy shelving from the flood and the dot
of tears rolled across the line, down the arms and legs to the ground and
disappeared into the muddy earth.

Rain

a gentle tapping on the skylight,
there will be no stars tonight, only the halo
of light around the streetlamp at the corner.
the ice is melting into puddles, crocuses are
pushing up through mud
it's February, it's Valentine's Day,
a fog will rise off the sidewalks in the sun
tomorrow, it's time for all phases to
co-exist.

negative pressure

I'd welcome the vacuum of space to the
negative pressure here, the disconnected jabs
have more power than the impact of a micrometeoroid
at 20 km/sec, paper cuts hurt worse than clean
puncture wounds, and heal more slowly as the edge
of skin gets pulled up by accident over and over
while pulling on mittens or rubbing your lovers cheek.
the wind blows strong tonight and I'll wish a
cleansing of the neighborhood, a melting of
winter ice, a dusting of understanding.

Car Alarm Sonate

The Car Alarm Sonate
is coming from inside the house, upstairs
where the flutist is practicing, a piece
in E major, a continual barrage of E E E E E E E,
then G E G E G E G E, the only variety how grating
each articulation can be or whether the high E sounds
at all, or even comes out in a screech unmatched in
the natural world.
The Car Alarm Sonate is not the for afficionados of
fine classical music, or even modern atonal tunes,
only for the complete and totally deaf audience.
Anyone who is not will surely have moments
wishing he were.

Throw 'em over the bridge

Life is too short
for know-it-all's, for the "wasn't me, even though
I was the only one there", throw 'em over the bridge
and let them swim a bit without Mother at their side
and appreciate the someone who shows up to
throw a warm towel over their shivering body.
it's cold out there without  a friend. 

Business Casual

I liked how he looked in that warm color of blue

blazer and picked pants and a shirt to go with it,

and paid for the pleasure at the closest cash register.

He has to look good on the 5th interview,  what is

it with 4 phone interviews, a face to face and yet another,

this big boss will meet him over coffee and he'd better
look respectful but a suit is a bit too much.
I moved to Boulder twice without a job, a hippy skirt in
hand and a sprinkling of freckles, some bravada
mixed in with humility and got the jobs.
I wish I had a mother who took me to buy a suit,
though, I would have felt so loved.

The Real Deal: Cold Clean Water

I never appreciated cold tap water in summer

until I visited Texas when warm water ran from the

cold tap no matter how long you let it run.

it was hot and humid, the dock at Lake Conroe

sagged into the mud as Houston drank thirstily,

droplets flung skyward over artificially green

lawns and men and women in green and white

rode golf carts around manicured sand pits.

I'll take Colorado and glaciers, cold tap water that

makes your teeth ache in winter, clear winter

skies that showcase a starry night. 

Youth

he sits in my office like a czar, knowing all,
stony faced, standard Chemical Engineering, easy.
it took me a long time to understand this standard stuff
he seems to catch on so quickly
usually I encourage the fearful, perhaps his stony face
masks his fear,
tomorrow we will see.

-17

It doesn't matter that it's not -17 immediately outside my door this morning,
it is -17 somewhere in the vicinity of Boulder, CO and droplets of water
have frozen on the inside of my back door window; the door is frozen shut
and I wish were barricaded inside to watch Mormon videos depicting their
war on masturbation, of rather, the parodies of these videos.
is there really nothing so important the leaders of Brigham Young University,
climate change, war, education, peace, acceptance?
I do not accept -17 degrees in Boulder, CO, I rant and rave
and magically, the temperature increases.
I am powerful.

Perchance: a poem from POETRY

Perchance, do you have a spare something, an extra
Orange that I could rub against my fingernail until
Everyone in the room turns to look at me
To see who is creating that lovely smell
Really, most people love the smell of oranges, only
You do not, preferring the smell of babies after their evening bath.

Embodied Joy: Bella in Snow

a small black dog streaks across a snow-covered field,
abruptly turns, racing back towards me

every sinew of her lithe body calls out joy

our skis move slowly through deep snow
the snow creaks under our weight

breathtaking deceleration to touch her nose to
my hand, retrieving her reward

nose to hand, eye to eye, heart to heart
black on white, all joy.

Cleaning out the refrigerator

 

He loves eggs and each time he goes to the store,

he scratches his head, carefully so as to not dislodge

any precious hair, and puts another carton of eggs

in his basket, one never knows if there are eggs 

at home in case he needs some.

not that he eats that many, mind you, but

it's important to have them when you need them.