New Year's Eve

the snow is crisp, textured with a snow cat
skiing in the close of 2017, I am thankful
for the muscles which propel me forward,
the mind which insists on doing what's difficult
in view of perhaps limited results
this is 2017, the year when Daniel and Tori,
Karen and Chris became couples, committed in
their optimism for a future together as should be,
they will stay up until midnight while
my love and I will snore gently at 10 pm
after downing a shot glass or two of Root,
our favorite nightcap,
with the ending of 2017, hope springs forth for
a change at the top, a change towards peace and
compassion, a caring for our beloved Earth, our
only home, for less suffering and more giving,
and for earlier snow next winter. 

A day in sun and snow

a day in sun and snow

long shadows, a woman and her dog

frozen in time.

they are a mystery with no names

and no faces, only silhouettes

and shadows

they are frozen in time, today standing

in sunshine and snow, 

in this moment, alive and bright

let this moment last forever

BellaRoomba

BellaRooomba terrifies Bella,
the squat cylinder rolls along the floor,
whirring and spinning as Bella puts her tail
between her legs and heads for the stairs.
I love BellaRoomba, whirring and vacuuming,
changing direction, bumping and pushing,
I could watch for hours and then look forward
to emptying out the dust and dog hair which
has accumulated in the "dust bin". 
and I never even picked up a broom
let Bella run and let me sit and watch
from her spot on the couch.

The disappearing pie

the best I ever made

I should have eaten it all 

not shared a single bite until my stomach

was stretched to the extreme

and I threw up blueberry pie.

so selfish, so divine

the crust fell away in flakes

the blueberries small and sweet

no soggy crust for me

all for me, this pie, butter turning

to fat around my middle, worth every 

bite, this best pie of all time,

my pie, all mine.

mean people and stomach aches

his rantings,
insults and childish temper tantrums
birthed a stomach ache,
one that wakes me up at night,
bent over,
only certain his immature ravings
must take their toll on him as well,
how not, it would be unfair otherwise
meanness cannot be segregated
from the soul, even if from the consciousness,
i must be sure of this
but in case, he will be reminded
soon by adults who will
remind him that acting like a
child will give him a stomach ache
if not an unemployment check

Here I am

who says

who says Santa can't carry everything on a bike

she knows she can, even a feather bed

doesn't faze her.

nothing does.

who says 

who says 

it can't be done

it's been done

this is nothing Santa can't do, she soothes children

who are crying on her lap

they stop suddenly, turning their

wonderous eyes up towards her face

instinctively knowing that she's a mom

they know 

they know

she says

stop

they stop

sleep does not come

at ten
lights out, book put away,
i dutifully close my eyes and breathe
in and out, I dutifully progressively relax
from toes to top, sleep does not come,
i want my evening shot of Root,
that delicious, burning sweet slide
down my throat
I can't sleep without it.
I can't sleep without tossing and turning
a bit and having at least half the bed,
I have nothing to help me
so I lie there quietly and wait
and wait and try again to
breathe, in and out, and again
and sleep doesn't come.
tomorrow I pull out the Root,
and sleep will come quickly.

going to bed earlier

by ten
my toes must hide under the covers,
my pillows must be arranged,
one for my arms, one for my legs,one for my head
i must be old.
at ten, a few pages can be turned,
perhaps a boring podcast or relaxing music.
at ten fifteen, the covers should be warm and
my body ready to sleep
my mind in shut down,
no, not ten thirty do I rush down the stairs,
or eleven, when I sneak quietly down to
a quiet room, my loved one breathing quietly,
only to stir and scold.
I slip into bed.
earlier tomorrow
I promise.

I need a Christmas sweater

he has the most special one,

Santa pissing in the snow, having carefully 

written Merry Christmas

I wish I hadn't noticed

and raindeer are humping in the snow

on Jesse's sweater, but her's 

oh, hers is the best, the one I would steal

away in the middle of the night,

Santa riding an unicorn amongst

the planets, the stars twinkling

in the darkness of night.

A life

what a life
from the small black and white child
to a young woman in the same colors
but smiling
in time, color, with brother and husband,
with son and daughter
with dogs.
I have hurtled towards happiness
and fallen into her embrace
sixty approaches,
what colors await me

something to celebrate

a child molester
a pedophile finally meets his end
to the amazement of the People.
the votes cast, the night has come
a new dawn will greet us as he slinks
to his den attended by his wife
his testament to his love for Jews
he has one on his staff.
this child molester will finally sleep
with his sins, away from his cheering crowds
who have finally gone silent.

wrapping presents

some are wrapped in old dictionary paper,
the thick tome took up too much shelf space and
reminded me of my ex-husband who had time and
no money, except mine.
I ripped the pages out with glee.
some are wrapped in the cheapest paper,
thin, with faded colors, as made and
after sitting for several years in the sun
and some are wrapped in old calendar pictures
of flamingos and hawks, cardinals
and yellow bellied finches.
I love those best of all.

the neighbor called

the neighbor called
we had a long chat about
community, the park, bike commuting
trash in his driveway
the Boulder icon who lives above him
the one I see with his dog, I just learned
he was a Boulder icon in the newspaper.
the neighbor called, the one who is not an icon,
who wants the trash picked up and who weeds
his garden, who loves the gardens and whose
mother comes on Sundays, whose son visits
on Mondays and Tuesdays.
I like this neighbor.
We will meet each other
soon

yes, we'll have BBQ

yes, we'll have BBQ at my birthday party
no stuffy smoked salmon with capers, or bruschetta
with goat cheese, no canapes or gluten free cake.
we'll eat BBQ meat, corn on the cob and cole slaw
we'll drink lots of beer and toast to the old lady
oh yeah, that's me.
yes, BBQ will rock, the old will feel youthful
the young will happily devour unapologetic meat.
and now, so late at night, I will go to the freezer
and unapologetically get myself a big bowl of ice
cream to help me sleep, with Root dribbled on top.
alcohol and cream, yes, I'll have that tonight.

taking the night off

no,
I'm getting a margarita instead
dropping by the bar
I won't be at the fundraiser
and I won't do situps tonight
I'm taking the night off,
not going to fight the good fight
or do the dishes,
the Republicans can do what they want
and I won't notice.
I'm taking the night off from anything
hard, from anything taxing or difficult,
the margarita is cool on my lips,
sweet on my tongue
I will look out the window
at the passersby
they are taking the night off
too

out in right field

i was always out in right field
cringing in fear of a ball coming my way -
it would no doubt miss my poorly placed mitt
and i'd run clumsily after the ball
as the hitter casually ran the bases
so many years ago
how I've never forgotten being
the outsider, the last picked, the
slowest, the brain, not the brawn,
the one who always shows up
40 years later to dance capoeira,
I'm showing up, I'm showing up
so many never do.

photographs

photographs
I haven't been taking them,
instead imprinting images in my mind
and adding text in real time
the color of the clouds in the morning
change so fast, from dazzling pinks to grey
then white,
Bella bounding through the trees,
her long, lean legs stretched to
horizontal, face forward, tail streaming back
it's in my mind
I see it now
I haven't been taking photographs
except in my memory

Baby kale

Baby kale in disco lights

the reds, the blues, the whites

American kale.

I can grow marijuana in this contraption,

American marijuana

and send it to my friend.

I don't smoke.

Or I could grow pansies

or tomatoes, lettuce or corn,

anything

I can grow ideas, proposals,

dust bunnies and socks.

Who needs stores when

I can grow everything.

two minutes

two minutes until
my corn bag is warm and it is time
to hop into bed
my love has a sore throat
his eyes are drooping
they can only drop when I am
there in bed with my warm corn bag
and now
it is only 41 seconds and a poem is
slow in arriving, but it is not days of
painstaking writing that I am seeking
short is sweet
sweet is often short
enjoy it

A hole in the sky

a hole in the sky,

a tunnel 

to blue skies and rainbows

into the blackness of space

unless we turn our faces back 

to the blue sky,

the emerald earth

and fall back to

the earth

through the hole in

the sky

the training begins

twenty push ups goes to thirty
a plank goes to a downward facing dog
stack the yoga bricks
I'm heading for vertical
the six month to infinity plan.
I can no longer resist
the peer pressure to stand upside
down, hands are feet and
feet point skyward
wish me luck.

cartwheels and handstands

she's upside down

and sideways, but

I'm a linear sort,

chin below nose

arms falling towards earth

from shoulders

feet on the ground

I feel more secure that way

I don't think I'd be smiling,

my braid falls down my back

someone insists that I

throw my legs towards the 

sky

I'm dubious.

tongue tied

a swirl of words
flow past me, around me,
through me, stories, exclamations,
questions, answers delivered faster
than the blink of an eye,
my eyes jump from one person to the
next watching jaws moving up and down,
food in, words out, more words,
hardly a pause except to quickly chew
I am dazzled by the speed, my tongue
tries to form words but the moment
has passed and another person is
talking, exclaiming, questioning,
another bottle of wine has been
drunk and I am tired.
I haven't said a word
I am invisible.

looking forward

looking forward

and a little bit back,

no, not as far back as

that old black and white photo,

I did look, and put it away,

looking forward and a little bit back

to Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas trees,

to graduations, births, parties, 

places and times where I saw love,

on streets and in crowds, at the 

student concerts where we ignored the

missed notes and applauded the good ones.

too far back, there was no applause so

let's look forward and a little bit

back. 

a swimming pool for potatoes

they were pulled from deep beneath the soil

in my garden as a cold breeze warned of frost.

their life continued in the basement darkness,

coated in clods of garden soil, neglected

but not forgotten, unknown to them,

their fate predetermined to become the 

Thanksgiving mashed potatoes,

to be baptized and cleansed in a kitchen sink

peeled and chopped and boiled

and mashed and blended with 

milk and butter, salt and pepper.

oh humble potato, I love you so. 

Thank you, thank you on this

Thanksgiving Day for your

yumminess.

pre-overeating

let's start tonight
with stuffed squash as big as your buttock,
slices of cake as big as hamhocks
and whipped cream and Calvados
smothered over it all.
let's start overeating
in preparation for tomorrow.
let's prepare for sitting next to a family
member we don't like
and to the other side someone we do like
how to discreetly and politely mostly
look one way
and drink plenty of wine
it's the holidays
and
I love them.

and

and
I will close up my laptop
and
after brushing my teeth and
putting on my PJs
I will sneak downstairs
trying not to step on that one stair that
creaks
and
after my corn bags are heated up
I will try to sneak into bed and not wake him up
but I
know his eyes will pop open
in fact,
he's still awake waiting for me because
who can fall asleep without their loved
one breathing softly
next to
you

sneezing

I'll send this picture to the man down 

the hall.

I hear him breathe in a tornado

and sneeze out a hurricane,

my walls reverberate in response,

I cringe in my office

and curse him.

I know the droplets have filled

the entire building and into the 

roof cavities.

Did his father never teach him

any manners

Saying no

just say no
to spending $1000 on a new laptop
to spending time with people you don't like
just say no
to doing dishes, cooking and cleaning
I'll do what I please, say no
to reading the poems in the New York Times
Magazine, to spending time trying to figure out
what on earth they are talking about
say no to obfuscation
say yes to good food and wine
a soft bed and an interesting
life
It includes you.

Bella

She's the model in the family,

posing for the photographer with her ears

tucked back, standing tall.

she insisted on the blue and yellow 

background to highlight her 

dark complexion.

Done with FaceBook

I don't have to check it anymore -
Cindy has won.
The campaign is over, I can settle back
into the ignorant bliss of what others think.
I don't want to know,
unless it's interesting and intelligent,
or funny, like a kitten scooting across the floor.
Did you know that most poems I read are
terrible, incomprehensible, written to make
us feel uncultured and confused,
referring to Greek gods and Shakespearean
lines.
I don't have to read them either.

The sounds of Tourette

this young man emits
the hoot of an owl
followed by the crack of bones
adjusting themselves in his neck,
the other
cries as the van door swings open
the swish of air as his arms flail
he barks, gathers himself
before badging in and nodding,
a soft hello.
he gathers the mail, holding himself
in control until he is within proximity
of his van
as it rolls away, I hear explosions of sound.
the young man now smiles at me
and when he hoots, I smile back.

Heading home

how high the froth

rose before returning to the sea,

how much the wake spread before

disappearing into the restless sea

how the sun was warm on my shirt

but the wind cooled my face

how this journey across the sea

would lead to my warm bed

below the mountains

how magical

Let me look a little closer

Beth's sheep taking a closer look

It could have been me

it could have been me
It could have been you, your husband,
Wife, uncle, aunt, your child
Someone you loved
Someone you held in your arms
Someone you helped learn to read.
It could have been me or you.
It was your brother and your sister,
We are all brothers and sisters.
How have we forgotten?

Non proliferation and terrorism

Conversation exchange between an American woman

And an Arab man -

Google comes up with the ad 

Nonproliferation and Terrorism.

National. Fountain Pen Day

How could you not know.

The best holiday, and I wonder 

Whether it was the Republicans or the 

Democrats, perhaps the Libertarians?

Yes, in their penthouses, drinking the finest 

Brandy, smoking their cigars,

Or perhaps while waiting for the help

To paint her nails, they will gently remove

The cap from their pens, admire the golden tips

And write a card or two.

Could you imagine such a scenario.

Fall

I stop to wrap my scarf around my head and neck,

to reach for my warm gloves

and notice the beautiful golden grasses,

the dimpled clouds and haze over the mountains.

Just for a brief moment, long enough to want to 

capture this moment in Fall, a moment that will fall

away into the thousands that have passed.

My body is growing golden and brittle

but my spirit still soars with the clouds.

My friend, Steve

My friend, Steve, is the best.
We have aged together, with his bad eyes and teeth
But bright smile and keen mind.
Me, with grey hair hidden under synthetic colors,
Freckles mixed with age spots,
But bright eyes and capoeira arms.
We have been friends since our day on the beach
Forty years ago
And we are still friends today,
Me drinking martinis and wine, slurping oysters
He eating his gumbo and drinking sparking water.
I am happy every time he visits me
And I know he is, too.

Happy Halloween

Wonder Woman, the Curious One,

The Raccoon and the Eagle, the Pirate and

the Ant, a few random others,

we drank Root and laughed as the 

alcohol burned our throat and filled our

nostrils with the smell of root beer.

One from Mexico, another from Guatamala,

two from Brazil and four from Venezuela,

a few Americans.

Happy Halloween!

being part of a group

Last summer
I longed for being part of that group
the one I saw through the neighbor's window
there was a dark haired woman lifting her glass
to her friends and everyone was smiling.
Growing up
I wanted to be part of that other group of kids going
trick-or-treating,
A few years ago, I thought
I'd even be ok with paying to
be part of a therapy group,
until I did and hated it.
no, it had to be a group who wanted me.
I tried to make groups, but no one joined.
tonight I looked around the circle at Lucas
and Mestre, Arisca and Vicki, Juan and Cristol,
at Sabe and Gina and knew that finally
I was part of a group.

The ballot

And when the boxes are filled in and

The stamp is pressed into the little box,

When the votes have been counted,

We'll drink a toast to 

Whatever,

Whatever has happened, whether win or lose,

The sun will come up and decisions will be made.

I'll get back to reading the local paper for fun events,

FaceBook occasionally with no fear of "notifications"

Life will be easier, I'll drink some wine because I like

It, not because I need it.

Boulder Politics

Boulder, 

Skateboarders and scholars,

Families and fun-seekers,

Climbers and cats sleeping on window sills

What happened to Boulder,

My sleepy town.

Heading towards the abyss

Today at 9 p.m. I head for the abyss,

traversing snowfields and ice on Thursday

into the lowlands sometime Friday.

it's a hike up from there, over some low hills,

down towards a stream and back up into higher 

hills.  Sunday, we'll climb steeply at 70 degrees

only to fall again

we have no visibility into the future after that,

be sure to bring extra clean underwear and socks.

Dead Battery

I should have listened to Steve.
But instead, I met Nacho and drove
For an hour along tree-lined roads,
Fall colors in full show
Through rocky canyons
Up steep winding roads, along bubbling
Brooks, taking curves just fast enough,
And when I got home, my battery was still
Dead.

Educe and Lucre

I thought of myself as an intellectual

until I started doing the NYT mini-crossword puzzles

the ones for five year olds.

I may not be faulted for the names of football players

or the actress in West Wing, but educe and

lucre cannot be forgiven,

much less forgotten no more than two

minutes after the crossword is done.

it's a hoax, these crossword puzzles,

if they are mini, then what, pray tell,

does that say about me.

Endless sky

nothing seems to matter when the fence
disappears into the distance, the wires lined
up with the horizon
a few clouds hanging above the flat endless
plains
the grass is golden now, dry, crisp
the landscape is stark, harsh and accepting
all at once
our bones will turn to dust as we gaze
at the endless horizon, the wires on the fence
the grass is green, then turns to brown.

in the early morning

in the early morning, 

who is working in that tall building on the hill,

whose lights are burning bright, whose minds

are whirring still after a long night.

on the ground, it is still dark

the quiet only broken by the shuffle of my feet,

the clicking of her claws on the sidewalk

there is no one here, only us to watch

the glorious rose-colored clouds sweep

across the landscape.

it will be light soon.

the house and the bike

the house and the bike are old,

one is on stilts, being raised from so many

years of sinking 

the workers smoke cigarettes in the front

and smiled at my compliments.

the bike is loaded with red wine,

six bottles in a special bag,

a seventh tucked in the side

the wine guy insisted on it.

this old bike, this old house have

so many stories to tell, of falling leaves

and whispers in the wind.

The grasslands

I rode by, at first, noticing the golden grasses

and the sky, the clouds and this moment.

and I knew 

that this moment had to be captured

the golden grass, the hills, the sky, the clouds

the warmth of this day

soon there will be frost and cold and my

mittens will stay on my hands.

So, I stopped and returned to this spot

where the summer has stalled to finish

painting the grasses, the sky and the hillsides

the final colors of this season.

I had to capture it, to hold this image close

to my heart until the warmth comes again.

The Coffee Shop

I knew she would be interesting 

As soon as I confirmed that she was alone.

Women on their own are always more interesting,

Bold enough to make eye contact with a stranger.

I was alone

With my cup of Earl Grey 

I was entranced by the silhouette of a man

With spiked hair against the window.

So we talked in French and English

Until a young man walked up to her

And then a young man walked up to me.

We are so interesting, her and I, that young

Men walk up to us.

Hiking in Cowboy Boots

 a long shadow

cowboy boots, a long skirt

The Western Woman.

Ready to hike up the steep scrabble

To the old mine 

Turquoise and iron, galena and copper

Bandannas to shield the men from 

Relentless sun, their canteens hot,

Not enough water to quench the

Enduring thirst.

She’s a cowgirl but she’s not holding a 

Pickaxe, only the edge of her skirt,

She gingerly steps up the slope

Anticipating lunch the next town over.

Running a political campaign

I knew there was a reason I didn't want to deal with the public.
I headed for the laboratory, or put my nose in a book,
I surrounded myself with smart people, those who engage their minds
and speak full sentences, I like being around people who don't
rant and rave, spewing venomous monologue through their fingers
onto Twitter or Facebook, Instant Messenger or Instagram.
I'm doing this for her, for the woman with the gentle heart,
the probing mind, the years of watching and learning and watching
some more.
she should not have to deal with this campaign poison.
I find it rather entertaining when someone else speaks up
for us and I can just watch it all go by.
In a month, this will be over and maybe she will be in front
of a podium, perhaps not, but I will be done with the public
it can't come too soon.

Science

This 1" x 1" square of titanium

floated in blue off the coast of Florida

as fish floated nearby and a plethora of

organisms looked for a roost, a place to call home

they called this home,

some shells and algae and other crusty souls

landed and stuck together as a colony

of survivors on a rocky island.

pulled from the sea, held by a gloved

hand, they may wonder what has

become of their home

soon to be sheared from their 

moorings in the name of science.

500 Women Scientists

We're the 1% who showed up tonight,

writing postcards and arguing about committees

and sub-committees and sub-sub-committees.

this is what groups do to grow

we argue and fight and either spinter into a million

shards, or 500, or 5

or unite, the young and old, the academics, the

unemployed, the employed,

but we are all 

scientists.

The first snow

blades of grass stick up through the first snow

branches bow and break

crashing down onto roadways

I saw one falling close by,

its branches snapping, then crashing

through underlying ones before

striking the ground

snow falls so gently, the grasses

support this light blanket while

branches, leaves laden with 

heavy wet snow tumble towards

the ground, 

delicacy next to destruction.

Hanging Out/ Hanging On

on this sunny day in October

tomatoes ripening the sun

a storm is looming

we bask, the caterpillar and I

for the last moments before the rain

your stripes, your feet, your perfection

capture me, and I remove the small branch

and carry you, gazing rapt at your

spots and your little red tail.

some children came by and we petted you

like a small cat, feeling your rough

skin on our fingertips.

you are perfection

Waking from revery, my hands reached

again between tomato vines, grasping

the green fruits to bring in from

the looming storm.  

I will go inside to be warm, but

you will be out in the rain

this is what caterpillars do.

riding solo

My bike is alone in the rack,

I see the cars stopped in gridlock

behind it.

The long shadow is lovely, I can

stand in the sun and admire it.  

The white car heading north is moving now,

the cars heading south are stalling in 

gridlock.

I'll ride solo on wide sidewalks

punctuated by driveways, drivers

studiously looking to the right as I

come up from their left.

I'll stop so I can keep riding 

tomorrow.

being a housewife after work

12 c of oatmeal mixed with nuts,
honey, oil and vanilla extract,
Oh, no, no oil so I wander the
neighbors pantries with Bella,
we are lucky to find some.
Off to the market to get milk,
Six quarts to an almost boil in
an improvised double boiler
while I play flute and do my exercises
as old age is chasing me
I resist.
and then the milk has to cool,
and the yogurt culture mixed in,
and whole shebang put in hot
water for a nice bath.
It will yoge for me.
and then the granola comes out
of the oven and
it smells heavenly.

music in the park

it doesn't matter how she plays

she's out there in the park on a dreary day

we hear the sound of her heart beat,

not from nervousness, but steady and strong.

she's out in the park, not as a perfect musician,

just a person who has the guts to do it,

with mistakes, with her husband whistling along.

he can whistle all the music she plays flawlessly.

that's love. 

To all those who

To all those who unregistered to vote because of Trump,

it's time to register, 

it's time to vote.

To all those who stayed home tonight instead of

venturing out into the community

it's time to speak

To all those who ride their bikes on cold days

let's celebrate you

you are one less car

and to all those who give lovingly of your time and

energy,

we celebrate you,

you are what makes the world so beautiful.

Waiting

Waiting for warmth
That only comes from corn bags
Hand made with love,
Cold, they go into the microwave
Hot, they come out
Fresh, smelling of popcorn.
Onto my toes and hands, warming
Them from ice
To molten chocolate.

Campaigning

I don't like the public,
which is why I study micrometeoroids and space debris,
why I am in my office and not at meetings
that I generally find to be useless with more
than 2 people attending.
The public is annoying, posting commentary
on FaceBook that is one-sided, ill-considered,
rude or all three.
I rejoice in the nice ones.
I'm not fit to interact with the public
being impatient and snobbish,
Campaigning reminds me of this,
it's good to be reminded.

the bachelor

and
one woman walked in
her breasts swinging free under her dress
cleavage in full view
commando style
the dog checked her out
multiple times
and
there's another woman next door
who shows up for coffee when
her boyfriend is away
she lingers at the door
the bachelor life
middle aged but fit,
shaved bald
a nice smile and a fat checking
account
he's in demand

Butterflies

hordes of them

a cloud

landing and flittering off

I can hear the nectar being slurped

into hungry mouths

the sun is glinting off their wings

a wind is rising 

a turbulent storm

sweeping across Africa

from the flurry of

butterfly wings

Getting to bed earlier

all of a sudden it's 10:30 p.m.
my love is in bed, he has stolen my covers,
my poem is not written,
I've only practiced flute for 5 minutes
my teeth are not brushed.
I'm getting texts from him, reminding
me that it's time for bed,
then that he's turning out the lights
and I'll have to creep into the bedroom
disturbing his gentle snoring,
or not, as he's awake in bed,
in the dark,
waiting for me.

I was tempted but resisted

I was tempted, really,

for a few moments, I put it in my cart

even thinking how easy it would be to pull a 

pre-moistened towelette from the shiny plastic 

dispenser and press the four corners into 

the neatly cut slits.

I would remove it from its plastic packaging,

the kind that must be cut with a sharp pair of scissors,

the material that goes in a landfill and never goes

away, it will be there for future generations 

to ponder at our wastefulness.

I decided against it.

I put it back on the shelf.

I went home and pulled out my decades old

mop handle, the original covers long gone.

I covered the base with an old kitchen towel,

secured it with clothespins, sprayed 

some cleaner made with baking soda

on the floor and mopped.

The floor was beautifully clean.

unable to share

Unable to share
the photo of the old man out for his morning stroll,
supporting himself on his walker, his small white poodle
accompanying him, the sun is low in the sky,
I would have shown you but the Cloud says it's unable
to share right now and to come back later,
since when does the Cloud sleep,
I'd like to know.

the perfect latte

Artistry can be found everywhere, created anywhere

by anyone at anytime

in any weather

during travels for any reason,

a  perfect latte is the perfect reason to stop,

to reflect,

to donate the same amount of money

to anyone anywhere anytime

who is in need.

Writing it up

what  does Henry's Law have to do with anything

what does a sub-monolayer look like

and what does the Martian wind look like near the surface

when it's hot and when it's cold

these are the questions worth asking when it's 10 p.m.

Colorado time, and there's an empty wine glass

and an empty martini glass on the table in front of me

I'll say what I have to say.

and when my feet slip into my wool slippers and 

my pajamas are soft against my skin,

the blankets are warm and my eyes are closed

my dreams will come to me 

I will see the wind dervishes on Mars

spinning, spinning,spinning

Packing for Mars 2020 Peer Review

shall I wear the slightly stretchy pants
the first day or the second, with the colorful
top, the black jacket, how about my favorite
socks with the Swiss emblem,
I haven't reviewed the technical materials yet,
but will jeans be ok on the second day,
it seems they dress business casual all the
time even though it's California,
maybe too many old white men?
and it's late again, and my friend, Steve,
would be packed in five minutes but
perhaps he did not just finish making home made
granola and homemade yogurt for his
sweetheart.
The technical details will wait until tomorrow
night after a cocktail with an old friend,
that should release the critical mind to do
her work while she sleeps.

Earning a belt

I chased him, the old mestre around

the roda, knowing he could bring me down

and we laughed at this knowledge in this game,

I kicked and he easily stepped away, I ducked

under his kicks that moved so slowly, 

arcing gracefully over my head.

he pointed behind me and I turned my head,

for a moment only to see him laughing at me.

he had taught me never to do that, to always

keep your eyes on your opponent.

after the fun, he wrapped my waist with my 

first belt, lovingly wrapped by my mestre,

never say never, never say too old.

the last rays of summer

Looking for that special bowl

I'm looking for that special bowl that she 

carefully spun on a potter's wheel, the one she 

described as "Dinner set with green chun lip",

I looked for a set of four

Isn't that what a dinner set is, or it is six,

It was one, a dinner for one seems so lonely,

nestled amongst handle-less mugs, extravagantly

elegant pitchers and pudgy objects that only

a mother would love.

I loved all those hand formed pieces she brought

me from kindergarten, and the handprint still pressed

into the cement on 13th Street marked "Karen".

these are the objects that endure alongside

my steadfast love for the girl that made

the pudgy pots and smeared posters,

I still have them all.  

Old friends, XLV

XLV years later, we meet again,

it's Fate.  

You with grey in your beard,

Me with slight jowls, but

the same smiles, the same affection.

The Oregon beach where we met still has

a thundering surf 

the sunsets are as spectacular and young people

wander the beach, smiling across shimmering sand,

maybe they will become friends like we did.

Maybe they will meet again 45 years later

at a brewpub somewhere.

Trading tomatoes for community engagement

when all else fails, bribe them

with heirloom tomatoes, warmed by the sun,

ripened to perfection.

my kind of crossword puzzle

I hate the usual crossword puzzles

with room for 10 letter words and obscure clues

and nods to popular culture.

I'm a cultural wasteland.

But this puzzle, the one with four to five letter words,

this one with 23 boxes to fill it,

this is my dream crossword,

It makes me so happy when I am done,

the big accomplishment for the day,

mastery feels so good.

capoeira angola

the fellow in the yellow T-shirt cleans my house.

I can't believe I have had a capoeira angola mestre cleaning my house.

I found out the my capoeira canavial mestre cleans houses, too.

mestres need to be paid more for making the world 

a better place.

all this swirls in my mind as my muscles groan

and my bones creak,

the fellow with the white dew rag has Tourette Syndrome

So brave to be here, knowing that at any moment

he will make weird sounds at odd moments.

he's apologetic but calm.

we are moving in a circle,

on our hands and knees

as if in prayer.

god knows the world needs it.

queuing

we are all lined up 

slowly shuffling along, most of us with

cell phone in hand, some hold a book,

some look annoyed, others resigned.

I see a woman wearing high heels,

a man with bad teeth and a couple

in love.

they could stand forever in line

time has stopped for them

how lovely.

the trouble with money

she likes to buy makeup and fancy clothes
he can't  get by without a $6000 bike
he makes less
she makes more
or he makes more and she makes less
but they share a bed and a life and children
and a house and need two cars
and he likes to dine out and she doesn't want to spend
the money and why are there so many unopened Amazon
packages in the hallway
where does the money go
and no, there is no logic to why having
a budget causes tears and anger
turning away.
ah, the trouble with money.

Doctor Decade

Doctor Decade,

it's been at least a couple since we talked

now look at us still singing, riding a bike,

still strumming a guitar,  tooting a flute,

writing songs,penning poems

you have lost some hair and gained some weight

I have my own secret losses

It's a sunny day in Lansing,

we're still here

still singing and strumming,

still smiling.

Love

how tenderly he holds her

she melts into his embrace

intense happiness.

there is a ring on her left hand,

a promise in their hearts

he is the one

she is the one

I know this

I recognize this

my heart is in their embrace

as surely as any mother's

who knows that she is the one

for him, he is the one for her.