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.