What the Day Holds

morning sunlight
through window shades--
a glint
of
morning--
not
one sparrow
is quiet


yet

Sight

sun burns off the mist:
the clearer the sky
the less
I
see

A Reminder

reaching toward the kitten
first, recoil
then, attack

lost in years of evolution
the ache of who we really are

Thoughts on Dusting

    1 

                                                                       

                                                                       The saying goes:

                                                                       Cleanliness is next to godliness--

                                                                       makes sense

                                                                       until

                                                                       I have to take a grimy rag in hand

                                                                       spray a stream of greasy matter

                                                                       on a bookcase, slide it around,

                                                                       watch the surface turn

                                                                       to a clean, brown shine

                         2

                        Was it worth it all

                         I ask myself,

                        worth the sneezing that followed

                        worth the grease now on my hand

                        worth how clean I feel?

                                                                        3

                                                                        Yep . . .

Why

Why do I think
of a snow-covered garden
in this sweltering heat . . .
yet
I
do

From Where We Stand

                                      

                             In the heart of crimson

there is more crimson

                        and

more . . .

                                                even red

 maybe burgundy

                                          

 and 

        crimson

         

        

       more red

       

even burgundy

now again 

crimson

and crimson

and

crimson

maybe red

  or

burgundy

 or

red or crimson or 

                        maybe . . .

Deer

urban life:
still room for a deer
to find its way
nibble on tree leaves,
the stillness of this moment

Coffee vs Sparrows

Coffee
tip
   ping
over the cup's edge
tipping over my plans
to stay awake this morning:
now only the music
of loud sparrows
seem
to
work

No Mist: The Downside of City

no mist to burn off
no fog to lift
no stars at night
only the hot burn of brick
the deep smell of tar
&
burned tips of grass

Seeing

bathroom mirror
seeing sweat on my forehead
now even hotter

On Reading Tu Fu’s “I Stand Alone”

Heaven’s ways include the human:   

among a thousand sorrows, I stand alone   

                                                             Tu Fu

I wake to a siren fading in distance

jaunting, playful murmurs of kittens

sparrows’ songs caress the morning heat

a young man shouts boldly a half-a-block distance

the roar of a motorcycle squeals past my window

the deep bellow of distant thunder,

with each deep breath

release:

Heaven’s ways include the human

even among a thousand sorrows . . .

I

am

not

alone

Heat-A Fibonacci Reflection

 Summer 2011

heat
heat
heat now
heat again
heat now and again
heat it seems again
heat forever and again now
the impenetrable heat now it seems forever
the immeasurable heat it must be forever
heat I think forever again
heat everlasting
still the heat
heat now
heat
heat

Flash Forward Winter 2011-2012

cold
cold
cold now . . .

After Heat

With this
              strong
                        cool             b  r  e  e      z      e
dust  fills the eyes
I long to see clearly

Uncle

a clash of thunder
first drizzle
then
the heavy momentary downpour,
memory
of his violent temper

Mirror

full-length mirror
the kitten's reflection
fights back

Jury Duty

From the court window
I see the hot breeze
brushing the tips of trees,
the jury room is air-conditioner cool
I
am
not

What Love Is

As she curls

her thread around the spools

her nimble fingers

wipe

her

tears

her eyes thread

the weight of her sadness

in

then

out

in

then

out:

a gentle gesture

of  hope

A Ghostly Dream

There is someone in this room
here with me
someone listening to me breathe
listening to me shuffle between the sheets
someone here with me
a light bulb flickers
a cold air sweeps 
a fragrance of sweet vanilla--

(there is no flicker
there is no cold
there is no fragrance
only the claws
of a kitten
clawing at my feet)

Between the Lines

early morning:

gentle breeze

                        (not so gentle)

brushing

                        (overpowering)

these windchimes

                        (organ pipes)

and

now

this

day

begins

About Ready

About ready to bury my teeth
into this plum
the purple of it
deep red
as red as the blood
from my tongue
I've just bitten

Two-Pint Glass

New York City:
at the beer garden
thinking it a one pint,
I finish the two-pint glass--
the near-full moon spins
reflecting a wide empty sky

Same Moon

This heat

heat

heat

somewhere in the world

someone else is complaining

cold

cold

cold

the same moon hangs

over both of us

City Morning

city
street
the sun
heats the brick
the building's facade
ripples with the young man's swift kick

After Rain II

                    for Forrest Rader

After

after-rain

freshly cut grass

each blade caught in a wind-swirl;

his memories spin

into a fading breeze

After Rain

After rain:
the heaviness of this humidity
the heaviness of her stare

Chaos

Sneezing
S  n    e   e    z           i             n              g
this cat

that cat

yet

the soft gentle
purr
after                c      h    a    o           s

Thick Heat

Thick heat:
as I water
the h
     a
      n
   g
      i
        n
    g
plant,
a sudden splash
of envy

Two For the Road

heavy traffic
geese above fly by--
mockingly


highway speed trap
I slow down
the seagull doesn't

Fireworks?

Facebook pictures

of Macy’s 4^th of July fireworks:

a car back fires

I’m tempted

to

applaud

Day Rain

day rain

not as poetic as the night’s storm:

gray,

dull—

I race the bug

walking across my desk

Frog

over the phone

I listen

as she walks the shore

chasing frogs,

the oppressive heat

of my third floor office

cools—

if only 

for this brief breath

Dark Morning

In the dark, dark morning
a sparrow chorus,
the splinter
of
an ambulance siren,
a brief rush of silence