Monday, February 28, 2011

Pink Bonnet

My earliest recollection is a tear stained face
swollen and red from too many hours of crying
body tense and angry, throat sore from screaming
while standing in a pink nightgown and baby bonnet

at the corner of a borrowed crib, every movement
accompanied by the squeaking from rusty springs
tangled in sheets surrounded by darkness
and the male silhouette in the lighted doorway

watching me cry in all my fury.
Aunt Josie finally pushed him aside
coming into the room to lift me up
into her arms, “My goodness, why are you

making such a fuss. Do you need dry clothes
or something to eat. Let’s take off this
bonnet, it’s too tight around your neck.
shhhh Mommy and Daddy will be home soon.”

I don’t know exactly what happened that night
but I never trusted my Uncle Leo after that
and my Aunt Josie became a safe haven.
I was especially glad when she divorced

him. I never had to see him again
even when he died, didn’t go to his funeral
and have never been partial to wearing hats,
especially pink bonnets that tie under my chin.

Sunday, February 27, 2011


Thump, thump, thump
just outside my bedroom window

the torrential rain kept me indoors
but I imagined who or what was

outside bumping on the wall
rattling the double paned glass

The dog got up to check
but stayed nearby

his ears alert, a muffled bark
didn’t really want to call attention

to himself and I couldn’t sleep.
Why was I so afraid?

Pressure in my ears built
until my head started to ache

another thump and I sat straight up
my heart beating much too fast

I knew it was nothing but my
imagination saw the Boogieman

that dark evil from my childhood
waiting to snatch me and take me

to that place, beyond the light
where I would be held against my will

Thump! There he is again
this time closer, louder, larger

I’ll never get to sleep
until I say my prayers

and ask my god to keep me safe
or if I die… my soul to take.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Destiny: Myth or Reality?

Picture by Bill
When you give birth the very act
makes it seem like the child is a part of you
he exists because two bodies were joined

the combination its own separate entity
and it does not matter what you think
the child is from you, but not you---

There’s grandma’s eyes and grandfather’s hands
your temperament alongside daddy’s mental acuity
all assets and deficits packed into one human being.

My cousin was born of an Apache
and Puebla Indian and said his whole life
was an ongoing war between these two

mortal enemies, always fighting
within his psyche, the craziness
he exuded was out of his control

alcohol, the only medicine to bring peace
and eventual sleep to his troubled life.
Vulnerable environments form within

those children susceptible to genetic memories
but others come blessed, kissed by an angel,
with instructions to lead and are bestowed

with the courage, strength and power
to take the reins for future generations
Does your child come with a preordained plan?

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Finding True Love

Picture by Bill

When is love true?

Patience in the face of upset
Understanding when no one else
expects you to be yourself
No pressure, no demands, just loving you

Is it the secrets you keep or the ones you tell?
Fighting off the world to keep you safe
Holding you close to make you secure
The scent of your soap and shampoo

Choosing you over everyone else
Knowing you will do the same for me
Little things like holding the door
Walking arm in arm, side by side

Trusting you will be there
When everyone else has turned away

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

New Zealand Earthquake

Some say there is no such thing as earthquake weather,
but most everyone who lives along a fault line knows
stillness proceeds a quake then a low rumble from deep
underground followed by a rolling motion or sudden jerk.

Doors open and dishes crash into a thousand pieces
too sharp to walk across
and if the rooftops hold you've got to hurry
out the door away from fallen wires and other debris.

Voices cry from somewhere deep inside the piles of
concrete and men who would like to run away, stay to
pull block by block the remnants of a former home
to uncover someone's loved one. They do not stop
until he is free and back in his mother’s arms.

A few kneel to pray others lose their faith in the
wreckage that topples churches from every denomination.
How could God be so indifferent to human lives adding
liquefaction to the other devastation?

Somewhere in the rubble an old lady sings a melody
from when she was young, a sweet soothing lullaby
to let everyone know everything will be okay.

E tangi ana koe
Hine e hine
E ngenge ana koe
Hine e hine
Kati tö pouri rä
Noho i te aroha
Te ngäkau o te Matua
Hine e hine *

You are weeping
Little girl, darling girl
you are weary
Little girl, darling girl
Be sad no longer
There is love for you
in the heart of the Father
Little girl, darling girl

Survivors climb out of windows and from under rubble-
dust covered and forever altered - but still alive.
Given strength they lend a hand to help another and
together they recover from the desolation that
surrounds them on this day.

* A Maori song from New Zealand

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Grandpa’s Junk Pile

We went to my grandpa's farm for many years
the best part of the visit was running
out to the desolate part of the field
to play in the graveyard of discarded junk

There were tossed out refrigerators sitting
with the doors torn off
pots and pans and cooking utensils,
an ancient tractor with a metal seat
and a large steering wheel rusted and cold.

My favorite item was the old Model T
with rusty springs in the front seat
that squeaked and squeaked

Orange crates arranged in the back
for passengers who climbed through the windows
like a family of garden snakes we slipped in and out

playing with the forgotten treasures
pretending we were grown-ups
for hours and hours.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Early Morning Dream

I was standing on the rooftop patio
of an apartment in Afghanistan
saw two planes one badly tilted

knew it was going to crash
screamed for the kids
to get away from the wall

grabbed them and the dog
and ran down the stairs

waited for the explosion to follow
woke up gasping for air.

Note: This was the day before the earthquake
in New Zealand. The dream warned of danger
but slightly skewed.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

The Beach Cottage

I tried to reach him several times
but when he didn’t answer
we drove out to see if he was okay

Bill crawled through an unlocked window,
a routine we thought we might use one day,
he opened the front door to let me in

and there lay my dad, silent and still.
The sun was setting so the room was dim
it smelled of cigarettes and his last fried meal

I called him then reached for his shoulder
but he didn’t respond to my voice or touch

His eyes were closed in sweet repose
lying at the foot of his bed,
still dressed from his morning stroll

I expected to cry but smiled instead
I felt happy he had a chance to live free
in a one room cottage a block from the sea

His days filled with sunshine and company
walking on the pier then stopping for coffee

I called the coroner and gathered the family
talked to the neighbors to get the full story
someone said they talked with him earlier

another ate with him at the corner cafe.
I used to drop by and he would always be
waiting for me, life was passing him by

but once he moved to his home by the sea
I had to make dates because he would be out
laughing and visiting with friends each day.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Labor of Love

Picture by Bill

Life needs maintenance
Time the unrelenting foe
Commitment wanted

Seeds for new life sown
Quiet then an early spring
Fields awash in bloom

Heart soon discovers
Sheer satisfaction awaits
Patience rewarded

Crops swell then ripen
Branches heavy with harvest
Summer miracle

Sweet succulent fruit
Awakens deep desire
Lasting passion

Friday, February 18, 2011

Poetry Sampling

Cut-Up-Poem (a Saturday Evening Post
from cover to cover choosing words and phrases)

Valentine's Day Sale
Share your love
The item is on clearance
A truly unique gift
Woven with care
Captures heart and soul
It has value and beauty
Does it matter?
You be the judge
We make house calls.

Cross-Out Poem (two pages from a catalog
for PBS selling videos of art and history)

Inside Edition
Wish me luck
Height of the cold war
Disturbing incident
Behind the palace door
Scandalous behavior
A complete collection
Winner of rave reviews

Found Poem (Words and phrases
selected at random from a 2 page article on racism)

Colorblind attitudes
Racist attitudes
Stimulating conversations
Transform lives
Share painful
Inform communities
Purveyors of justice
Become one people
United in love

Ransom Note (Words cut and glued from TV Guide)

Hollywood Warning
Pretty Little Liars
Size does matter
Shut down the bar
Open the box
Original sin
Finale shocker

Chance Poem (Two words chosen at random
from side by side pages in a Daily Meditation)

Domestic Violence
An awareness emerges
After the resentment subsides
I no longer need the comfort
Of your kind of power
I finally understand
I have the courage to speak out
To make bold statements
and to develop guidelines
permitting the laws to filter
Inappropriate behavior
in order to squelch fear,
to black-list aggressors,
and to live by the quote
Kinder and gentler
makes a stronger union.”

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Love Knows

Roses unfold from bud to bloom
each pedal, silky, fragrant and red.
A small card, with the words
“I love you,” dangles haphazardly
from one of the stems.

We met when we were teenagers,
your hand encircled mine
our footsteps still synchronize
we finish one another’s sentences
and laugh anytime we are together.

You and me sweetheart -
'till the end of time

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

A Fable: The Island of Mean

Once upon a time there lived three brothers, Meanie, Meaner and Moe.
The boys were rude, they were crude, and were mean to everyone
they met. Moe was the youngest and the meanest of them all.

They lived on the Island of Mean where the Mayor was mean, the baker
was mean and the policeman was mean too. As a matter of fact everyone
in the town was mean. When anyone wanted anything they shouted,
“Give it to me now,” unless of course they took it without speaking at all.

Everyone in town stayed up late watching T.V. or playing video games
and they ate lots of candy, cake and potato chips. Every conversation was
an argument and every gathering an outright brawl.

Mama and Papa raised their boys in a house were everyone screamed.
They threw things against the wall and called each other names. At first
the boys were afraid but soon they learned to be as mean as their parents
and in time they got meaner and now they were the terrors of the town.

There was never a “Please,” or a “Thank you,” never an, “Excuse me,”
or “I’m sorry”. They were so mean they wouldn’t even tie their shoelaces.
They didn’t worry if they tripped and skinned their knees or fell and
hit their heads because they were mean, and the pain made them
meaner still.

Now all the kids in town were also mean, but none as mean as these
three. When the boys went to school the other children hid. The
teachers quivered at their desks and sniveled. Even the principal
put on his best scowl but after they left he cried. He didn’t want
anyone to see him because he knew it could ruin his reputation.

The mayor wailed about these boys to the city council, the baker
wept in his dough which stopped it from rising, and the policeman
sobbed when he saw them coming and wanted all three of them in jail.

With everyone crying the roads flooded. People couldn’t get from
here or there. The Island of Mean soon became known to the boys
as the Isle of Too Many Tears.

Meanie, Meaner and Moe, decided it was time to leave the island and
find another place where they could shout and scream and stamp their
feet and scare another group of people. All this weeping in their
homeland was driving them insane and they needed a change.

They found a little sailboat but argued about who would steer and
who would manage the sails. Since Moe was the youngest and meanest
so he got his way and the other two had to deal with it but,
“No wailing,” he said, “or into the water you go!”

They sailed past erupting volcanoes, skimmed over turbulent waters
and traveled for days without sleeping until they stopped right in
the middle of the sea. No wind came to fill their sails, no fish
jumped up for food, no clouds covered the sun and their
fighting, screaming and shouting didn’t help at all.

After several days the sea of calm was broken by a gentle ripple
from a boat with a lovely lady dressed in white. Her face shone
like an angel. Her smile was as bright as the stars.

She glanced at the three brothers and asked, “Do you need help?”

Now Meanie, Meaner and Moe growled and they spat and they shouted,
“Are you blind, can’t you see, we are stuck in the middle of
this ocean? Of course we need your help.”

“Yes, I can see that you need more help than I can give,” she sighed
then glided on and left them alone in the center of the sea. She
disappeared beyond the horizon never looking back at the boys.

They sat that way for three more days and the sun beat on their heads.
Their thirst made them more grouchy but they didn’t even have enough spit
to wet their throats. Just when they thought they would die they
saw the beautiful woman returning.

”Here is some water and food. Here is a tarp to protect you from
the sun. Tie this rope to your boat and I don’t want to hear any
fighting, cussing, or swearing. Do as you’re told or I will leave
and never return.”

Meanie looked at Meaner and snarled. Meaner looked at Moe and frowned.
Moe grimaced in the most horrible fashion but no one uttered a word.
They took the water and gulped it. They gobbled the food without
chewing. Together they worked at setting up the tarp to provide
some shade from the sweltering sun.

Then Moe reached for the rope and tied it carefully to the bow of
their boat and the lady towed them to her island, which lay
just out of sight.

The first thing they noticed were six or maybe ten rainbows in the sky.
They could hear the sounds of children laughing and people singing.
They saw some kids running and playing.
Others walking with their parents, along the seashore.
They glared at each other.

“You’re ugly,” Meanie said to his brothers.

“You smell,” Meaner growled.

“You’re stupid,” Moe chuckled, “but who cares. In a little
while we’ll make them miserable with our very special talents.
She will wish she never rescued us because we’ll make their
lives a living hell.”

When they reached the shore the lady directed her helpers.
“Bathe them and make sure their ears are clean and wash out
their mouths if they say anything mean. Clothe them in clean clothes
and make them take naps in separate rooms but don’t let them come
out until I say so.”

The assistants whisked the boys from the boat and scrubbed them.
Moe was the only one who had to have his mouth washed out with soap.
The words he used were terrible and foul.

Finally, Meanie, Meaner and Moe were dressed in white from their
heads to their feet then placed in separate bedrooms with no T.Vs.
They fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows and they slept
for three days straight.

Meanie was the eldest one and he was never as mean as the other two.
He was the first to awake and called out, “Please let me out.
I’m hungry and thirsty and lonely” Two helpers opened the door
and brought him some food and water and they stayed to visit
for hours. They told him about their wonderful island where people
were kind. They said please and thank you and wanted to help him in
every way they could.

Later Meaner woke and was ready to curse and howl but before he had
a chance to make a loud ruckus every need was filled. He actually
started humming a tune he thought he forgot, and soon he was singing
other songs and laughing at stories his new friends had to tell.

The last one up was Moe, he knew something was different, the sounds
of happiness hurt his ears and made his stomach ache. He shouted and
screamed and tried to fill the space with his meanness but no one
heard him and he was left alone for two more days.

Finally Moe gave up and said, “I’m sorry, I will not shout or scream.
I need some food and something to drink. I want to see my brothers,
I’m lonely.”

When his brothers were called they were cautious but wanted to see Moe
'cause they missed him. They stood outside his door and waited but Moe
didn’t recognize them. Their faces had changed, their hair was combed
and their hands were no longer balled up in tight little fists.

“Who are you?” Moe asked.

“We’re your brothers,” they said.

“You’re different,” he sighed,

“You’re right,” they smiled.

Moe sat on the floor and cried.

Meanie and Meaner walked into his room and each took a hand to escort
him to the finest banquet he had ever seen. When he had eaten and his
tummy was full and he drank enough so his thirst was quenched he said,
“Thank you.” In a little while he was laughing out loud.

He wanted to run and dance and play with his brothers and the other
kids because he didn’t feel mean right now, and in time… not at all.

The Moral of the story: Mean begets mean but kindness triumphs

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Looking Twenty

I liked turning twenty better than passing sixty.
although in my brain I’ve never changed
even though the face looking back at me
from mirrors and other reflected surfaces is not someone
I recognize or would even speak to if we were introduced

Spent the day sorting through old pictures
collected over three generations
grandparents with stoic faces forever frowning
after surviving the great depression
and the faces of my folks their eyes reflecting
the horror of the war powered with the memory
of an atomic bomb blowing the enemy to smithereens

Large families, home ownership, power to the people
all tossed aside when free love and lots of drugs
confused the basic structure of the family
people didn’t stay together,
many died or fried their brains with overdoses
got beat in Vietnam; a government financed conspiracy
left shame on the faces of my generation

Anti-war, pro abortion, where is the common sense
to promote civilization for future generations?
Women’s liberation opened the world for work
with equal pay, equal privilege,
My face shows fatigue, I’m too tired to protest anything

While my sons and daughters try to claim what was lost
wives stay at home to raise their children
but anxious that their marriages won’t last
how will they support themselves and their kids?
Their faces have a look of fear

Homes may be lost through foreclosure,
dire financial situation, is his job secure?
almost as bad as the great depression
grandson may be sent to Afghanistan
all life’s challenges are etched onto our faces

I’ve got an appointment with a plastic surgeon
said she can turn back the clock of time
and I can look twenty again
if I'm willing to pay the price -
the money put aside for my long term institution.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Valentine’s Day

At the sea
lovers arm-in-arm
watch the gulls drift

No one speaks.

In the quiet
he strokes her hair
she shifts closer
anyone can tell,
they’re in love.

Waves lap on the sand
sky of winter gray
white clouds
and scattered sunshine
dance on the water.

Long ago
their hearts were sewn
with an invisible thread
that bound them
for a lifetime.

Their time together is almost over
but today they recall how it began.
A smile, a first date, and saying yes,

to Love

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Antonio’s First Date

Alonso, who never had the pleasure of love,
was a sweet man whose heart was yearning.

He worked as a chef in a popular restaurant
spent his days fixing meals for others
but with no family and few friends
he often dined alone.

One day he went to the market
and bumped into the cart
of a beautiful woman.

He apologized but captivated by her face asked,

"What is your name?"

"Gina," she replied.

"I’m Alonso, can I take you to dinner?"

"Yes,” she said with a smile.

He suggested seven o'clock.
She agreed and handed him her phone number.

Alonso knew Gina could be his true love
and his lonely days would soon be over.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Memories from the 60's

Companion pieces. The last one written four days before the first.

Close Encounter

Her name was Emily, his was Joe
they met at a friend’s engagement party

He stood in his military uniform
she in a summer dress with spaghetti straps

He edged closer to introduce himself
she stiffened at his interest

until she saw his eyes and recognized
the boy wrapped up as a marine

In no time the conversation flowed
laughter punctuated each revelation

nighttime turned to day
but the conversation didn’t stop

Went for breakfast at the local coffee shop
morning light didn’t fade their glow

fingertips touched then they kissed
open mouth and passionate

He said he was leaving for Vietnam
and would she marry him before he left?

She said no, but would write to him every day
and wait for him to come back home

He held her in his arms
until the sergeant said it was time to go.

Precious Gift
You showed me his gift
a ball point pen with a little light in it
so he could write letters in his tent
after the daily rounds of patrols
and open conflicts in the jungles of Vietnam.

During the monsoons or after the sun set
when thoughts of you filled his head
he could make love to you with his words
or tell you plans he wanted for your future;
meeting his folks, a wedding, new car, kids,
that little house with a picket fence.

I watched you wrap his gift
with brown paper from a grocery sack,
printing his address in large block letters
placing scarlet kisses beside his name
then sending it off with enough time
to arrive before his nineteenth birthday.

I hadn’t seen you for several days
and when I went to your house
I found you disheveled and tear stained
the gift unopened lay beside you
with scribbled words, “Undeliverable
then rubber stamped, Return to Sender."

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Univited Guests

Flowers decorate the table
in an outdoor café overlooking the lake.

A lone boat, with two fishermen,
sits idle on the almost still water.

The only sounds; soft lapping
on the pilings under the wooden deck,

a gentle hum of quiet conversation,
the clatter of silverware and crystal.

Dinner; a bright red lobster,
garlic potatoes, garden vegetables,
with white wine and a glass of water.

The mood is perfect until
the woman behind me shrieks.

Her companion jumps out of his chair,
swinging his napkin, then grabbing

his lady by the arm he escorts
her into the main restaurant.

In a moment all the patrons are
ducking, swatting, then running
to get away from the latest guests,

a swarm of bees,
who arrive... uninvited.

Ordinary Days revised

A storm of paper fluttered from the sky
with phrases like “Capture a moment of peace.”
“Look around to find true love.”

That rainbow of color: red, yellow, green, violet
should have evoked feelings of joy
but instead I cried…

The simple flyers fluttering from a rooftop
with actors on the sidewalk reaching up
catching those messages from above

Lots of excitement on the stage
some rushing to grasp a specific color
others snatching the closest page

Art in its truest form, created
and delivered to the intended audience
yet I cried…

Dwelling on the visceral image I recalled another scene
when paper fluttered from on high … it was September 11th.
planes crashed into the World Trade Center

Reams of paper like giant snowflakes fell,
littering the street, a feature almost unnoticed
because of the larger debris and carnage.

I didn’t know I remembered that detail until years later
when my tears fell while sitting in a dark theater
watching a musical comedy about ordinary days.

Ordinary Days, Music and Lyrics by Adam Gwon

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Fate and the Traveler

A fable retold

The scorching sun offered no relief to the traveler walking
down an obscure path leading through the dense woods.

He wandered aimlessly not knowing that Fate followed close
behind. The traveler’s attention was on his destination.
He brushed Fate aside by ignoring the message from the
woodpecker who tapped out, “Beware Fate is close at hand.”

The traveler sought his fortune certain that his
maps were a better guide. He trusted his telescope to
see his path and walked for several miles ignoring
Fate. He whistled his songs and at one point turned
to face her. He chased her away shouting,
“I am the master of my own destiny!”

The traveler walked until sunset and in the diminishing
light knew he was too tired to go on. He finally rested
along the side of the road.

Without the warmth of a fire or pleasant company the
weary traveler fell into a fitful sleep. In the dark
he didn’t realize he was on the edge of a steep embankment.

Fate discovered him in this precarious position.
"This fool could easily roll off the side of this road
and die. Some would say I did it. I do not like to
be unjustly accused of things I did not do, so I will
make sure that doesn’t happen to me."

With those words Fate pushed the man and he rolled off
the embankment and down the perilous cliff. As Fate
would have it, the traveler didn’t hit his head, he
didn’t break his bones but he tumbled and tumbled
until he reached the bottom where he lay dazed but

The startled traveler woke up among the rocks at
the bottom of a canyon. He wondered if
anyone would ever find him. His maps were torn and
his telescope crushed. He felt afraid and hopeless.

Sitting alone in the darkness he finally heard
Fate's voice and words. "You must find your way
back to your path." Then she pointed to something
sparkling in the moonlight. It was partially
hidden by fallen leaves.

He cleared the debris to discover a ring with a
beautiful diamond the size of an acorn.

He took the treasure and carefully placed it in
his pocket then found a way back up the side of
the precipice. He climbed all night before he located
his original path and headed toward the next town.

When he arrived the sun was already overhead.
The townspeople gathered around. He told his
tale and showed them his precious jewel. He praised
Fate for his good fortune and the two traveled
together the rest of his days.

Moral of the Story: Sometimes Fate must
shove you off an embankment for you to find
your fortune.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Scarecrows In The Cornfields

A stuffed image of a derelict man hanging
from a post is a common sight used to repel
crows, at least for part of the summer

but why have a stationary sentry
in a tattered shirt and old straw hat
if he can't keep the birds
away for the season?

Even with an outrageous face
he doesn't frighten them
once they see he is a landing spot.

I’ve learned, through daily experiment,
a little bit of bling will catch the wind
and create movements with flashes of light.

By adding accessories to dangle and jangle
it will startle the birds and keep them in flight.
Through trial and error I think I will make

an oversized woman in a loose fitting dress
who will rattle and dance and make such a fuss
to keep the crows out of the cornfield.

Monday, February 7, 2011

An Emerald Sash

I was suppose to write a Villanelle that required repetition and rhyming.
I didn't use the correct rhyming pattern in the last one so here it is again

An Emerald Sash

She offered me a gossamer gown with an emerald sash -
an ancient woman I met along a path made of cobblestone
Overwhelmed with love I hugged her but she turned to ash

Love, hate, joy, sadness passed before me in a brilliant flash
Who was this woman.. this wizened crone?
She offered me a gossamer gown with an emerald sash

She took my sins and tossed them aside like pieces of trash
then showed me Faith, Hope and Charity as better habits to hone.
Overwhelmed with love I hugged her but she turned to ash

She placed my hand in her wound, a three inch gash
right through her heart, a sorrow I have never known
She offered me a gossamer gown with an emerald sash

I reached for the gown and heard her say, "It’s not your cache
this is a gift you must earn with the virtues I have shown.”
Overwhelmed with love I hugged her but she turned to ash

When I was seventy she hovered above my bed and asked,
“How many good works have you sown?”
She offered me a gossamer gown with an emerald sash
Overwhelmed with love I hugged her and we turned to ash

Sunday, February 6, 2011

An Opalescent Gown

She offered me an opalescent gown of spider’s silk
An ancient woman I met on a cobblestone walkway
When I hugged her she turned to ash

I was filled with sorrow at the loss
of this woman who personified wisdom
She offered me an opalescent gown of spider’s silk

I met her on a graveyard path in my dreams
She whispered her secrets and stirred my soul
When I hugged her she turned to ash

Her body, small and frail, emanated light
in her eyes I saw what my life could hold
She offered me an opalescent gown of spider’s silk

I held it to admire how it shimmered
she took it from me and said, “You must earn it,”
When I hugged her she turned to ash

Seventy years later in the quiet of the evening
I could see her hovering near my bed
She offered me an opalescent gown of spider’s silk
When I hugged her we turned to ash

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Online Dating

The other night, my brother, who rarely grins
since his lovely wife, whom he adored,
divorced him after two kids and too many conflicts,
told me he applied and is connected
to an online site he visits after work.
He spends hours in this virtual space.

He found an online dating space
where he posts his profile and can grin
at the many offers from the network
of women he might learn to adore
if when they meet they feel connected
and aren’t repelled by the usual conflicts.

For him the most common conflict
is when a woman posts a picture on her space
but when they arrange a connection
the only feature he recognizes is her grin.
Why should he waste his time learning to adore
a woman who denies how age on her body works?

Some days he gets discouraged but there is a woman at work
he would like to know better, although it would create conflict
among the other, much younger men, who adore
her. He knows it could cause tension in his office space
so he engages in only casual conversation and grins
or nods every time their eyes connect.

Not to be dejected he goes home and gets connected
to his many dating and social networks
He has learned to blog and it makes him grin
when he tells his readers of the many conflicts
he has to overcome to find romance in cyber space.
All he really wants is to have someone he can adore.

He exercises and owns a business which many women adore
so he gets seven or more requests each week to connect.
He posted a large calendar in a prominent space
to keep names and times organized without too much work.
He thinks he has a perfect system to avoid any conflicts
“So I’ll have more time for dating,” he grins.

After four years of working to find love he must clear a space
in his home for the new wife he adores. Yes, he finally got connected
“All my dating conflicts have ended,” he shrugs his shoulders then grins.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Auto Correct

I’m quite thrilled I bought a smart phone
It has a camera and all the latest aps
and something called an auto correct.

It can see the word I’m writing
and finish it... yeah, right.

I sent a reminder to my son about his bicycle
He read, “Put your bisexual
in the garage before I get home.”

Later I sent a text to my daughter that her
Dad and I were going to Disneyland

She called back in a panic,
“Are you and Dad really going to divorce?”

To my pastor I texted, "Do you want anything
from Whore Foods for the carnival?"

To my friend I wished
her luck on her faith lift.

I sent the following message
to the company president:

To Whom It May Concern:
Your new technology is great,

but please do something about
your auto correct

it's giving me
a pancake attack.

I’ve invested enough monkeys
it should work better than this.

Your Fried

examples taken from an e-mail from my husband

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Searching for Adoth

Adoth sounds like a place
I looked it up on the internet
It's not a where but a who

A young man in loose fitting fleece
an over sized shirt and pants hanging low
Bum te da, Bum te da, Bum te da

The camera at street level never reveals
a face… just the movement of his hips, feet and legs
Bum te da, Bum te da, Bum te da

A pair of Adidas with their tongues sticking out
Twisting and pounding to a primal beat
Bum te da, Bum te da, Bum te da

Cwalking to the pulse
on the ghetto street
Bum te da, Bum te da, Bum te da

Adoth, you’re my superman
Can you teach me your moves?
Bum te da, Bum te da, Bum te da da.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Death Watch

The vultures waited for her tears
then stretched out their claws,
spread their wings, and with curved beaks
took the silver drops from her cheek.

They carried these treasures
showing them off, telling of their conquest
revealing her grief and using her story
as a highlight for the evening news.

She caught on and detested their game,
hated their deceit for reaching out to her
with a pretense of sympathy
aggressively filling their own appetites.

She loathed them for their hunger
and need to deceive
she would not be a part
of their gluttonous feast.

“You cannot satisfy your desires
because I'm weak
Don't use your obscenities to exploit me.

I beg you to leave sacred and private
those things that are mine.
Don't pull, and peel, and grab.

I’ve given but you keep coming back
with your cold stinking faces
and your foul smelling breath
you steal, and rip, and tear.

Get away, you cannot have me.
There is nothing about me
 for the taking

Just leave me alone!”

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Indigenous People

My line comes from the indigenous people
native, aboriginal, and local home-grown
I live like a tumor somewhere in your brain
a pain deep inside your gut
a migraine that takes you to your knees

I live in the collective consciousness
I am the guilt for your terrible sin.
The Jews who suffered from the Holocaust
demanded retribution and monuments

to acknowledge the offense committed against them
but my people wander, still disorientated,
relegated to desert lands, intoxicated and drugged
watching your children reap the benefits of your crime.

The Earth people with brown and red skin
ask you Great Spirit, "What is your plan?
When will you free us from this suffering
and deliver us back to our sacred lands?

Cha ching! Maybe we'll hit the jackpot this time."