Friday, September 30, 2011

Sidewalk Runway

Long bouncy hair
cascading in ringlets
golden hues
reflecting the midday sun

Flouncy dresses
with splashes of spring
revealing sunkist skin
breasts, legs, arms

A delicate whiff
rose, magnolia and violet
lingering after they pass
on the sidewalk

Another beautiful stranger,
this one a fiery redhead
dressed in tank top and shorts
shoes with heels too high

She doesn’t wobble or fall
followed by a blond just as tall
wearing business attire
accenting her femininity

and so the runway show goes
on a late afternoon
on Main Street, a treat for
girl watchers at the local café.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Tom Boy

She swoops down
picks up the grounder, throws
it to first base, players out
game is won, runs to the
winners circle, high fives

gathers her things bounds
over the fence and is gone
to ride horseback along
the chaparral until the sun
sets in the late afternoon

too early for bed so after
the horse is tended she
climbs into her truck
throws down a few beers
and dances with the guys
‘till she’s soaking wet,

then rides the bull ‘till
the bar closes goes home
falls in bed exhausted
after writing a list
of things to do
before the next sunrise.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Texting While Driving

A father, with an infant in his arms
and a three year old on a tricycle,
had the right of way at a four way stop.

All three were run down
because the driver of the SUV
was texting and didn’t see them
in the crosswalk. They
were injured but not seriously.

The driver gave a sheepish
grin and sincere apology
but couldn’t wipe the crime away.

"What was so important it couldn’t wait?"
the investigating officer asked.
C U at 3, was found on her display.

It was her second incident in less
than a week, her Papa screamed at her
for her addiction. "The ticket was too
much and now an accident!

You will get your license
and phone taken away!"

The young driver was last seen
standing by her SUV
texting: I’m f*d.

Monday, September 26, 2011

The Crane

A thick mist hung over the wetlands
along Pacific Coast Highway
a single white crane lingered among the reeds,

a sudden backfire from the road
and she spread her wings
graceful and silent like a Hollywood actress,

one who valued her privacy
and longed to dine

Watercolor by drice

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Dark Veils Parted

Women in burkas in the desert sands,
victims of the Taliban or at least
what I’ve been told, clothed in mystery,
it is impossible to see their eyes,
smiles or facial expressions.
Are they beautiful? I’ll never know.

I’m reminded of a distant time
when my elementary school was run
by Irish nuns, all dressed in black
except for their serene faces
framed in heart shaped habits
wearing a crucifix , large rosary
and a wedding band.

What is it about religious attitudes
that insists women be covered in black
hidden from the world offering service
but ensconced out of sight
their voices can be heard, like a flock
of chirping birds, their songs
an assembly of angels locked away

and when veils are parted what is revealed?
A woman, like any woman, uncertain about life
and how she fits it, needing the protection
of a strong male clan, seeking approval
from a male god, hoping to produce a male son,
so the line of his blood continues
for another generation,

and if she is a nun she is committed
to that male god, married to his son
her service and everything she has to offer
is his before the veils are torn asunder.

Clans of women, however strong,
are bullied by throngs of men
who use their testosterone to
bring them under control

I like to pretend, that all things being equal,
will allow eventual freedom for all women
but so far that hasn’t been the case
women are tolerated if they are beautiful
but know their place, and understand…
when the time comes will not show their face

but instead be burdened
with the perfect body image,
off balance in high heel shoes,
covered in make-up and designer clothes
never free to express themselves
at their highest potential.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Surrealistic Journey

Most dreamscapes break the bounds
of reality when floors move like water
and travel is limited only by one’s imagination
whether sober or fever induced
the outcome can be similar

a murky recollection of unrelated
events but in the sub conscience
it all makes sense.

However insane the image may seem
there is meaning in the horse’s head growing
out of a tree with faces bubbling out
from the underbelly, while fairies dance

among the roots and butterflies become
the flowing mane. Imagination, at its most free,
taps in to the ether of the unknown.

Join me in my imaginary journey
to the surrealistic power of an artist’s mind.
Can you see what I see or does your own mind

take flight on a journey of its own imagining
to places far away where anything can happen?

Better to travel to the land of make-believe
than to the fear induced stupor of evening news.

In this dream state, anything is possible
and without real work on the physical plane
inventions, solutions and artistry remain

unless we gather up our tools
to bring our ideas to life.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Cutting Eucalyptus Trees

The order was given
a road crew arrived
the screams from chain saws
broke the early morning quiet
and in a few hours, decades
of nature’s work lay in pieces
on the public street.

No protesters gathered with signs
but a few old timers came to watch
remembering their days in the thirties
when the eucalyptus trees stood
like sentinels between the road
and the acres of bean fields.

One hundred and four trees destroyed
no blood on the street but the smell
of eucalyptus oil permeated the air
the shadow and shade gone forever
because one of the trees fell

and took the life of an innocent driver.
The arborists said more could be ill
or maybe an earthquake deep underground.
Then without any public discussion
the trees came down one by one
tossed into the wood chipper,

a mechanical monster
from city maintenance,
chomped branches
until late afternoon.

Bow you heads…
take a moment to reflect
for life destroyed so needlessly
eucalyptus trees, soldiers at war,
and a random driver on a city street.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Broken Fences

The fence was built long ago
boundaries were clearly established
we knew where to stand
didn’t cross over unless invited
but time has worn away the paint
termites corroded the wood

easier for visitors to crawl through the opening
then walk around to the front gate
chickweeds and flowers grow side by side
we don’t talk like we used to
never see you in the yard anymore,

nor waiting at the front porch stoop
with the promise of adventure
beyond the broken barricade.

I remember watching you rebuild
the fence and painting it white ...
my childhood house had become our home.

Last night I looked up at the stars,
felt the breeze through the trees
shuffled in the darkness

realized I was so alone
dropped my tea cup,
heard it shatter …

then crossed a bridge over the stream
where you were waiting at a cobblestone path
hand in hand we broke through the borders
beyond the fence which separated us for so long.

Watercolor painting by drice

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

I Love Weekends

I love the time after hours of work
two days of freedom at the end of the week

if I plan my time right
I'll have plenty of hours for pure delight.

Sleep in late, then a leisurely breakfast,
theater and lunch with writers and cast,

a game of baseball at the local park
visit family and friends before it gets dark.

The next day will be more of the same
read the newspaper, play board games,

catch up on my favorite shows,
toss out the trash and wash my clothes.

The weekend ends much too soon
I must say good night to Sunday’s moon.

Monday morning arrives too early
I always wake up growling and surly.

How can I get through the following week?
By making plans right now as we speak.

I'll prepare for the weekend before it arrives
with something to look forward to... I will survive.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Death At 102

I know the goal of many is to live to be 100
but after the age of sixty most begin to dwindle,
their ability to give back becomes subtractive.
They are not as useful as younger people
in their forties. Has it ever occurred the reason

our children now have an extended adolescence
is because the older folks do not move aside
there is no need for the youngsters to step up
because the places they would assume
are still occupied by those who refuse to let go.

I think of my grandfather, who lived to be 100,
spent the latter part of his life waiting to die.
He outlived his wife by over fifty years,
never remarried because he thought his end
was just around the corner, spent his final years
taking long walks and long naps, which probably

contributed to his longer survival but if I look
at his extended time he really didn’t do much
worth remembering, maybe because he was
unprepared for his lengthy existence. The old
folks I know seem to spend their time playing
cards, games of golf, and extensive traveling.

Most of their pursuits are selfish endeavors to keep
themselves amused but little to make their life worth
the investment from taxpayers to keep them alive.
I stand on the threshold of making a choice,
if I’m going to live to be 102, what difference will I make
and how will it be worth the investment of money and time?

Monday, September 19, 2011

Broken Angel’s Wings

Today I broke an angel’s wing
I heard it shatter
on impact, shards scattered
all over the floor, his left wing

sliced to the core, and all that remains
gold flecks and white plaster.
I didn’t mean to,
I got distracted,
too impatient with another.

Acted too erratically and the result
... I broke Michael’s wing.
I’ll try to super glue it
but I don’t expect to be successful,
where do I put a statue with a broken wing?

He was given to me in a time of crisis
a symbol … a protector
when times were tough,
the archangel who forced
Lucifer into hell.

It's my mistake, I broke his wing
remind me to be patient with others
there is no need to become angry
what makes it twice as bad,
I also broke the wing of a dove.

Innocence smashed on impact.
I didn’t do it on purpose.
There’s got to be a way to make it whole
super, Elmer’s, or porcelain glue
one of those has got to work.

The cracks will never disappear
though years will pass, if it should hold.
I’ll have to explain the break to my
children's children reminding them
to be patient and to forgive others

because if they don’t,
they could break an angel’s wing
just like I did.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Baby’s Cry

Baby is a precious gift adored
by mother and father.
A little bundle of baby smells,
small noises and pudgy cuteness.

Little rose lips making sucking
sounds, small fist ready to grasp
a finger or dangling hair, folds of fat
indicating mother’s milk is good
to nurture the little progeny in those first

precious days of infancy.
Her cry, a little whimper,
barely heard except by the mother

or the family's curious cat.
Sometimes when everything is quiet
or special guests arrive

there is a tendency to check
on baby to see if she's awake
to see the color of her eyes

and hopefully to hear her coo
but if she wakes unexpectedly
she cries, and cries, and cries

so the lesson of the story...
watch her to see her breathing
but let sleeping babies lie.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Truth Left Unspoken

In a windowless room with a single light,
a bolted table, and a metal chair
sits a suspect with an interrogator’s

face pressed close.
Each glares into
the other’s eyes,

“Tell me the truth!” the sergeant shouts,
beads of sweat drop down his nose.

His stare is met with steely blues,
nary a blink to give him clues,

no hint to elicit the next question,
no segue to the next transition,
so the cop threatens physical force

walks behind the suspect
leans close to his ear,
“We have witnesses

who place you at the scene,
you have motive,
we have evidence,

now tell me the truth,
before I get mean.”

The suspect holds his breath,
his face turns red
and then dark blue

he passes out
and the interview
is through.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Wild Bears

Wild bears, just out of sight
watch the campers
unpack their gear,
wait until they go off
into the hills

then strike,
smashing the window
on the mini-van.

He and his buddy devour
cheetos, salty and crisp.
Gobble ham sandwiches and potato salad
don’t care much for the ding dongs
with aluminum wrappings

with tummies full
they are gone
long before the hikers return
to find the mess
they left behind.

Thursday, September 15, 2011


Clapping hands, stomping feet,
castanets and a voice, accompanied
by an acoustical guitar recall gypsies,
Arabs, Jews and indigenous Andalusian,
a people, who were all but forgotten.

The music of the poor and oppressed,
cante, palmas, toque, zapateado, baile
keep this dance for the people
take it to the stage, make it famous.

Evolution of rhythms, stanzas and ambiance
becomes the opera for the Spanish
can be found in the homes, on the streets,
in cafes and theaters across the land.

Gypsies, Arabs, Jews and indigenous
Andalusian, a music for the people
can’t be danced upon the sand, hear the sound,
feel the beat, express it with your feet.

Keep this dance for the people
take it to the street, let it
awaken forgotten memories.

A lone dancer and drummer
still attract a crowd
listen to the beat, hear the drum
keeping time with the pounding feet
pad da dap, dap, pad da dap, dap.

Classical and traditional
an attitude from the people
who know it in their bones
a passion, generations old
pad da dap, dap, pad da dap, dap.

A single guitar and singer
capture flamenco
in a stream of musical notes
in the shadows of a late afternoon
Ay ye yi ye ye, Ay ye yi ye ye.

The song, reminiscent of a call from Mecca
heard across desert sands
echoes in the land of Israel
music from the gypsy camps
and the indigenous Andalusian.

Many years of sorrow
passion still simmers in the embers
a call to battle for what matters
it’s all in the dance mi’jito
learn the steps mi’jita,
it’s all in the dance.

watercolor painting by drice

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Abraham's Choice

Faith is a conviction
about what is believed
the mysteries of life
explained by the invisible.

Actions are guided by
a supreme being
who dwells in the heavens above,
one who demands obedience,
justice, and adoration.

A jealous lover
with an insatiable hunger
for all thoughts,
hopes and desires
along with his demand for complete
devotion juxtaposed against a free will.

What a combustible environment
for the spirit to struggle in
with temptations all around
presented in desirable packaging
and in exchange
a bargain for the soul.

The faint hearted make the trade
early, while the hearty
can resist for a lifetime
and then without warning
give-in when there is a crisis,
or god demands his child...
will Abraham make the deal?

Will he swap his soul
for his child’s life?
His son will live,
the deal forgotten,
until judgment day
when satan comes to collect.

Will there be regret
even though his son
had a chance to live?
Especially when this act
of love betrays
the heavenly father?

Butterflies and peacock fans
ocean breezes and mother’s hands,
laughter across the mountainside
waterfall cascades
and early morning sunshine

all gone if he’s sent
to the pit of misery
where darkness reigns.

Would he wish to go back in time
to make a different choice
or would he choose his son’s life,
again, rejecting the heavenly father
and in the process
losing his immortal soul?

Abraham acted on faith,
went forward to complete the task
not knowing if god
would intervene
and stop his hand.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Puppet On A String

Obedience is like a puppet on a string
laws of physics supersede desire.

Religions and governments
attach one system of beliefs
try to guide the head to see the world
through prescribed rules of order.

Love attaches to the pelvis region
activates the swagger in a step
or the rocking in the dance.

Laws of the land control the hands,
their labor, what and who is touched
and for how long if at all.

The feet are under self control
determining which direction the body
will go. How high it will climb
whether it will run and hide
or kick and fight.

The other parts may think they are
in charge but if the feet don’t hang
around there is nothing left to do.

The moon is bright and the street
a perfect stage for a performance.
The puppeteer is ready but the puppet
decides to rebel.

What once was a coordinated movement
is now a tangled jumble of wood
and string. What a silly grin
on the puppet’s face

letting the audience know
today there won’t be a show.
The puppet needs time off
until the strings are cut
and tied again

more securely this time
to make the puppet
obey once more.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Maybe It Doesn’t Matter

Everything use to matter
today nothing makes sense
Get up, go to work, try to make a dollar
but since the great collapse
nothing really matters.

As a child we were actively aware
of the threat of communism
in order to resist it we defended
democarcy but it evolved to captialism
everything revolved around credit scores
and purchasing power.

None of it matters anymore.
Russia fell after their
fight in Afghanistan it made
us believe the USA had a better system
until our own fight in Afghanistan
left us pretty much the same as Russia.

Is it true what I've heard about that ancient land?
If you go in you won’t come out the same again.

Someone left the back door open and like a thief,
China came in and took control of our government,
along with capitalism and our consumer debt.
Will our grandchildren be forced to speak
Chinese and all dress the same?

Will free thought be illegal,
everyone restricted to one child,
we will learn to walk lock step
in this bloodless revolution?

We must acknowledge our situation,
tap into American ingenuity
and our love for liberty
to reclaim the traditions
that made us a great nation.

Don’t support industries who take jobs
overseas, those who use the profit margin
for all their business decisions.

Education is one of our greatest assets,
use it now to further our goals
for a future with us still in it.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Remembering 9/11

It was my first week as principal
supervising seven brand new teachers
and the other more mature crew.
We arrived at school with word
of the breaking news and watched
in horror as the story unfolded.

One of the new teachers cried,
“I’m too young for this I want
my mommy and daddy.”
Word from the district office
said, “Keep the T.V. off.

Make the day as normal as possible
to keep the children calm.
Until we get more news, there
is nothing else to do.”
I gathered the teachers in one room
and told them the plan,

reminding them the event was happening
in New York, several thousand miles away
and nothing would be served by frightening
the children today. “But what if they should
ask?” one teacher queried.

“Let them know school is a safe place
and we will do everything on schedule
until it is time for them to go
and when they get home they can
talk to their parents about the events.”

One teacher was not in the group.
I walked to her class after the bell,
she was busy telling the kids the dangers
of war. One little girl was curled in a fetal
position, crying and wanting to go home.

I stepped in to let them know,
"Yes, a bad thing has happened
but you’re safe here at school
and we’re going to keep it that way."

The little girl uncurled, moved closer
to touch my hand and everyone took a deep breath
because our day would go as planned.

I handled calls from frightened parents
assured them we would be safe. If they wanted
they could take their kids home but
I didn’t think it was in their best interest.

The police came to meet with the teachers
to let them know the city was on alert.
A big sigh of relief and nervous laughter
and comments about how handsome they were
and did I get their names and numbers?

I announced on the school speaker
before the kids went home,
"Something terrible has happened
but the terrorist have won
if we become afraid.

Our best defense is to move on
to create the future we want.
If ever there was a time for heroism
and leadership today is the one."

I heard a cheer from the classrooms
then waited outside to say goodbye
to the students as they went home,
followed by the teachers who rushed
out to be with their families.

When the school was quiet
after a very stressful day
I received a call from my oldest son,
he said, “We, lost the baby.”

Those were the first tears I shed.
I cried with my son, for the loss
of his son not carried to full term...
one more casualty of the day.

Whenever I’m asked to remember
events of 9/11, I can recount in detail
the actions of those courageous teachers
who did what was needed, didn’t give in
to their fears but kept the children safe
and Democracy alive for another day
then I wept for the loss of my grandson.

Saturday, September 10, 2011


Sparrows, like ping-pong balls,
bobbed up and down
on the backyard lawn.
Several worms
arrived for breakfast
didn’t know they’d be
the main meal
but life is like that
full of surprises
you kissed me goodbye
like you've always done.

Crows sat on a wire
shouting out their alarm
mocking birds dove in,
like crazed pilots,
and the black birds
like shattered glass
across a sunlit sky
but grief is like that
there is never a good time
to say goodbye.

Friday, September 9, 2011

House of Cards

As a child I used to play
with a deck of cards one
carefully balanced on the other.
An errant breeze could topple them
but with controlled breathing
and a steady hand, I positioned one
then another to build mine
taller than my brother's.

So much like my life today
one thing is dependent on the other
a misstep and all my work
undone. When I was a child it was easy
to pick up the cards and start again
but now as adult I’m tired,
who needs a house of cards anyway?

With foreclosure and bankruptcy
unemployment and false democracy
I’m looking for a handout
or a kick in the butt,
something to motivate me
to get moving again.

I think I’ll pursue my fantasy
enter the realm of comedy
get a laugh for all my troubles
find a different purpose in life
rather than just pretending
everything will be okay again.

I’ll stop creating façades
creating perfect teeth, perfect skin,
perfect body, perfect life,
seeking approval from those I don’t know.
I stand before you with all my faults
to make you laugh.

If you’re lucky you might see
yourself in my imperfect world
going through the motions
maybe the only reason
we were born is to help each other
laugh and somehow to get along.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Seeking the Future

Fortune told for a dollar a minute
if you look into her crystal ball
to see what the future holds.

Tales of Armageddon abound
on the cable television channel
scare tactics designed to take
your breath away so you will tune in
again next week to hear about another threat.

Beware, your fear will immobilize you
and two things will happen. First, you will
not prepare for the potential threat
nor will plan for a possible future
because it doesn't matter anyway
if the world is going to end tomorrow.

I don’t need a crystal ball because
the future I see will be pretty much
the same as what we have today,
things will happen and we will react.

Babies will be born, people will die
some will fall in love others won't,
but life will go on in some form.
Mother nature can’t be controled
but we can learn from her
to build better structures
and stronger warning systems.

We can reorginize our socials systems
by choosing better leaders,
and becoming one of them
bringing back morality and ethics
as part of the equation.

We can make choices
to affect the whole society
instead of only special interests
build a vision for community,
in all of its diversity,
in order to discover
the best way to live together.

We can look to the past to discern
the good ideas from the bad,
the great ideas from the ordinary,
and whether we do it with a group
or by ourselves we can create a future
instead of waiting for someone else
to get it right.

Today it seems there are
many problems with very few answers
but these times are not as bad
as the middle ages when they faced the plague
nor are they as awful as when the whole world
was at war, with many men from every family
facing oblivion in a foreign country.

Yes, there is a famine in Africa
and a fire in Texas, Israel and Pakistan
are fighting with each other,
but today, my children get along
and the sun is shining where I live.

There is a breeze coming from across
the ocean. I have to accept this reality
while helping out those who are struggling.

More attention paid to those close at hand
changing what I can and remembering to pray
every day and responding to others with love.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Hanging On

You’ve come into my home
broken and scared
you’ve made a deal with the devil
now he wants your soul
and you’re hanging on, hanging on

you’ve made a deal with the devil
and he is coming for your soul.

Was a time things were under control
you didn’t want or need much
but you wanted fame and in exchange
you made a deal for your soul
and you’re hanging on, hanging on
and he is coming for your soul.

Fame wasn’t what you imagined
you became afraid up on the stage
you felt the devil had reneged
on his part of the deal
and now you’re hanging on, hanging on
but he said he wants your soul.

Like a vortex in a storm
you brought a vacuum in your wake,
everything in your path
gets sucked in and destroyed
but you're hanging on, hanging on
with Satan at your feet.

You reached out to touch me
with hands as cold as ice
You bent down to kiss me
lips chapped and breath not so nice
but you’re hanging on, hanging on
and I won’t let you go.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Crazy Dream

The auction started with models
on the runway wearing
clothes made for everyday.

Prices were low but many buyers
didn't show, the old lady said,
“We must buy a gown for your wedding.”

The bride wondered if the groom
would start to worry but the old
woman said, “Follow me I know a short cut.”

They drove through a cornfield
to a path under a large mansion
but it was very narrow and dusty.

The bride, dressed in white, cried
at the sight, and wanted to find another way
but the granny said,“Trust me,
it's quicker than the highway.”

In a little while they pulled out
through the other side. She and the bride
were disheveled and weary but alert.

The old lady climbed into the house and started
taking items saying, “They’ve got more
than they need, some of it must belong to me.”

When the home owner shouted, "Stop."
Grandma scowled then knocked over a table
walking out with all she could carry.

The young bride wasn’t aware of granny's theft
she was wiping smudges from her face,
combing her hair and straightening out her veil.

They could hear the groom gasp
when they entered the church late
he had almost called off the wedding.

What once made sense is like this crazy
dream, from predictable to one which lost
its hold on reality and everyone knows

life can’t go on like this, too insane
with conflicts and misdirected information
co-mingle with everyday events.

A mind may be strong but there's a point,
when it is wandering in the darkness
looking for meaning where there is none.

Monday, September 5, 2011

St. Celestina

Celestina didn’t believe in god,
she didn’t have to, because she knew him.
It's a fact, she wasn't crazy
so they believe what she said
felt sad they couldn’t see what she saw
or know god like she knew him.

When bad things happened, her relationship
with god never faltered, these were
not signs that god didn't exist
or that he was particularly cruel
but it all part of an earthly design,
cause and effect, action and reaction.

Prayer lifted her up
above the foray
while others despaired, she sang
praises knowing he was always
near and wouldn’t leave her.

She shared her experiences with others
but temptations on earth are many,
it is easier for people to defy god
or try to take charge, only to be exiled
because of their doubt and pride.

Souls are left to wander in the abyss
forsaken but not forgotten
any time they ask forgiveness
he takes them back into his fold.

There is no need to wear sack cloth
and ashes for public humiliation
Celestina and the other saints
will intercede to help all souls
return to the father.

Saints hold a mirror
not for vanity’s sake but for love.
Trust them to show god's promise
they will escort you to god's path
and invite you to follow.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

The Gold Star

I remember Sister Genevieve
opening her little red and white box
of gold stars and carefully taking one,

poised carefully on her fingertips,
to her lips to lick it then placing
it on a chart with fifty names.

Only thirteen got that gold star
for a 100% on their spelling test
but they were the same ones who
had a row of stars earned week after week.

At least sixteen in the class of fifty
had no stars since September and probably
wouldn’t get one the rest of the year.

What I know now, is the gold star
was an indicator of wealth and privilege.
Every so often there was an anomaly, like Eliza,

whose father was a migrant worker.
She broke the bell curve and earned that star
every week, but she never got the status,
never became the teacher’s favorite

relegated instead to work with those
of her ethnicity in order to lift
them up to equalize the gap.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Morning Song

Listen to the birds
prattle in the trees
if I let my imagination stray
I understand everything they say.

Most of it is gossip
where they’ve been
and where they plan to be,
who they have seen
and who they hope to see.

There are some arguments among the girls
about which boy they love the most
and the boys, like all boys brag
about who has the biggest wing spread.

They get into a tussle
to prove which one is right
the girls scream and giggle
they always love a fight.

In a few days it will be time
to choose their life long mates
so the nests have to be built
hidden away from predators and pests.

Until then they play their games
flitting from tree to tree
flirting with each other

until it is time for procreation
to sustain their species
for another generation.

I wonder if love really
has anything to do with it
can they experience jealousy?

Will one ever leave the other
or is there something sacred
since there is no original sin?

Does the darkness ever get in
and can they get along
until their time together ends?

Friday, September 2, 2011

Moving On

The clothes I wore last summer
are too small for the new year
my shoes, half worn, don’t fit me anymore
it’s time for moving on, moving on
because everything has changed.

Mother looks tiny standing by the door
I can touch the ceiling now
and see my father eye to eye.
Time for moving on, moving on
because everything has changed.

The baby they once knew
is still here in my smile
but I want my independence
time for moving on, moving on
because everything has changed.

I’ve learned to read and multiply,
and think about my world
I'm coming to the conclusion
it's time for moving on, moving on
because everything has changed.

Kids are three inches taller
and many run in packs
so where do I fit in?
Time for moving on, moving on
because everything has changed.

Nothing left to do
but to figure out my plan
time for moving on, moving on
because everything has changed.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Old Time Movies

Those grainy flecks on the black and white flick
jump about like fleas on a trampoline
but don't distract us from the scenes.

Capture our attention with a little burlesque show
give us some slapstick to make us laugh out loud
with rapid jerky movements and obscure organ music.

For excitement offer us extreme close-ups
of handsome men with rakish grins and dark mustaches
and women with silky skin and long wavy hair.

No words but lots of melodrama
eyeliner to accentuate their emotion
delivered through those haunting eyes.

We'll sit back in a dark theater
go to places far away, to social situations
we'd never know except as shown on the screen.

We’ll line-up for tickets early
to be entertained for an hour or so
from Metropolis to Dracula
Keystone Cops and Valentino

Invite us with your sixty second trailers
we'll come to old time movies
on every other weekend.