Face in the Wood

Gnarled face in knot of wood
Stares back through wall of time
The lines of which unravel
Revealing strength of face
I would follow into the polished wood
And imprisoned world of spirits there
Where gods once walked in natural forms
As white horse emerging from morning mist
Or wolf plucking dewberries with gentle fangs
But the wild wood hewn
Can only compel my gaze
And whisper to me now.

Chocolate, Beer, and Bookstalls

TV on I hear of chocolates and go about my business.

Then a question:

Which of the 300 Belgium beers will you try?

I answer the travel documentarian -

Framboisen.

And reeling me in from my lack of attention,

I am caught on the line:

Every other shop a book stall.

My wanderlust unleashed,

I want, want, want, want, want

Chocolate, beer, and book stalls.

Coevolution

We build shelter

Alike in industry.

Hindered,

We strike defensively.

We tend the garden

For the greater good.

We share our stripes

Misunderstood.

We understand

It is their reaction

That makes them swell indignantly.

Wildflowers

To blooming daughter

I have passed the torch of spring

Fire in flower.

My Hero

My hero is not the sort 

I've read of in the books,

But a frail man in a wheelchair

Who's giving me the looks.

Knees shot up,

Bayonet in the arm,

Shrapnel in the head.

He says,

"I've got a bronze star,

a silver star,

for letting people shoot at me."

I also know he has three purple hearts

and 173 are dead.

My hero is the sort

I've read of in the books,

But now he's old and forgotten

His courage never waning.

Stages of Humor

Trying to catch a sunbeam
My little guy
Reaching for the shaft of light
Shining through a closed door
Chubby fingers grasping on emptiness
And giggling like only babies do.

My little genius
Philosopher to be
Giggling like only a teen can do
When left unattended for one minute
In a Hobby Lobby
Rearranging wooden letters
Painted in sparkling pastels
To spell the word "poop."

Proud I am he showed restraint
Having imagined some other word
But saying to himself,
"Well, that's too vulgar
For there are little kids here,
And they will think 'poop' is funny."

Fool

Damned if I am
Damned if I ain't
The fool for the day.

Not wanting to draw down
The attention of the gods
I didn't say my prayers.


But there's freedom in knowing I am
Damned if I do
Damned if I don't.

Of Doves and Buzzards

                                                     Of doves and buzzards

                                                      There are pairs

But the lone coyote

Does not have the cares

That paired ones share

And keeps more distance

Not having wings to fly away

To begin with.

But of doves and buzzards

With voice of night

The lone coyote sings

                                                     Broadcasting plaintive plight

                                                       Unanswered.

Out On a Limb

We don't mind when you go out on a limb

To make us laugh.

We don't mind when you go out on a limb

To help us.

We don't even mind when you go way out

To annoy us,

Because you are the Annoyasaurus.

But no more going out on a limb!

Angst Revisited

Teen angst penciled

by my son . . .

I am impressed,

but wonder where it comes from . . .

Then I remember

those dangerous formative days . . .

And know not all my angst

has left me.

Eyes of March

The eye of Spica

Star of Virgo

The eye of Josiah

Hiding, his bath to forgo

The eye of Acorn

Soprano of burro concerto

The eye of my daughter

Hears souls crescendo

The eye of her camera

Finds mementos. 

Lamb on the Lam

Twenty minutes on the clock
The face of my free spirit
Against the window pain
Of my working soul
Looking out to the forest
Through subjected eyes
Would jump through the pane
And frolic like a spring lamb
But the wolves of hunger
Snarl at dreams on the lam
And keep me punching in
And punching out
Penned inside a body
Enslaved by brick walls.

Bright and Empty Space

The white page is the light

When I have nothing left to say

The black letters

Little birds that fly away

The two together bound

Of gentler thoughts made

A cage of unruliness

Where fears are played

Until submitted to paper

Perched in sleep

Silenced prayers

My soul to keep

My fingers turn another page

The light is bright

And empty space

The American Nightmare

The American nightmare
Begins with a dream
And ends with foreclosure

Is a beautiful mind
Sent to school
For a dumbing down

Is a horn of plenty
Made of nothing
But corn

Is purchased
With the wages
Of two or three jobs

But that is okay
We have always been
Hard workers

From the time
We were captured
Or indentured

And not much has changed
We still have it made
In our first world

Though most everything
Is now made
In China

Where I would venture
To compare blades they use
With the ones they sold me

In American markets
Of mediocrity
And planned obsolescence

Where the trash piles up
And overflows landfills
Where nothing can grow

Polluted plots
Not fit to build
A home on.

Contents Under Pressure

They are but balloons

Inflated with anger

Afloat with bloated indignation.

Would they could pop and spew

Foul contents on he who holds their strings,

Except that I am caught in the middle

Juggling the bedpans and emesis basins.

The Crone Knows

The maiden does not know
What she does not remember,
But when she recognizes in a man
His power to move the earth
Out from under her feet
It begins to come back to her.
Maiden, mother, crone.

The mother known
Does not have time to remember
For she is consumed with
The procreation of children,
An artistic madness to produce
Works of art in her own image.
Maiden, mother, crone.

Children grown with children of their own
With children of their own
The crone knows
And babbles incomprehensible mysteries
Into the void of understanding
Between her and her caretakers
Who mistake her malady
For the dementia of old age.
Maiden, mother, crone.

Colors Learned in Preschool

The pigs,
That's what we called them,
Walked right in to wake me up
From my preschool nap.

The teacher,
She liked orange
Because it is a friendly color,
Chewed them up like a BLT.

Despite her indigestion
The pigs took me out
To the sidewalk by the green grass
For questioning.

They squatted in front of me.
It didn't stop my terror.
I'm pretty sure it tied my tongue.
Really, what could I have said?

Little white girl in a black neighborhood
Did not understand
Then
What the problem was.  Is?

But I knew it had something to do with
The Twinkies.

My mom's friend was black,
You see, another color.
He looked suspicious
Picking up a brat like me.

He was pretty cool,
In retrospect,
Offered me a shiny red apple
Like First Lady Obama would.

But there were other colors
On the shelves
At my eye level
Like bright spongy yellow.

And I do remember throwing a fit.
And I do remember getting snatched
Up into his arms
With neither the red nor yellow.

I'm glad I wasn't there
When the black and white,
How ironic,
Cars surrounded him.

But I was taking a nap,
Because after the parade
He took me to school
And I fell asleep after Sesame Street.

Today I read Blue Ribbon owners
Will bid on Twinkies
And Ding Dongs
And other artificial colors.

Maybe I will drink their cheap beer
And remember an old friend.
I could do that.
But I won't eat a Twinkie.

Shut Up

It doesn't matter.

I don't care.

I haven't the heart.

Just leave it there :]

That's enough.

It will pass.

It's not enough.

It never lasts :]

Just walk away.

There's nothing there.

I don't matter.

It doesn't care.

Aelfbee

I never knew my ears were odd

Because they came to points like no one else's

Until I went to school for public teasings

As if I were human, but of some other species.

So when I was eleven

I escaped in books of fantasy

And there met creatures elven

And others even more fantastical.

Still I could not shake the stigma

Of being different

And wished my pointed ears away.

Half granted, an ear ripped off one day.

And now I look a bit Van Gogh-ish

With a wish that one ear left

Is enough to grant me passage

Aboard a ship that's sailing west.

Though no longer in a hurry to board her

To lands far, far away

For I've been given offspring here

Who are just as weird as me.

Song of the Desert Cardinal

He was

Like a drop of blood

In shark infested waters

Sprinkled through the trees

All predators could see.

What was she thinking?

What was she thinking?

Under

My simple wing

She could have hidden

All along.

What was she thinking?

What was she thinking?

I will take her

Now that he is fallen,

Her heart for him

Still calling.

What will she think?

What will she think?

I will woo her in redness

Of sunrise,

Wrap her in plain feathers

And warm down.

What am I thinking?

What am I thinking?