Wednesday, August 10, 2005

....July has been fertile....

Perspective I

We walk the way we often go
but backwards
and in morning
to see if the Questing Sniff
will be more waggedly excited
by the same old scenery
seen the other way round.

12 July 2005

Perspective II

Last year
I was excited by
the seventeen year locust
their cackling song
their crackling wings
their fragile empty bodies
left behind


I am also excited
by the regular ones
that sing to me
each summer
from the trees.

I like the rhythmic rise and fall of
buzzing thrum.

In Howard County, my
well-off friends complained
the decibel level last year
violated local
noise ordinances. I wondered
how it was possible
to ordinate

12 July 2005

In The Moment

Sometimes she peeks from river
eyes of a familiar stranger
appears in twists of smoke against
clouded skies, shines
in the reflection of taillights on wet
and sparkling streets.

She sings in strings and
chimes and
woods and blare of
diesel engines across open field
at night.

She's at the bottom
swirled through the center, floating
on the surface
of a smokey cup of coffee, in the
final crumbs of
well-executed cheesecake.

I feel her in the breeze that scrapes my cheek
tousels my hair
slithers damp and sultry down my spine.

I find her, too, in
pain and
horror and
miserable relationships, which I
mostly don't have, but she's
there when I do.

She's in sleek pelts, slick paint jobs and
slow molten kisses.
She is the Muse. I take her where she comes.

11 July 2005; #28- Rev. 11 October 2005

Leaving Service

I tracked down the remote control
and dusted the teevee
cleaned off the propane grill
pruned back the tree.

I washed socks and underwear
stocked the fridge with beer
bought a brand-new toothbrush, so I'll
leave the old one here.

Plumped cushions on the sofa where
he sometimes sleeps til dawn
I've got a couple days headstart
before he notices I've gone.

3 July 2005

I Am The House, She Said

They come through in many
bright colours
exotic flavours
a wild variety of folk who walk
the globe provoking thought
and awe and

Why do you not go
too, they sometimes asked, wondering
if her talent was
only rumor.

I am a small fish in a
small pond, she replied, not a
salmon in a river, a
tuna in the sea. I will not flow
with current nor ebb
with tide. They looked at her and
wafted in
and out of her life like
seasons revolving through her
nurture, staying for comfort
and tea.

Someday, they thought, she might
seek glory
hefty paychecks
and the world.

People come and go, opening
doors and closing windows. Secrets are told, stories
unfold, ideas roll around
and around and around. The walls
have ears and the furniture's an invitation
to sit, to stay, to chat. The kitchen
offers food, the
fold-out beds, rest.

I am the house, I said.

3 July 2005

& 17 &

Mouth parched from heat or
anticipation. Lick lips
to taste you again.

1 August 2005; #29

Through a Lens

Rounded jaw
relaxes atop
reposing rosebud mouth
which quivers gently, tugging
tiny chin.

Wispy curl caresses
silky brow
tangled, tickling upturned

Lashes smudge a crescent
shadow on cherubic cheek
inhale, exhale,

Soft sleeping child
creates oasis
of peace and sweet.

31 July 2005