Fly

. . . only lived two days
A perpetual motion machine
first this way
then that
sampling everything
he could find
until the end
which he spent
hopping along the floor
and even then
he found something
to like –
a leftover crumb
from the dog’s
marrow treat
big enough
for all six
of his tiny feet
and that was that
Drifting into
a tiny fly dream
he never came back

Swim for your Life!

Time
is still

A black
bottomless
expanse from
here
to
there

Places
undefined
save in
our minds
and we
swim

Swim hard

Tiring we tread
and all that
remains is to
float until
we slip
beneath
the surface
to the
unperturbed
deep

Neatly absorbed

Not a ripple
cast
No time elapsed
or passed
or flew

Only we moved

Noisily

Splashing
through an
unchanging
immeasurable
truth

Head Scratcher

How to live life
I wonder
thinking of
The Duke
Bottle of tequila
most every night
Chain smoker
Lung removed
but he laughed
a lot with his
many, many friends
and long after the end
still so beloved
Cancer ate him up
It ate up my brother, too
who didn’t do
any of those things

Lost Testament

I stopped at a
greasy spoon
for a morning meal
Back booth
Petrified
cracked vinyl
cushion
Told the waiter
I was the
risen lord
and he rolled
his eyes
Shrugged
“You want lemon
in your water?”
Walking on water
becomes problematic
with lemon wedges
bobbing about.
“No thanks”
just then an
ambulance came
squealing down
Main Street
and I didn’t
follow to
heal them

I should have

Felt bad
but I was
famished
My 3-egg
omelette
was delayed

so I stayed

and waited

There will be
other days
for making
miracles

We’re all waiting
for something

Thursdays with Ernie

One must write
when it’s time
to write
despite
the dark angels
of indifference

hovering

Mother said
nothing
would come
of it
Another claimed
it could,
that I would
rule the world
so I shuffle along
the crowded way
between the two
avoiding the gaze
of the muse
lest I be thrust
into greatness
where villainous
critics wait

salivating
to eviscerate
every phrase

hook
line
and
sinker
and

here comes
Hemingway
again
eager to drink
my wine
then slap
my back
for encouragement

uninvited

I wish he would
go away – I can
scarcely pay
for my own vices

Spymaster

The cedars were
whispering mysteries
in the easy rain
as day began
padding catlike
along the
eastern mountains
wet tracks
snaking over
the ridge line
but her approach
did not come
unnoticed,
the cedars,
old and wise,
slipped their
secrets off their
shoulder with a
sexy sway
and a smitten
westbound
wind,
ever dutiful,
whisked them
safely away

Summit

Devils and dictators
Always smiling
Joyous as crows

at day’s dawn
surveying
rows and rows
of sweet corn

Sweet tender corn
standing tall and straight
not anticipating
the harvest
that awaits

Devils and dictators
Always smiling
Joyous as crows

Smiling

Because they know

Think, Think, Think!

Pen to paper
Simple strokes
down and
up and
around
amounting to
nothing profound
and the sun
will soon
slide below
the horizon
wanting no part
of my mind’s
ponderous
pondering

For that
we have
the moon,
and thunder
in the night,
and great horned owls
in deadly, silent flight
or as Pooh
might opine,
“Oh, bother”