Mayhem In Suburbia

It’s chaos
on my street,
neighbor kids
screaming
blood-curdling
screams
from their
trampoline,
garish
yellow-wheeled
ice cream truck
inching menacingly
past blasting
Pop
Goes
the
Weasel
at painful
decibels
the old fellow’s
a madman
holding the wheel
so relaxed,
expressionless
in the midst
of these facts –
doesn’t he know
the neighbor died
a few days ago?
And I don’t have
any cash.

Interrogation

Thunder is pounding at the front door,
lightning is leering aggressively
through the palladium window
next, I fear, waterboarding
but I know nothing –
perhaps a small something –
that squirrels have a thing
for sunflower seeds
and bees
are keen
on flowers,
hardly anything
to appease
a summer shower
thirsting to swell
its knowledge.
Thunderstorms
have known well
such trivia
since the
opening bell of
forever

Spaniel

Taking advantage of my kindness
he saunters beneath my dangling toes
in calm assurance of my compliance
sweeping back and forth along his spine,
his personal buddha dispensing bliss

this, and healthy sustenance,
a selection of plush resting
spots in blue and tan
and regular tete-a-tete
which he, in his kindness,
pretends to understand

Tent City Theology

We thank you
truly
o’ King
for this
bounteous
harvest of pain
o’ do tell us
again
of the
treasures
you’ve saved
for our
devoted
faithful
deaths,
alone,
undone in
mental
wards,
starving
at this
table of
promises

Divine Opera

The gray
catbird
looks nothing like a cat

I can overlook that

Its melodious
aria
drifting
deliciously
from deep
in the
magnolia
moves me
to set aside
such pettiness,
a performance
so grand
the gods
are in
attendance

Cradle

Blood red
Orange
Africa
Like a zircon
gouged from
the ground of
Tanzania
Like a shimmering
sweltering
serengeti sunset
Like blood on
Sierra Leone
diamonds
Like the
corner of the
Zambian flag
Like the
feverish
flow
of my
ganglion
imagination

Bones and Kneecaps

I am
addicted to
stones
and I blame the
gods
for creating such
exquisite crystal
bones
and
kneecaps
for Mother
Earth.
They have it
all

beauty
power
mystery
magic
inner peace

They ride
in my
pocket
wherever I
choose to be
without a peep
of objection
and when they speak,
(which is infrequent),
it is always worth
leaning in to
hear.

I choose them over
humans –

mostly –

my wife
and good
poets
are encouraged to
stay
and a few other
souls
from along the
way

Caw! Caw!

I write well,
a decent poet
who could be
magnificent with
passionate devotion

true also of
the teak sitar
leaning against the
corner chair
and the even
more sublime
teak surbahar
standing silent
against the wall

yes, magnificence
awaiting my
passionate devotion,
to include
the ocean
of handcrafted flutes
now collecting dust
unused
beside
two high end
guitars.

Surrounded by
unbounded
possibilities
while I float,
ungrounded,
accomplished at
nothing
save imagining
accomplishment,
unable to choose
a final legacy,
the special
something
to define me
in a world that
doesn’t know I
exist,
a wayward
crow
gathering
shiny things
for no
particular
end

the dead
don’t give it
a thought