Invitation

The magnolia
tree has bloomed,
though it be but one flower it
is holy and white, without
stain or blemish,
Such a sight!
There is hope,
surely the sun
will notice
and return
to warm its
petals and,
thus encouraged,
we will all
bloom
anew

Bit By Bit

4:30pm
silence
for one minute
to remember victims
of the London Bridge attack
and I felt a smack of guilt
over my lack
of concern but I have
sadness enough sitting here
an ocean away as the
incessant rain
pounds pieces of my soul
to the bloated ground
and she cannot hold me,
rejected
I am fed
bit by bit
through the dank concrete
storm drain
where on fairer days
the groundhog likes to stay
and they say this rain
which has stolen me
will go the sea –
so there I will be,
fractured and bruised
a soggy black and blue,
not even mighty Neptune
will know what to do
to make me of use
again

Parched

I have
crawled
valiantly
through the
searing sands
today with
all the
grace of a
skittering
scorpion
searching
for some
hapless
arachnid
to devour it

was no spider
I sought
but a drop
of elixir
from the muse now

sprawled
face up
glaring
into the eye
of the
unflinching
sun

not even a
tear will come

perspiration
my only
inspiration only

vultures
to attend
my poetic
cremation

Dervish

Poems
blood
and
flesh,
hypnotic
largesse
of peace,
gentle white
hibiscus
blooming
towards
the earth
roots spiraling up
swooning
to caress
the face
of God,
ecstatic
swirls
of Rumi’s
love
profound

Release

“It’s not
cancer,”
and there
was a breath,
a breath
like that
first breath
upon being
released from
the constriction
of the womb,
full of
hope and
promise
and joy

Marathon

Pacing
waiting for the
mailman
Pacing
waiting for the dog to
poop
Pacing
waiting for the phone to
ring
Pacing
Pacing
because, damn, I
I’ve forgotten
something
Pacing
waiting for a
poem
Pacing
praying for the panic to
ease
Pacing
waiting for the hour to
pass
Pacing
Pacing
because the future is coming too
fast
Pacing
to outpace the
past

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