Photo: www.photographyblogger.net

*

Sitting in straight rows

we stare at tiny screens

lonely, together

*

She screams so loudly.

It’s been almost ten minutes.

At least she’s with Dad.

*

He covers her up,

a blanket for his lady,

his fifty-year wife.

*

Thirty thousand feet,

two wings, spread across the sky,

and potential friends.

*

My destination?

Wherever this airplane flies.

Up, apparently.

*

Some food would be nice.

I’ve had four bags of pretzels.

Oh, and some peanuts.

*

Why do they like me?

Sprightly lithe and prancing gents

think I’m something else…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes rise like smoke

choking out all others

with the rough hands

of time and tragedy.

Their beautiful hums

sing a sustained song,

peering with insistent gaze

into hearty souls

and soulish hearts.

Broken teeth still chatter

with the bite of loss

and the taste of pain.

But this broad sound

rises to the occasion

like no other.

A land, many times stolen,

is the only crucible fit

to shape this enduring

roar, this brutish beauty.

She, soaked in brine of peat

and multicolored limbs,

snorts in stoic disregard

for all that dares

impede the moorish march

of belief in yesterdays.

Any old fool can pose

a lust for tunish repast

‘round doilied tables of tea and greed,

disgust of the rich, the divas of demand.

Not this sweet savage,

not this tumble down lullaby

haunt of kings, joke of ghosts.

In her misty-eyed song

you’ll find no sorrys,

just a jolly lament

and the bittersweet ceilidh

of the lost.

Sing along…if you dare.

Picture: www.bagpipers.com  (my kinda website!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The quail can always find a home

‘neath bush and tree and garden gnome.

Their pencil legs a meager stand

are still enough to ‘scape my hand.

They jut and dart and squirt around

like wing-ed hamsters, rarely found,

and when the time has come to dine

they squiggle cross my lawn to find

a twig, a bud, a worm or two

to feed their quail-ettes like they do.

They never come just two or three

but dozens, quite the sight to see.

These paragons of Spring time flare

though awkward, still they, willing, dare

to squat inside my arbor bush

until their next big dinner rush.

 

Picture: www.mommaneedsabeer.blogspot.com

Looking at his watch he notices

how evenly spaced are the numbers

that so unevenly divide his life.

So, he takes it off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Picture: www.123rf.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The tide turns

and the boat, no longer tethered,

churns a wake.

With leeward winds

abounding riches, a wait.

“Look” says she,

“that is where I was.

This, now, is where I’m going,

where the broad, flat earth

sprawls herself shamelessly under

the weighty horizon.”

So with constancy and dependence,

breeze on cue and love in the hull,

the water rubs her belly

and she leans toward an open sea.

 

 

Picture: www.erwinnavyanto.in

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 10, 2013

 

When hope has turned her lovely gaze

t’ward soft’ning night and bright’ning days,

then eye of light upon me stays,

revealing what love lifted.

* * *

Like still night air we find our voice,

intoned and waiting to rejoice

where darkness once denied this choice;

we find what love has sifted.

* * *

As hands, rejoined, now find their place

to touch a lover’s loving face

returned in heaven’s sweet embrace,

to learn how God has gifted.

* * *

Hope has promised paradise.

Promised grace, new love enticed.

Picture: www.weheartit.com

At the airport

Folks who get there the latest

always have much to say

about the line-ups,

how slow they move,

and Muslims,

behind

them.

* * *

Speeding Ticket

Sometimes the best excuse wins.

“Officer, see this hair?

If it’s not perfect

by three o’clock

I’ll never

get the

job.”

* * *

Bitch-Slap

“So, is that what you’re wearing?”

“Of course. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s just rather…brave

to wear those stripes

with a body

that doesn’t

really…

work.”

* * *

Starbucks

He sits and faces the door.

That way, people see him.

And that’s why he’s here:

just to be seen,

with laptop

and a

smile.

* * *

From the Elevator

A strange and heavy odor

now forces through the air.

Will someone claim it?

Just disdain it?

Add to it?

It was

me.

* * *

Airport picture: www.mlive.com

Elevator picture: www.funnyordie.com

Picture: www.thescarydiseasecancer.blogspot.com

Food Value

Such fine dietary fare,

this hamburger and fries.

If not for the milk,

‘twould be better

to eat a

cardboard

box.

* * *

Hoover

The vacuum cleaner clatters,

it’s rumbling roar outdone

by clinks, clanks and clunks

of somebody’s

favorite

silver

chain.

* * *

Territory

Who’d have thought this little dog

had so much shit inside?!

We’ve only been gone

for half an hour

and he’s dropped

a load

thrice.

* * *

Nowhere Kids

Some kids seem born to suffer

the fate of rejection.

Their peers, a mean lot,

off’ring thoughtless acts,

of cruelty-

their best

gift.

* * *

Locker Politics

He leans against her locker

and smells her golden hair.

He tries to impress

but gets instead

a shoulder,

cold and

hard.

Picture: www.that1guy19.blogspot.com