When I was in school years ago
my school girl Captain
a very smart and sweet gal was she
said hello you
come see
here
i c u r more
HOLY than Righteous

I learned two words
HOLEY
and
RIGHT YES

I was woefully poor
and
wore a green sweater
with a million holes

That's how my old sweater story goes
You said on such incidents
I must poetry compose

here is my first silly dose
she
The gal
was a
pretty(iest)
ROSE...

tumultuous waves writhe
sweeping away garbage to sea shores
for life within to sustain in the mother liquor

sun eases her womb bursting with fresh brine
letting out steam to soothe her turmoil
turning buoyant crimson clouds grey

stolen of moonwalk they let loose their temper
reigning havoc with thunderous livid bolts
cool winds rush to ease burden of their anguish

If you didn’t see
The brilliant flash
You heard
The low, guttural rumble

Like a thunderstorm
Life is a full on
Sensory experience

The kiss of rain
The music of the sky
The torrent of so much love

A drastic change
In the weather

That makes you
Pull over
In awe
On the side
Of life’s road

Cancel your carefully laid plans
To make new
Spur-of-the-moment
Memories

So much power
It can short circuit
Our limited
Understanding

The morning was unapproachable,
gloomy, not promising much,
not letting the world wake up.

You'd spilled both of our coffees.
I worried you burned yourself.

But you said,
you only lost your body map
and joked something about that
asking for help.

I took downstairs
coffee soaked bedding.
You went on a conference call.

I closed the windows
not to hear the hungry cries
of newborn foxes.

Babies bred not on their ancestral ground
Yet children of conflict and conflicted
Some fare well although many welfare bound
Their lives constrained and future afflicted

Those responsible for instigation
Refuting population exodus
Refusing blame for the conflagration
While decrying the refugee influx

Generations of constant outsiders
Alien to birthright and human rights
Victimized by war and by inciters
No safe vision staring at the gun sights

Over a bed of stones
river runs its course
smoothing their edges
till they stop to hurt

it doesn't happen quickly
as soon as a blink
even whiskey on the rocks
needs a time to chill

I think the best “ism”
Is ventriloquism

Every system needs a critic
And every puppet
A fall guy

And today’s comic
Is yesterday’s prophet,
Right?

It is a song of both
Innocence and experience

But ultimately
Kids aren’t really
The intended audience

(Though we’re all kids at heart)

It is a classroom
Most of us can enjoy

And some ventriloquists
Have really done
Their research

To the Poet (1949-2049?)

We measure the universe by light speed
And while we live there are galaxies
In each of us which seem eternal.
But the time we spend among the living
Is put in numbers between parentheses.

The dates tell only the equation of fate,
Our lives reduced to the dash between them,
Not telling how we fit in the fashion of the age
Or the forces that directed our passing.

a sunny day
low humidity
shadows are crisp

a zephyr leisurely strolls
through the valley
wispy clouds drift and sway

and here come the joggers
panting and sweating
ear buds implanted
goofy outfits
and a dead ahead gaze
cool shoes though

they pass quickly

birds are chirping
butterflys are fluttering
squirrls are chattering

ah! a waft of lilac
mingling with apple blossoms
quite pleasant and engaging