I returned home
on Palm Sunday
to find knockout roses
behind my brick mailbox
parading their first blossoms of spring.

I found candytuft
faded to green,
saving scattered sprinkles of white
for me to view one more day.

Fallen pink petals of dogwood trees
fluttered through a whimsical ballet
to entertain me on their ballroom floor
of Kentucky bluegrass.

awake
morning chilled breath
the birds are talking
the ice is waiting

this sky the chalk silver
horse that stands
and the hundred silence
miles of endurance

asleep
dreamland marionette
tap heel light on strings
sit and tell
the gruelling past
packed in trunks of histories

there are
motions of faces
fixed in perceptions
like doorshadowed
visitors

and paces of hunger
scratch prayer messages
on earthen dust page

I've been wondering
if you still see me
in everything Australian

I remember how
you shopped for shrubs
to put in your back garden

and the day
you cornered that poor girl
at the office meeting
just to hear her accent

do our trees still grow
in the dry breath of
California air

or

have they died
fighting for life
between
the weeds of us

[How Charles Bukowski might have handled the nursery rhyme ‘Hark, hark, the dogs do bark’]

we hit skid row

as the greasy rain

slicked

the sidewalks

we threw

our empty bottles

at the mutts

yelping

round

the dumpsters

then

we crashed out

in a doorway

waiting

for the city

to open

Johnny and me

pulled our

greatcoats

round us

feeling in

cursing time zones
i regretted missing you,
the conversations

it's been a while now,
since echoes of long distance
voiced opinions to me

things never were bad,
were they

that we can't remember the good
or perhaps
they were never so good

it occurred to me,
you were upstream,
trying to find clear passage
between shit you, yourself made

there is not a point
to drown now-
after the fighting,
after the tremendous valor,
courage and obstinacy
you showed

he searched the yellow fingers
that clawed at the truths
beyond her turkey neck

tomorrow he will have forgotten,
remember nothing
beyond bleak eyes

suffocate on whiskey breath
and tainted dreams

I guess the good times always end

  even after all our time together

  I'd come to think of you as "friend"

  dependable in stormy weather

From when we met so long ago

  at a hunters' supply store

  beneath flickering flourescent glow

  we've hunted, fished and even more

You've been quiet comfort on my walks

  through the forest, now for years

  by never burdening me with balks

  or "wait until the weather clears"

we can do right or wrong
and yet we can't win it,
the argument, love
whatever is peppered
on that merciless breeze
the hanging is around my neck
and to break it
would be to swing
freely; but no one is free

i sleep in a manless bed
for no other reason
than space
and he sleeps with her
for no reason at all
unless he's frightened
or bitter, or too tired to fight

ORPHANELL, ON A RAINY DAY
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala
.
Orphanell, on a rainy day,
On an afternoon in June-
Though you wish your man would stay
That’s crying for the moon-
But, through your silent teacup storms,
Through lonely days like these,
Oh, Orphanell, I share your stormy seas...

Orphanell, you have a friend:
You have a saving grace-
Through afternoons without an end,
In such a lonely place-
Because, one rainy afternoon,
Beneath dark loaded skies,
Did you unload the sadness in your eyes.

What was the last message received from the Challenger?
The teacher saying "What's this button for?"

[Space Shuttle Challenger was lost in an explosion as it took off from Cape Canaveral on January 28, 1986, killing all seven people on board, including the first
civilian in space, a high school teacher.]

What's light brown and furry with four legs and could
have changed the course of human history?
A dingo in Bethlehem.