Poem: From Within


Skin

carrying scars

picked at by fretful fingers

The loss of heat

or

vacuum suck of cold

(interwoven at times)

left on integument ripples

trying desperately to hide

bone wrapped melodies

played on organs

finely tuned by fingers

fretful fingers

of the merry minutiae

on drifting cells as the float by

Song of the soul

Hum of the heart

Picking at a piece of the part

the smooth skinned shell

to hear the singing chorus

from within this finite enclosure

its voice secretly serenading:

I, too, am here

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Poem: The Conversation


I speak to my cat

smelling of sweat

sitting crossed legged

in front of visiting deities

Their far-fetched faiths

diverge and dance before me

(or so I believe)

My cat talks back

In perfect speak

her travels shared

details flicked and flashing to and fro

and finer points dug home

I listen

in trance-like meditation

swooning to the tinkling tales

spun secretly

this tittering yarn

As I begin to follow

down cobble stone alleys

on padded paws

my tentative whiskers gracing my face

as we stalk our prey

Upon our return

My cat reassures me

our jaunt was judicious

So with a swish of her tail

and squint of her eyes

She turns

marching softly away

Leaving me

dismissed

Poem Art: The Sentry


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Years of giving

torn from the skinned Birch

to carry others

across rushing waters

while naked the Tree remains

rooted

watching

as the world walks away

Not listening

to the endless clawing on Jesus arms

the sucking tendrils

that have grown up

twisting themselves around

the age-old rings of Her heart

Move on! Move on!

whispering through the thousand hands

waving goodbyes to those

that left her standing

still

and siphoning life from

dirty earth thrown down

around Her

Immobile

a sentry seasoned with sight

the beacon to set others

on their way

But forever bound and grounded

in the place she chose

to be born

 

 

 

Poem: Strictly Platonic


Slices

through a multi-layered

marbled veined cake

Ribbons of color and texture

lathered with sickly sweet

frosting and fake flowers

dripping down the sides

They all come

to sweeten the palate

and give sugar rushes

in brain bursting fury

Different sized portions

doled out in snippets

or heart attack plate fulls

all sure to crash

sooner or later

 

 

Poem: Food For Free


School Lunch Lines

with hair net lunch ladies

and cement paste potatoes

and spit filled ketchup

But today the book said:

159

(160 if you count 5-year-old Luciana)

Lining up outside

long before the prison-bolt door is let loose

drawn like a vortex

walking and sweating with bags and backpacks

or stopping in front from the city bus

and the cars stuffed full as they hope they will be too

“Sign the book”: is the weary demand

it is the Payment

The Price

for all you will get

Fill your bags and your belly

“I have no teeth, so no corn on the cob”

“No dessert because I am diabetic”

“I am homeless and live in the streets”

Gracias

Thank you

I am now the lunch lady

I give food for free

 

 

Poem: The Street Lamp


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The street lamp

seeps

through the jail slit blinds

while I lay wide-eyed

remembering

trying to sleep

It lights my thoughts

the moment when you

got on your knees and begged me to stay

when I played the now dead song:

“I Will Always Love You”

(which wasn’t true)

Laying on the lamp-lit bed

even with lavender soaked eye-pads

I cannot escape

the path of memories

illumination