Reflections

As you age
You reach a place
Where you begin to see
Your parents in your face.
As your children age
If you are so fortunate,
You begin to see,
Your own face in their’s.

Round and round
The mirror goes,
Telling the story of generations,
Past and present
No true death will come.
One sows his own memory
Growing beyond tomorrow.

Appetizers

Rhode Island’s pride,
Flame feathered beauties
With no thought of fate,
Strut the farmyard runway
Plump, ample breasts
On proud display.
Enough to make one salivate
For a Sunday feast of
Buttery biscuits en fricassee
On a plain and lowly Thursday.

Ben Franklin's Demise

The old five and ten,
Once all could be had
For a nickel or a dime.
Today I drove by
The place where
I used to while away time
After the Saturday matinee.
I was shocked to see a heap
Of wooden bones, remainder
Of my rites of passage.

Once I walked
The creaking floors,
Smelled the dust in the air,
Searched through rough
Wooden bins full of dreams.
Went with my mother for
An embarrassing fitting
Of a long awaited bra.
Carefully selected a first lipstick,
Clutching a quarter,
Dogwood Pink or Kiss Me Coral?
My sisters and I chose
The perfect gift set of
Evening in Paris for our Mom.

The grand old place
Now lies in pieces,
Gabled roof top,
Garret to the side,
High, tooled tin ceiling,
Double doors, worn shiny knobs
Display windows that once held
A sundress I yearned for,
And gazed longingly at
A life sized baby doll I coveted,
Now all joined
In a pile of the past.

Reaching Out

I don't visit the cemetary often.
This is only the second time
since the funeral.
It's peaceful there, surrounded
by a forest. As I walked
the row of tombstones,I noticed
Someone standing there,
in the twilight. Coming closer,
I saw it was myself.

She looked so scared and lonely.
I felt compelled to stay and talk.
She said that she had been hiding
behind another identity for over thirty
years and now it had been
stripped away. She is beginning
to realize she isn't much different
than she had been before,
that the flaws in her
character still exist. This frightens her.
She knows that she once made
decisions not always in her best
interest.This unhappy woman knows
she relied on the protection that
being part of a stable couple
had offered her. Now, she finds
herself solely responsible
for the direction of her life.

Seeing myself this way made me
realize, I am so much stronger
than she. I am able to use
what I have learned these years
to my advantage, rise above
the needs that once powered
foolish choices.

So I took her in my arms as if
she were my daughter, assured
her that I would stay with her
and together we prayed over
our lover's grave.
　
　
　
　

Everyday Mishap

Common sense
Should tell you
The pilots were
Not at fault.
Everyone knows
It’s time consuming
Working on a laptop.
The whole world
Can pass you by.
Your son takes
The Porsche for a spin,
Your daughter gets
A new tattoo.
Your wife leaves
You for the plumber.

Your password
Entered, reentered
Updates necessary
Before proceeding
Time for a virus scan.
These poor guys
Were simple victims
In the ebb and flow
Of cyberspace.

A Very Special Love/ Alternative Answer for Dear Abby

You find yourself falling for her,
a figment of electronic transmission.
No flatulence, eructation
or morning breath.
She carefully chooses her words
before hitting send, loves your work
and never criticizes your choice
for dinner, movies or music.
She loves what you love,
never mentions what doesn’t fit.
This perfect woman stops just
shy of over the top sensual,
doesn’t expect you to be on time,
take out the garbage or
remember her birthday,
but she remembers yours.
Admire another woman?
Go ahead, take her on,
it’s not a problem.

She really ought to tell you,
she isn’t always that loveable.

Her truth lies in cyberspace.

Rain-Auver by Vincent Van Gogh

I can almost see him,
Rivers of rain down
His hair and beard,
Darkened red to auburn,
Streaming over his face,
His eyes as he paints
Feverishly, striving
To cheer himself with
Brave sweeps of color.
Hills , fields, farmhouses
Still, lulled to sleep
By the music of the rain
As he strokes them
Boldly, with brilliant blues,
Luscious yellows, joyous orange,
Glorious splash of crimson.

Cornsilk

I was in a terrible mood when
I arrived home from the market,
Dark clouds filled the midday sky.
As I glumly filled the pot for pasta,
A breeze blew in the window with
The moist green smell of cornsilk,
As the rain began falling softly.
Suddenly, my mood lifted.

Stripping corn for dinner
With my sisters for my Mom.
That’s all we would have had
Those August nights
When it was first ripe,
Fat, sweet and slathered
With soft yellow butter.
.

Summer's End

Once meant dread.
Of a new school,
Up front, teacher’s
Hand on my head,
Causing a shudder,
Stammering my name
To a pack of strangers.

Walking home in
A new sweater set,
Wool skirt, too warm
For September sun
As mother warned.

Finale of a summer love,
A boy from out of town
Visiting his grandmother,
Who left with my address,
Never to be heard from.

Relief when my children
Who’d gotten quarrelsome
Went back to school.
Later, back to college,
House to ourselves again.

Then, time to get ready
For winter in southern sun.

Last year, a life together gone.

This year, a winter alone.

Mouse Play

Soft, sunny day.
Pale blue sky with
little tufts of cloud.
Nibbled by
tiny mice
who stopped on
their way to the moon.

It was said
to be made of
a special cheese
found nowhere
on earth.
How did they know?

Mother mouse told
them the story each
night when they were
Tiny and hairless.
She described the smell,
that made the nose
quiver and touched
the tongue with a tingle.
They would know it
By the creamy case with
Streaks of chartreuse.
The taste of this cheese
was out of this world,
one little bite to be sure.

The mice lingered
in the clouds to play,
waiting for
the moon to rise,
spied their path,
sped over the stars
in a quest for
unearthly delight..

Dreaming of Roses

I have a bar of soap
given to me three years ago
by my beautiful, no longer
daughter in law. Now she is
my friend. This rose scented
soap which I have never opened
is beautifully wrapped in
dusty red paper, delicately
decorated with cherry blossoms
and banded in gold. It sits
on the dresser near my bed.
Each night, when I lie down,
The powdery rose aroma brings
to mind my grandmother's rosewater.
I see a single magenta
petal, the fairy fine veins
in it, feel the baby skin softness.
The hint of roses I breathe
brings all this to mind as it
touches the very back
of my tongue with the
faint taste of raspberries.

Happy Days

The boy and his dad
Stood in the morning sun.
Squinting, he looked up,
His dad’s beard was
The color of his own hair,
It shined in the light.
He used to be here alone
Until his dad stopped working
Now he waited with him
For the school bus.
His dad was sad
About losing his job,
Sometimes his mom acted
Mad, leaving for work,
But the boy was secretly glad.
He loved the stories his dad
Told him while they waited.
How he used to stand here
When he was young,
Their old stone house
Was the school long ago,
A blue and yellow sign
By the corner says so.
He told him of his granddad
Going to the school and how
All the walls used to be space,
Even his little blue bedroom.
The whole kitchen wall was
Covered by a big blackboard
And the teacher’s desk sat right
Where they ate their dinner.
The bus groaned to a stop,
His dad gently ruffled his hair
As he climbed the steps.
He hoped his dad
Would never find a job.

More Will Be Revealed

The weeds don't know
The ugly ducklings of summer
Are having a fall fashion show.
Chevys and Hummers whiz by,
Owners intent on reaching
Jobs hanging by a string,
Powered by a head puppeteer,
Who's just another puppet.
No time to tarry and appreciate
These lovelies, these surprises.
Strewn among losing lottery tickets,
Fast food bags and water bottles,
Blooming into swans of purple
Wild asters, little shell pink daisies,
Tiny lady slippers, a freckle faced
Orange, like rare orchids
In a far off tropical jungle.
I notice the sweet pea is aptly named
For the pea pod hanging
Near the fuchsia flower,
How could I have missed that
In all my years? I don't know,
I am guessing the old
Gentleman who peered through
His windshield and waved,
Has some memory of lying lazily
Upon such a colorful carpet with
A fondly remembered first love,
Princess in a daisy chain tiara.

Ode to the Uncowboy

He rides the sky
Moon in his pocket
Reaps what feeds
Soul and spirit
Fair maidens fall to
His insouciance
And charming grace
No need for earthy
Shucks and spit
Just classy lines
Quiet strength
Buttoned down
Breadth of wit.

Leaving You

Leaving you
Was never simple.
When I went away
We would do that dance,
I would try to convince
You to go with me,
You would waffle and refuse.
"You know I hate to travel,
You need time alone."
I would be a little relieved
And go, but miss you.

When you began falling,
I wouldn't want to go
To the gym or to the store,
You'd promise to stay in place
I'd come home to find you
On the floor.

When you were in the hospital
I would get ready to leave
And you would say,
"Oh I know how it is
You're glad to get out of here
You'll go home, pet the dog
Put your feet up, have a cup of tea
When you leave
Every thing here
Turns to garbage."
So maybe I'd stay a little longer.
In truth, I was relieved
To finally leave.

And now I must leave you
Again, not a simple thing
For you have left before me
And I must find a way
To leave you again.
A way to carry
The memories, the heartache
Within me,
While remaining whole.

The Grass

While the grandson
Chases his hormones
Or searches for himself
I take on the job
That was yours


Following your
Footsteps I see you
As I push the old
Craftsman along
The Euclidian paths
You cut in the yard.
Triangles, quadrants,
Doglegs and squares,
Outside to inside
Plotting a course
To bring the machine
Close to walls
Avoid throwing
Grass on the drive.


The blade slices
through a pine cone
With a gritty sound,
The varied scent of
Fresh cut grasses
Drift up as I mow
Kentucky Blue, clover,
Tru Value play yard.
Birds rush to
The feast of
New uncovered
Bugs and slugs
And worms.


As I rest on the bench
Beneath the pear trees
I admire how the place
Seems to be head up,
Shoulders back like you,
Trimmed and ready
To go out.

Rain

The rain and I
Have always been friends.
I once feared a thunderstorm,
And my mother said
the angels were bowling,
That set right
I have loved it since.
Curled up with a book
By an open window,
Walking in it
At each opportunity.

One time
My worried husband
Came looking
With the children
In the car.
Another time
I ran naked
With a lover,
The cool soft drops
Upon my skin.

Now a grandmother,
A great grandmother,
I was out before dawn,
Without the lover,
Still sweet, still cool
And soft upon my skin.
The woman,
Ghost of the girl within.

August Rapture

Luscious peach
Velvet surface
Sunset yellow
Blush of rose
First breech
Lets loose
A river sweet
To outlast
Winter snow

Nighttime Magic....for Emily and Isabella

I lured them
From Kung Fu Panda
Into the night,
Alight with the dazzle
Of fireflies in flight.

For them,
A magical quest
To fill a jar
With earthly
Starlight.

For me,
The sweet song
Of laughter
And a dance over
Dew kissed grass.

Upstate New York/ Mid August

Autumn seeps into
corners of summer,
crisp night paints
peaches pink, shoots
sugar to the grapes,
whispers to the birds,
get ready for the long haul.
the grass grows slower,
the sun sleeps longer,
you know, it's almost over.
Your summer lover's
about to fly the coop,
find warmer digs, with
palm trees waving
a come on hello, promising
a last forever kind of love,
a rollicking roll
in the sand between
the scooters
and the T backs.

Motorcycle Man

She thought he was
adorable, but not in
the usual sense.
Beer belly beneath
a black cut off T shirt,
muscular arms and shoulders
with extra padding
and a graying little braid
tied back with leather.

But when he walked out
of the men's room in the Quik Stop
and saw her coming towards him,
he got the sweetest widest smile
as he bowed and swept his hand
to let her pass.

He stood next to the Fritos
while she poured her coffee,
she was charmed by how
he kept the smile wide
straining to suck in his gut.

As he climbed up on his bike
he caught her eye, saw
the big guy in the car looking
aside, his eyes were dancing
as he smiled and rode away.

The Cedars of Taunton

A thousand
Flat fingered
Tentacles
Reach to
Rain and dew,
Silken mite threads
Glisten in the sun.
Pungent pine
Scents the air,
Drawing the
Midwinter deer.
The neighbor wages
Valiant war,
Armed in vain
With burlap
To face the
Cloven enemy.

Sustenance

Living on memories,
Dig deep
Or scratch the surface
A heady repast
And most times
Enough.

The Teacher

Patience and generosity
Abound
Driven to share
Well earned knowledge,
The ups and downs of life,
All that could be and was.

Carry the ghosts of
Socrates and Plato
Ovid and Joyce
Into the future,
Envious endeavor
Of those so appointed.

Packages

After all these months,
It should get easier
And you believe it is
Memories tied up neat,
Put away like his possessions
Everything where it belongs.

Then suddenly, you cross the bridge
Where he would park his car and wait
Standing there, so sweet, so eager,
So you could see him from below
Driving home, your work over.

How he loved those white stockings
And your hair held back
How he loved to undo all that.
You and the memories come apart,

All those pictures flood your mind
In the matter of a second.
It flows without control
You think it will not end.
Why aren't you more together?
When will you be, never?
Perhaps go to another place,
Without so many triggers.

But then you realize,
The catalyst lies within,
You simply need to
Give it more time.

Strawberries

Sweet dark red fruit,
The slightest touch
Brought a river of juice
From the fragile cell wall

Ahh, but they have been
Improved.
The new strawberry
Bright red and gigantic,
This California marvel
Even two weeks
After picking.
Like a fifteen year old
Swimsuit model
Beautiful, perfectly shaped
This ersatz specimen
Sits atop the biscuit
Like bloodless stone.

I miss the fruit that
Stained my fingers
Gave up juice unending,
Forced me to tend to them
Immediately, lest they
Be taken by mold,
Soaked the biscuits
And still enough to
Slurp from the bowl,
Swirled with
Luscious whipped cream.

Magic

If the innate sense
Of rhythm does exist

Then the still mind
Will find the path to

The poetry

The dance

The lifted heart

Tribute To 44

My son, my sun
I celebrate your ability

To get twenty five hours
From every day

Turn strangers into friends

And laugh the clouds away

A priceless gift
The light that is you

Fact of Life

It's not just men
That do it
Women do it too
Going for the package
Not thinking
Things through

Same is true
For all life forms
From the human
To the hen

Who struts the best
Is loved the best
Ask the local rooster

A Moment

I walked
A wooded lane
Bathed in
Dappled light
A bird flew
Into my hand
I held it gently
Felt the wild
Beating heart
Against my palm
The soft feathers
Over the small
Warm body
Admired the deep
Black of his eye
Then the tiniest
Scratch on my skin
As he sprang
Into flight

Layover

Waiting for
The plane
To board
In Denver
I mused about
The visit with
My sister
An airline rep
Stepped up
For an
Announcement
We all perked up
Oh no, delays?
We have here
A soldier
Just come back
From Iraq
To accompany
The body of
His comrade
Could someone spare
A first class seat
And two stepped
Smartly forward
It causes chills
To write this
As it did before
When I watched
The flag draped
Cargo as
They loaded it below

Oh Django

I heard you again today
Between news stories, and
Instantly I recognized
Your loving touch
That always goes
Straight to my core
A chance meeting
And one that
I cherish each time
That sweet silken tone
Of your long slender fingers
On those strings
Teasing that sound from
A plain wooden shell
It dances to my ear
Like the taste of
A late summer peach
Flows over the back
Of my tongue
And I am there
At Club Le Hot
In your dark
Exotic presence

"Happiness is a quality of mind
It is something we possess within
If we do not have it within,
Nothing outside can give it to us,"

Paramananda

Morning Coffee

As I sit
With morning coffee
The calm and peace
Of my existence
Is disrupted by
The madness of
Murdered children
Scattered body parts
And dead soldiers
Juxtaposed with
Little turtles
Swimming lazily
And Coltrane in the air
Thoughts of the people
Whose lives are
Shattered by
The madness
Will they ever
Find a way back
To any kind of peace
Or pleasure
In a morning reverie

The golf game continues
The turtles still feed
Geckos scuttle beneath the leaves
Birds nest with their young
And I finish my coffee

Furry Thinking

Good morning, Mr. Rabbit
Sitting there, by the garden
In your salt and pepper coat
What could you be contemplating?
Will she plant again
Those yummy petunias?
Will I misjudge the length
Of that dumb dog's leash?
Or what of the fate of my cousin
Who lost his leg to the lawnmower?
Every single spring
Is a whole new ballgame

Leaving You

Leaving you
Was never simple
When I would go away
We would do that dance
I'd try to get you to go
You'd waffle and say no
You know I hate to travel
And you need time alone
And I'd be a little relieved
And go, but miss you

When you began falling
I wouldn't want to go
To the gym or the store
You'd promise to stay in place
And I'd come home
To find you on the floor

When you were in the hospital
I'd get ready to leave
And you'd say
Oh, I know how it is
You're glad to get out of here
You'll go home, pet the dog
Put your feet up and have some tea
But when you leave
Everything here turns to garbage
So I'd stay a little longer
And in truth, I was relieved
To finally go

And now I must leave you
Again, not a simple thing
For you have left before me
And I must find a way
To carry the memories
And the heartbreak
Within me
While remaining whole

Florida Dawn

The courtship calls
Of the great heron
White ibis stalking
Their prey
Prelude to
The duffers

New Mantra For 2009

I am the current
Not
The stream
I am the leaf
Not
The wind
I am the petal
Not
The rose