Poems
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Message on the Sidewalk
In thick, bold strokes Capitalized Stretched tall and wide as the square of sidewalk allowed A child proclaimed in chalk: ~ I WANT ~ I continued along the blank spaces of cement Spattered only in blackberry stains Smashed snails and suburban debris ~ Seventeen squares later When I had already forgotten about what the children want The baby blue chalk lines Upside down Came into focus: ~ POWER
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Fall
The leaves haven’t turned, But something is different- There’s gold in the air.
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Salmon Berry
(1st Version) Stopped in a trail loop, I squeeze a salmon berry, Juice flowing freely. (2nd Version) My daughter stops along the trail To rip up leaves, Throwing each tiny piece into an imaginary stove in the sticks. “Let’s go!” I call. “Ready?” asks Grampa. “Do you want to go back to the car?” big brother coaxes. She ignores us all and keeps tearing the flesh of fresh ferns Like her life depends on it. “I am cooking!” she finally screams at all of us. “Are you happy or mad?” she asks her brother. “I am angry, because you are not coming,” he replies. “No! You are happy!” She cooks…
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The Summer After
The Summer After (as a Haiku) Outside smelled like sun and hot pine needles raining golden redemption. (variation) It smells like sun and baked pine needles and renewal. The world is still on fire in the distance, but here it’s all golden redemption. * * * (people watching) Families stream through the streets dripping sweat They pull wagons of kids and carry dragon kites Dads with bare tattooed chests Call their kids to the piñata A man with three-inch holes in his earlobes orders bubble tea for his children Blended watermelon and green apple boba Honeydew with strawberry beads Rainbow jellies in lemonade Taro with black honey tapioca And…
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Chickens
Chickens, plump and muddied, Ivory feathers stained with grey-brown shadows, Little innocent three-pronged feet sticking out Here and there in every clumsy direction. Chickens resting, chickens cooing, Chickens dying. An odor, wafting through the cars that bob along the highway, Windows cracked as the commuters Breathe their last gasps of fresh air, Before beginning their cubicled days. But the waves come fast and sudden, thick and hot. The hot air of vomit, blood, excrement and garbage. Heads turn to glimpse the putrid truck, Rumbling and ricketing down I-5. And in between the tightly woven wooden slats, Roll and jiggle and rot the chickens. Fat, broken-legged chickens, Bathed in their own…
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Pretend Poetry
Take a topic, write a line, Choose the words, pretty and fine. Piece them together like a glass mosaic, The message won’t matter, the poet can fake it. In the depths of your mind, all swirled together, Lavender, beads, crystal and heather, All things beautiful, sights, sounds, touch, smell, Mix them together and no one can tell. That you made it all up, All the thoughts in your head, Bleed out from the ink, And your poem is dead.