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AFTER THE MUFFIN
"You've something on
your lip," you say,
your finger, gentle
as a kiss, floating
to show me where.
Blueberry! For
we have just shared
a warm muffin
by candlelight.
And now, all these
hours later, I still
feel that touch
like a kiss, still
hear you saying:
"You've something
on your lip."
(published in "O Taste and See - Food Poems")
Click to hear "After the Muffin"
AHEAD AND BEHIND
For many years
I wouldn't venture
into this strange
realm of poetry,
but then, like
a water-loving dog
finding a pond,
I plunged in,
can't be coaxed
back out, and I'm
paddling around,
getting slowly
ahead on poetry,
way behind on
everything else.
(originally published in Capper's)
© 2008
Click to hear "Ahead and Behind"
AFTER SHOPPING
Oceans of vehicles
heave and settle
in the parking lot,
and a sea of traffic
goes shimmering
toward the horizon.
While she sails
steadily on,
gripping the tiller
of a wobbly cart,
he remains awash
in her wake, keys
dangling forlornly
from a finger.
They're looking,
looking, lost.
I'd like to tell
them not to despair,
but I have other
fish to fry: Celery
wilting, a cabbage
shaking its head,
potatoes rolling
their eyes over my
chances of ever
finding my own car,
the poor ice cream
beginning to beg me
for mouth-to-mouth
resuscitation.
(originally published in Capper's)
© 2008
Click to hear "After Shopping"
FIREFLIES
Slowly, randomly they rise
from daytime resting places
into the cool, embracing night.
Tiny wings whirring against
the sodden, clinging atmosphere,
they labor to lug their lights
blinking up wavering ladders,
beacons signaling that dreams
still take wing on such a night.
(originally published in Sisters Today)
© 2008
MY SONG
Like a teakettle
on the verge of song,
I have endured
the silent years
and now give vent
to the poems welling,
willing themselves
into being.
My joy-filled song
is the scratch
of pencil on paper,
racing to catch
the wisps of thought
gathering softly
in the valleys
of my mind.
(originally published in ByLine Magazine)
© 2008
AUTUMN CROSSING
A sea of color
rages ahead,
parting for us
with the soft
hum of miles
falling away,
gently washing
back into place,
cloaking all
traces of our
safe crossing.
(originally published in The American Scholar)
Click to hear "Autumn Crossing"
Summer Showdown
Summer sun's so boiling hot
I can almost hear the soft
clinking of spurs, stealthy
creaking of the boardwalk,
a sudden, smothering silence
in which the buzz of a fly
sounds sinister, foretelling
a showdown on the sun-baked,
hoof-pocked, clatter-plaited
street, where a tumbleweed
pauses in the sanctum of shade
cast by a tumble-down saloon,
where I stand, suddenly struck
by a lightning flash of thirst.
(originally published in St. Anthony Messenger)
Click to hear "Summer Showdown"
LINOLEUM DAYS
Linoleum was forever,
or so it seemed,
lying regally there
with its smell of new
filling the room,
cupped at the ends
from having lain
in a tight coil,
waiting patiently
at the general store
until someone
purchased its freedom,
took it home
and unscrolled it,
where it still lies
in the living room
of my mind,
so fresh, aromatic,
I hardly dare think
of walking on it.
(originally published in Capper's Magazine)
© 1997
BUILDING POEMS
My poems are built
on the crawling sands
of memory; see how
they tilt and teeter
on the brink of meaning,
how they race past us
in the stopped-time
dimension into which
they've been thrust,
how they collide head-on
with indifference, then
come reverberating back
like struck gongs,
resting finally in my
outstretched hands.
Oh, how I love it,
this ever-changing,
never-changing process.
Bring on more sand!
(originally published in St. Anthony Messenger)
Click to hear "Building Poems"
AFTER ORDERING
As I take my first sip
of ice-cold water,
I notice the sizzle
rising from the grill,
the soft clink of a spoon
hitting someone's glass,
an infant gurgling,
insistent, distant
beeping, then, at a table
just for two, a young
couple sharing a scoop
of vanilla ice cream
that's swimming
in a delicious, sticky
sea of strawberry syrup,
and I almost want
to change my order.
© 2007