The wringer

time's hands have

wrapped around

my heart to clamp down

and wring it out

it had soaked so much up

like a dirty kitchen sponge

so much doubt in myself

so much doubt in others

filled to the brim with

sarcasm and snide comments

mere mechanisms to adapt

and deal and shrug off stress

had taken on all the alcohol,

cigarettes and other intoxicants

to turn off everything outside

just infested with words 

that were never mine, just words

others thought belonged to me

even the elusive trauma I

hadn't even realized absorbed

was adulterated in the muck

time finally popped the blister

that was my heart 

so I could bleed the past behind

Pause ability

looking out into

all the possibilities

the endless night sky

scattered with stars

all the knowledge 

enclosed in the smell 

of old books when 

you were young

the bare turned soil

in the warming April days

a glimpse into what

the subconscious needs

to unload after eyelids close

what's said or done

after lips have met and parted

the next step after 

the last one is taken

 

Throwing daggers

an ambitious fiend

by the name of Ire

carries around a 

fistful of blindfolds

he loves to use on

so many people who

are standing on the edge

his brother fiend

by the name of Scorn

carries around a

fistful of daggers

he loves to put in

the hands already

blindfolded by Ire

their sister fiend

by the name of Maim

carries around a

mouthful of lies

she loves to whisper

into the ears of those

holding daggers from Scorn

AM rains

morning rains 

in the darkened sunrise

on stilts of spikey spruce

silhouettes in the dim light

the world outside

blurred by slow running

splatter of morning rains

on dirty windshield

and side windows

a pause before the begin

a stall before the labor

a moment to take it all in

and sit with both 

disappointment and gratitude

in the morning rains

 

Let it be written

whatever has been

written on my skin

is an old story

they are words

that have passed

scars that have

outgrown their lessons

wounds that have

long since healed

whatever has been

written on my heart

is the current tale to tell

they are words 

that belong to me

people that I'll

always have a smile for

places that will

always make me tear up for

whatever has been

written on my soul

is vague yet so familiar

they are words

I have yet to understand

doors I have yet

to find the keys for

and moments that will

turn my world upside down

 

Vacant beats

early morning conversation

with the heart

my what it has to say

at three thirty three

what it will entertain

what fantasies it will weave

into the fabric of the sheets

gladly am I its confidant

in these wee hours

let it bellow before sunrise

the pillow sopping up

the river of tears

the regrets and the fears

and the lament over 

what was lost

or never achieved

in all those previous years

Tempest hag

the gray hand

stretches across the land

it knocks over

the trees and power poles

as an impatient reach

across the chess board

downs a pawn or knight

the tempest hag screams

upon the howling winds

her cackle booms

in the explosive thunder

the dark skies flash

when her electric hair

whips through the clouds

her multitude of arms

wreak havoc on everything

she passes over 

yet the only relief

is that she bores easily

and flies off to the horizon

with her cackle echoing

off in the distance

 

Mid-life cry

mid is only if

the intended target

is still equal to 

the amount already spent

the miles already traveled

the years already lived

the friends already known

the seeds already sown

so ninety seems possible

though not sure how plausible

and if I keep it up

my rhythm will need

a dance instructor

because I have the skip

of an afib count

the vision of

an astigmatism lens

and some bursitis swagger

that will surely give

the rest of it some style

 

Spruce priest

towering spruce branches

must have scratched

and torn the sagging clouds

the stratus blanket

wrapped tightly around

the midday sun rays

and played peak-a-boo

with the Helios crown

the tiny spruce needles

took their own aspersion

as divinely ordained to 

and the sacred water 

floating through the sky

cast downward lightly

momentary in blessing

in a rain that questioned

if it really happened at all

 

Fuss over fusion

the sun's the

chandelier

we've danced

under countless

times before

we've waited

to give rise

to four hands

and four feet

to make this

dance a little

more colorful

a little more

a challenge

for perhaps

we grew bored

though not sure

why that was now

really wish that

wasn't the case now

but anyhow with

two brains and

a list of lives

though we might

be surprised

we can find

the one heart

that waits in

it's own rhythm

and two souls

that have danced

under one

Wafting woo

musky perfume calling

out in the air

a silent message

with a loud voice

out in the air

resting in the heat

of the blatant sun

the serpentine scent

rides the currents

of late Spring breezes

coaxing tiny iridescent wings

luring silk paper wings

through the same currents

out in the air

in silent messages

loud and clear

 

End of Gemini

Spring catches its breath

and Summer blows in

and the young grow fat

on young tender growth

while everything new unfurls

under suns that chase

the elusive wisps of clouds

buds break and blooms burst

changing a sea of green

into the diversity divinity 

has cherished for all eternity

and it is at this moment

in the encircling year's twist

the twins link their golden arms

to escort each other out

on some sultry solstice eve

 

In passing

in the sight

in the slightest

moment of that sight

the shift of the world

pulled at its own gravity

a war for knights and kings

to surrender to

in the sight

brief passing and

momentary reflection

the world turned differently

the pavement turned around

turned slowly and suddenly

to give into

the sight

June scene

the hummingbird

made sure it was seen

when it flittered around 

the corner of the house

sure it could have been

a large butterfly

though it didn't

float like a leaf

caught in the breeze

sure it could have been

a piece of litter

though it didn't 

continue its drift

caught in the breeze

its movement and

direction was intentional

a suspended and grand display

floating in the glory

of the afternoon sun

 

Twister moon

flesh burns in

the afternoon sun

to meet the cool

blue moon later

in a stormy night

the sirens may

call out three 

or even four times

while spectators in

the neighborhood gaze

upward to the flashes

but we have already

smelled the rain

and felt the thunder

in our souls

it's time to let

the wind blow through

and take all our

expectations with it

 

Overstayed welcome

a barren bed lays

in the middle 

of a potato row

rabbit feet have

beaten it down

for comfort

for protection

while drizzle

tickles the foliage

only clouds float

overhead for now

so astute ears lay

down to rest

in a nestle of fur

among potato leaves

 

A nightfall float

let evening settle

let it fall around

your shoulders

let the gentle hands

of the day give way

and the shadow of

night tuck you in

let your worries

flutter into the dark

the burdens you

have carried today

undress them from

your body and close

your eyes to them all

let this moment at

the edge of wake

and the edge of sleep

hold you in its arms

and simply carry you

into your flight of rest

 

Yogurt drifts

breakfast eaten

and all that remains

an abstract painting

of drifting clouds

or raging ocean waves

the remnants of white

yogurt leaves on the

blue plastic compartment

in the lunch box

a friend gifted to you

because you had asked

for a bento box 

for your birthday one year

yet the words on top

are reassuring:

Dream big!

 

Hold on

we can run

through those fields

the ones that

stretch off into 

the eternal sunsets

we can chase

those moments

into the night skies

where the stars

flicker to the rhythm

of the fireflies

in those fields 

we ran through

we can hold on

to each quiet word

spoken in our eyes

and pen a poem

no heart could tell

but each sunrise

could sing of

we can sleep on it

there's no rush

to our next step

no need to force

any more words

we can hold on

 

Memorial afternoon

painted ladies

dance on golden stages

while lions roar

in green blades

fleur de lis

silky cascades set 

sweet perfume clouds

assail in the breeze

dapper fellows

dressed in red flutter

to perch to peer

to pause and flee

fuzzy jumper

stalking flies sipping

on sweaty skin

bold with silks

timid angelica

stands bold and tall

yet withholds 

its nosegay still

cries and barks

fill the air like cotton

crowded below

yet sol sails solo

 

Wet what

whether in weathered

rain or ocean deep

or standing against

the river water rush

it drips, it drowns

it pulls it all away

it pressurizes in

its silent dark depths

and flows through all

the inner streams

it is the glass

calling for a sip

it is the fog that

blurs reality's sight

it is the ice that bites

and the steam that stings

it is the stirring in

the sky that inspires

children to see things

other than what they are

it is the vast sea that 

keeps people apart only

to incite them to

take the journey across

it is the tapping 

on the windows

or the tears from the

windows of the soul

Nice trip?

those thoughts 

tripped and fell

and were lost

to the cracks

in the sidewalk

to that world

where ants dig

out after down

pours of rain

where weed

seeds gather

and create a

micro climate

amid scorching

suns in July

those thoughts

can only be 

found again 

through use of

a screwdriver

and patience

 

Idling

the value of nothing

is priceless

yet doing nothing

is something

allowing what

will be is silencing

the will in

the great emptiness

of choosing

not to choose

it's surrendering the will

to the one who gave it

everything and anything

will always find nothing

for there is inertia in

both stillness and movement

and the void will not

last long

 

 

20/20

these two eyes

one sees from the soul

the other's vision

comes from the mind

they cross when 

they disagree with 

what's in sight

a true deliberation

of the meaning 

of any interaction

with the external world

they roll when

they are chasing after

whatever they think

may be important 

to self preservation

they wink when

they want the other

to miss something

the one wants to focus on

and they cry when

they agree 

 

T-storm

same in essence

the tiny sparks

seen in the dark

when static shines

in fabric friction

the great energy

that rolls in sound

and flashes light

when the turning

of the earth rock

pulls at the ocean

levitating in the air

and the same spark

illuminates the sky

to behold what flows

through everything

in grandest display

a show of bolts and

music of the gods

Mid-May distractions

those thoughts of

liliums replacing alliums

means someone may be

middle aged that is

if that someone lives

to be the ripe old age

of ninety, nine, a good

year it was to complete

high school and live

a surreal moment when

congratulations met

graduations, a time

of year for towns to

get wiped off the map

and more than a whirlwind

meets schedules for 

grandparents and estranged

relatives, it's all relative

but merely a distraction

 

Heads up

just above my head

hovers a swarm of gnats

notes bouncing up and

down a music scale

unheard by these ears

further out from these

little songbirds flutter

through arms of trees

and maple seeds are

flung by the breeze

propelling through air

to find their retreat

higher yet the raptor

surveying as it sails

through the gray waves

of the mirrored ocean

and my arms reach out

to wish the rise above

or the fall from earth

into whatever exists

far beyond any of this

 

Green Lynx

tiny green spider

a tickle on 

my shoulder

somehow you

tagged along

I picked you up

from who knows

where

to wear as a pin

momentarily

for you have

places to go

and tinier bugs

to eat

no question

on how

no judgement

on who

just a wish

of safe travels

into the air

on silk paths

 

Blow hard

loose windows knock

on windy days

doors slam shut

on those same days

things are thrown

furniture is knocked over

on windy days

dead branches fall and

ash is blown from chimneys

on windy days

faded flowers disappear

and roots are stimulated

on windy days

dusty air is cleared

dandelion seeds travel far

and whispers fly to the stars

on windy days

 

Time out

so many words

lost to the moment

a flock of birds

that have scattered

into the sky

when the frustration

fumes into the ether

around dusk dancing

with twigs donning new leaves

that is where the words leave

in a sigh

in a deep breath

all those words collecting

behind that mental dam

to cause a pause and retreat

to a moment to lose words

 

Once more

perhaps white butterflies

come back as seagulls

or better yet the small

fluffy clouds that take

shape as other things

and shift their shapes

until they disappear

it's just the same as

the perpetual march

of the flora fountain

diminishing daffodils

bow out to iris glory

for them to yield to

heavy lily perfumes

for all blooming beauty 

to yield only to even more

within the heart of

the divine and eternal

 

 

Pastoral

green among

the golden grass remains

both goose and gosling

weave through willow

water's edge

paddling in the puddle

under the barking blackbirds

striped red with wings

off further follows

cattle calls and calves

running with young joy

the early energy 

that's spent so soon

and is overly observed

by standing smooth stones

through the years

What hides in grass

in the light

and shadow

at the foot 

of the spruce

a rabbit hops

between the two 

worlds to nibble

on the green grass

unknowing what

its fodder may

have been donned

with by the very ones

who cause the rabbits

to run from this

very moment as

they ride through

the scene on assailant

lawn mowers

 

Morning view

of fish and fire

that escape from

glasses of water

to dance upon

desktops in sunlight

early in the day

where crows dance

atop the power poles

to the rhythm of robins

who watch a traffic river

so set on destination

flow to and fro

so very far below

still creeps the light

through filtered blind

so fish and fire

can make a daring escape

from the glass of water

 

A harvest yet unknown

the ticking numbers

have come to a trickle

while Winter still fights

to stay relevant 

half way though Spring

views of fallow ground

leave a silent numbness

within the soul while

anticipation burns

for hot humid Summer

this lingering between

tests the tenacity of will

and tempts the defeat

from deep within

while time marches on

yet the promise waiting

down the road in Autumn

is more than enough mindset

to endure the chill

and float in time's river

The farewell

I let myself go

last night

I said a farewell

to this one

and my dreams

cut the cord

somewhere in my

ethereal body

blood was pooling

from within

and the physician

at my side

made me aware that

I hadn't long

I looked around at

my life

at all the things in

my house

at the sun in the trees 

along the street

at the eyes of those

I loved

and the river of grief

poured out

as the ego within

let go

 

Release

in minute yellow fields

the sun is reflected

in tiny tufts of petals

where flora flatters

the solar sentiment

where bees visit to

make it possible

for each tiny sun

to explode into a

supernova of itself

to scatter the seed

to release the future

upon it's unknown self

to drift far off and away

from anything known

to remember the lost

to find what is new

and to trust the wind

 

Cloud drifts

if a cloud chooses

to shed a piece

of itself

then a piece of it

drifted downward

in a motion slow and soft

floating through sunlight

and the fingertips of the trees

where spider silks glisten

lifting my hand to catch it

it elusively flowed through

my two inner fingers

not just once but twice

and descended towards

the freshly cut grass

to nestle between the blades

 

May view

the cool breeze

didn't break through

the solar embrace

while heavy clouds

drifted overhead

the sun filtered

by mulberry branches

returned to gaze

upon a hungry cottontail

grazing upon rampion leaves

and dandelion blossoms

but the bunny must have

longed for greener pastures

and passed through 

the gape at the foot of the gate

lit by the evening sun

 

Yellow rail

movement flows

under harebell leaves

a tiny rarity

pops out at the end

of the overgrown foliage

feathers dressed in

a young fawn's fur

with the sharpest

brightest yellow beak

carried on oversized

clawed feet to easily

grasp any tedious spot

it finds in a marshy home

it pauses with a smirk

to nod an acknowledgment

of the happiness

right around the corner

 

Evening attire

Sol’s sweet caress

lingers in the evening glory

while brisk breezes 

dance on the ends of hairs

stiffened by their presence

 

the dressing of night

smudges the blue hue

and shines the gems 

hidden from view 

this wave of a fine 

dark feather fan

releases the eternal above 

to humble what daylight reveals

and expand the possibilities ahead

in this starlit lunar show

where the crows go

 

A flock of seagulls

the travel log 

must be extraordinary

for the seabirds

that return to the middle

and to give up

that briny shore and

salty ocean breeze

where primordial life 

once poured out of

for the middle

where one must follow

a tractor and plow

to scrounge in the earth

for whatever may crawl 

or wriggle out to sacrifice

itself for dinner

instead of plunging into

endless deep blue waves 

for a pound of silvery fish flesh

one must question

the reasoning behind

this seasoning travel

 

Cold wet grass

bare feet on

cold wet grass

flesh flows over

the fallen rain

hanging on each blade

the sky above echoes of

the wings of crows

as night filters through

the heavy sullen clouds

in silken petals shines

the golden sun

beacons among 

the shadows and green

bare feet grasp

the ache of wet cold

yet tarry on the lawn

 

Clearing of thistles

the sharp teethed leaves

in green rosette

of the early growth

so eager and vicious

tucked in among

the wild violet blooms

and blushing peony stems

and anywhere else

the downy seeds 

may have fallen last Fall

yet sharper blades

plunge into the earth

knightly swords plunging

into the bosom of

the scaly dragonish beast

never giving chance 

for violet silks to give rise 

to the same downy seeds

that may have fallen last Fall

In the music

this music

makes me think

of our talks

when we'd sneak

away in the dark

to get lost in

each other's words

there was none

of this silence

every little thought

would spill out

uninterrupted and

willing

sometimes my

voice would become

yours and you

would finish where

I had left off

and if we had gone

to a palm reader

I bet they wouldn't

have known whose hand

was whose

you always

gave me perspective

and I hope I

always gave you

hope

when our talks

felt like music

 

Weaving it

rain gently drips

on tulip petals

my fingertips flow down

the back of your neck

thick gray clouds

drift through the sky

your warm breath 

whispers in my ear

temps in the forties

chill the house

our eyers linger

within their gaze

water beads on 

the roof of the car

your laughter feels

like home

the rain sounds

an applause on the roof

we get lost without

going anywhere

 

 

Cardinal

he whispers in

a presence alight

in the reddest ember

to catch any eye

amid the blackbirds

the mask he wears

gives rise to his air

and dashing spirit

he's a ruby rose

that has found 

lightning essence

and the vehicle

in which to fulfill

his wish for flight

 

 

Enough said of bread

there's bread

in the back yard

again

little fluttery flights

getting too caught up

in their bird brain

drama

it was just one

the one bird who

thought,

"I don't give a flock"

and took off with

the chunk of bread

for itself

it was chased down

over my back yard

where fear took

over flight 

and bombs away

another bread crust

bites the dust

 

Tricky kits

I leave these little

good luck charms

in the garden

on all fours

and intact

instead of on keychains

though the price

may be a cherry bush

decapitated tulip or

nibbled foliage throughout

I've found their

tricks are much better

than any breakfast cereal

 

House of extractions

I knew her once

and found her

in a secluded home

tucked in the rolling

hills of the plains

I knew what she was

and her kiss came

as a great surprise

I wondered how she

could overcome

her primal instinct

and resist the impulse

to bite instead

her guests were many

and just as she was

and vanity seemed

to be the only topic

of their conversations

I found myself somewhat

giving freely what they

wanted from me as they

took it from my neck

with a syringe again

and again in my agony

a clear liquid they extracted

in between my shrieks

but what else should 

I had expected in 

the company of vampires

 

North from Woodlawn

vulture circles emerge

and waltz across

the morning sky

they have waited

for the sun's glory

to have faded

from the clouds

these obsidian aviators

are methodical in

their morning maneuvers

more so than their smaller

cawing counterparts

who take more joy

in their chaotic spontaneity

 

And then there are tools

so many distractions

these clowns that

wear masks

who truly are

the teachers you

search for

and they may show

you the way of

what to do

or the way of 

what not to do

either way they

are there to show

you the way

and whatever trinkets

they are selling

in the long run

you will find

they become the tools

you will need 

to learn that the only

tool you will ever need

is your own heart

 

Alarmed clock

there's something

to be said

about being roused

from sleep

at 6:30 am on a 

Sunday morning

from a voice

that simply says,

"Hey!"

it pulls you from

possibly touring

a collection of items

you may have

once possessed

in a former life

or wipes away

visions of your grandparents

who came back

after their funeral

because though that

may have been

a big event for them

that wasn't all there

was for them

they have more lessons

to teach you

but instead that voice

echoes through your

ears as you lay awake

suspended in not knowing 

who exactly just said,

"Hey!"

 

 

Dream houses

finding yourself on a road you once knew

but now your memories deceive your reality

or better yet your dreams

and dreams not of your choice

but those trips your subconscious

is in the driver's seat for

the dust was kicking up

in the rearview mirror

and the gravel road had

an upcoming sharp fork

a lover once known

threw the steering wheel left

and the pickup spun out

into a field of dried soybeans

a draw laid ahead in the road

where two remnants of grand houses

were barely hanging onto the world

found at the hearth just inside the door

was an uncle once despised but now pitied

this blowhard had now deflated

as had the life that surrounded him

no satisfaction was found in this

merely disconnection, so sublime

Invitation to an ancient god

the soil turned over

easily as the shovel 

blade ran through it

tiny roots were already

very impatient in the

early April morning

green necks of allium

both garlic and onion

were vibrant in the sun

spinach leaves from

last Fall's planting

showed resilience 

lines were drawn in

the turned wet earth

for the eager tiny roots

while one line filled

fully with onions the

garlic filled only half

bones of former trunks

of castor beans filled

the trellis for the vines

squirrels chased crows

from the bird bath but

nothing was achieved

a lonely dragonfly flew

past as a reminder of

a friend of a former time

the early green planting

was watered in for the

wet earth to wait for God