Easter Sunday

On Tuesday, it was eighty.
Easter Sunday, we got a foot
and a half of snow. It is hard
to have sunny, creative thoughts
when the weather is crapping
an inch an hour on all things.

I can't imagine sailing ships,
human cargo, or maligned
pirates. Winter has returned.
I can't create a flowering
garden when the ground
is being as choked as I.

I can only submit that I
am weak and bleak today.
Tomorrow might be better,
but real life returns instead.
Maybe some snow will
melt and a daffodil won't.

Tumbleweed (revised)

The tumbleweed skims the surface
wherever the wind propels it.
It scratches the dry earth
and scatters those treasures
as it roams the desert.

He has freedom to roam
the world. The wind is his only map.

Sometimes, the tumbleweed
entangles with twine and performs
a solitary dance to nature.
Rarely is an audience present;
never is the dance appreciated.

He is sensual and abandons
himself to forces greater than himself.

The random path of the weed
is not always without damage.
Sheer abandon among the elements
can shift to a course less common.
Hope has no power.

Loneliness reigns a sharp hand.
A slap can leave a sting.

Man leave his mark behind
in many ways, but the tumbleweed
leaves less discernible traces
for a much longer distance
without a word.

Silence is golden, but companionship
can offer so much more.

Tumbleweed

The tumbleweed skims the surface
wherever the wind propels it.
It scratches the dry earth
and scatters those treasures
as it roams the desert.

Sometimes, the tumbleweed
entangles with twine and performs
a solitary dance to nature.
Rarely is an audience present;
never is the dance appreciated.

The random path of the weed
is not always without damage.
Sheer abandon among the elements
can shift to a course less common.
Hope has no power.

Man leave his mark behind
in many ways, but the tumbleweed
leaves less discernible traces
for a much longer distance
without a word.

Journeys

One journey ends
as she drifts to her destination--
quietly, peacefully--
as she had been called.
The fight was over
after years of onslaught.
It was time to rest.
One journey ends
as another one begins.

Unchartered waters call to her
as she steps into the unknown.
She wills her eyes to open
knowing only too well
they already are. Will
her path be similar to the one
her adversary followed
when he invaded her body?
The battles are about to start,
where will the journey end?

Cindi

Can't change the course of events
Inspite of all the good intentions
Never underestimate the power
Don't forget the temptations either
Instead, prepare to fight for dear life

Some Kind of Heat

He has a distinct
trickle-down effect on me.
Caribbean sweat drips
oh-so-slowly
between my breasts
every time he is near.

Normally, I go for a more
traditional sandwich,
but in his case, I simply
want to be the bun.
Oh, lasso me a snowflake,
honey,

and cool me down.

'Tis the Season

Changing seasons means so much more
than falling temperatures and varying climates.
A blueness falls in heavy clouds of lethargy
as the holidays approach faster again.

I feel a fullness descend upon me
even before the feast has begun.
The task of shopping weighs heavy
upon my shoulders and I trudge
from store to store.

I need my own Santa and workshop
of elves to get me through
the next few months. I need to keep
from drowning in a sea of frost.

Changing seasons means so much more
than the mere temperature drop. It means
it is once again time to search
for my sanity. I hope I find it.

Words

The words,
they come not today,
claim an emptiness
when there's so much to say.

The hunger to be heard
resounds throughout.
The silence that follows
causes doubt.

I'm Not Alone

I walk with dread. I know I'm not alone.
I look around and, of course, no one is there.
But, I am not alone. The darkness beckons
me and the street light whispers safety.
I cannot trust either because I know.

My predator is right on my heels
and so much larger than life. He changes
in an inkling and reaches long arms
to grab at my flesh. I elude him once again
but know that it won't be long now.

I run only to sense him in front of me
which stops me in my tracks. I cannot
find my voice as terror as taken hold
of my throat. My breath becomes
ragged as I struggle for air.

I fail to see my attacker as I turn
and blindly run. I know that safety
can't be far away, but I stumble
in uncertainty and fear. I hear him
clearly and wonder if this is it.

Hey Mister

Hey Mister,
keep those whiskers and those paws
to yourself. I may be alone,
but I'm not needy.

Go back to where your prey
won't question your motives
since they won't even know
what the word means.

There's no law against solitude.
It is only confinement causes trouble.
I'm not near lonely enough for you.
My parents taught me a thing or two.

I've been on my own for as long
as I can remember. My folks, well,
they didn't make it home one night.
That made me stand on my own feet.

So, Mister,
keep your whiskers and your paws
to yourself. I don't need you.

My Son

My son will never be Pope.
There are too many older and wiser than he.
They will overshadow him.

My son spent far too much time
inside his own head when he was younger.
He was always timid.

My son knows the passion
of his convictions. He never understood
the fascination of the fairer sex.

My son will forever be
in the shadows of more powerful men.
This is the way God made him.

My son, like His son,
seeks to make a better life for all.
He is so easily fooled.

My son is the light of my life.
He may never be very powerful,
but he is my son

And I love him.

Time

The days are getting shorter
and are passing much to quickly.
Another year is drawing to a close.
I don't know where the time goes.

I look forward to something different
and regret the sameness yet again.
Another chance has slipped away.
I don't know where the time goes.

Like rain that washes away the soot
and chases it down the side of my car,
opportunity never knocked this door.
I watch the time go down the drain.

I take comfort in complacency
and sleep with dreams of satisfaction.
Tomorrow brings another choice
to slow the clock again.

summertime heatwave

summertime heatwave
preferable to winter
slow time to a crawl

I Remember

I remember all that time ago
when we couldn't help
but drift toward each other.

There was a newness
and excitement that prevailed
with every breath and sigh.

As the years travel by,
we don't have so much
urgency any more.

There's more of a contentment.
I still look forward to seeing
you every single day.

Remember

Remember the good.
Tomorrow might lead us down
a different path.

Round 7

I knew this baby
would get me noticed.
I've had more attention
in the past six months than I
did in my entire life.

I was grounded most of it.

I know Danielle will continue
to bring me notice. If I could
just get her out of me so I
can sleep. That would be swell.
And, they tell me that won't happen.

I won't sleep again for years.

At least Danielle and I will
have each other. It is hard to say
where Eddie ran off to.
We had such a good time when
we were together. Too bad

it was just that one time.

The Shadow

A shadow hangs between us even now.
It is an impenetrable curtain of the past.
We can’t seem to get where we used to be.
Things have stayed the same, yet they’ve changed.
Ever so subtly, we’ve changed and can’t go back.
How I yearn for the way things were before.

This shadow lives in the jail of our minds.
It has imprisoned the possibility of closeness.
It gives an unreal sense of superficiality.
Things have stayed the same, yet they’ve changed.
I can’t blame either of us for the difference;
How I yearn for the way things were before.

I remember how comfortable we’d become.
Maybe it is that comfort and not the shadow
that causes my unease at this moment.
Things have stayed the same, yet they’ve changed.
The feelings we have for each other remain steady.
How I yearn for the way things were before.

A shadow hangs between us even now.
After time, we may be able to pierce her armor.
The curtain may wear thin and disintegrate.
Things have stayed the same, yet they’ve changed.
If we work together, maybe we can go back.
How I yearn for the way things were before.

The Storm Has Broken

The storm has broken
and words spew like raindrops
that pelt windows and clothing alike.
Hurtful utterings puddle at my feet
only to pull me down in the sodden
gutter of filth.

A deep, wet coldness seeps
into my bones and hardens
my heart as mindless obscenities
continue to be hurled at my head.

The puddles will eventually shrink
and dry and sun will shine again.
But, some storms leave such a deep
imprint that life will never be the same
again.

Las Vegas Showgirls

The seat swallowed me
as I watched the show.
I shrank, visibly, from
the magnificence before me.

Women we never meant to be
that beautiful,
that flexible, or that perfect.
Not when I was around, at least.

Left to myself, I felt good
about who I was
and how I looked. During
this show, I knew the lies.

Nevermore

So many times
life goes from bad to worse.
I often find myself thinking
nevermore.

Yet, history repeats itself
and I become a broken record—
the vinyl kind of yesterday.
Nevermore.

And then I met you.
I walked eggshells for years
waiting for the crack
that never came.

Nevermore.

Round 11

As a writer,
I often pluck at my dulcimer
as I contemplate the world.
Many have come and gone
in my life; most don’t stay long.
My silence perturbs the quietest
in my attention to insignificant items.
Hours spent studying anthills
lead me to only one conclusion.
The ants are my friends;
they’re blowing in the wind.

Round 10

Pieces make up the whole.
A little bit of me and a little you
simmered in the stew of life,
stirred gently to ease away
bubbles of trouble just below
the boiling point.

Confusion compounds our every day.
Explosions just below the surface
are so much less dangerous
than current day suicide bombers.
However, the pieces and confusion
don't always mesh and can ignite
in a whole new way.

The highway leads us to destinations,
some familiar and some foreign.
When the bridge ends abruptly,
we wake startled from our dreams.
Shake away the horrors of the day
and move forward into the light.
A new and uncertain world awaits.

These Halls

These halls echo in their emptiness
and reverberate all the pain
and suffering witnessed over the years.
What was once a magnificent place
of hope, courage, and strength
is reduced to rubble that stands
ready to meet its own demise
much in the way many patients did.

With all new and improved things,
the old becomes negelected.
People don't need both; they need
only the best and the brightest.
These walls no longer contain either.
With one final sweep
through the corridors, I say goodbye
to that all-too-familiar feeling.

Tomorrow, this building with all
of its memories, will exist no more.
The wrecking crew will cart away
the remaining souls with each brick
and beam torn rudely from its
resting place. Each memory
will be buried with the dust
as the past disappears.

A String

hearts unattended
still resemble a shadow
of their former selves

------------------------

Optimism is easily lost
among the debris of which you speak.
Seek that which you desire
and restore the ebb and tide
of this thing called life.

--------------------------

would it were that easy
nothing in life is so certain
and paper means nothing
better to trust instinct
and live in the moment

Round Robin 8

Brass goblets dribble sour wine
and perfection isn’t always so.
I tipped my hat to the lady
as any gentleman would.

I tell the following tale:

She was a generic baby.
You know: assorted gurgles and coos.
Rumors flew, wafted on rising innuendo;
They say she knew her business.

“Huh! Buncha dam yankees” he muttered,
wiping tobacco juice off his chin.
Her father didn’t believe a word
spoken against her.

“Chocolate ripple fudge” she sighed
She licked her lips with childish pleasure.
Moonlight, like irradiated butterscotch
came from a moon that knew her secrets.

They say some people move to a different beat.
Hers was a bump and grind.
Too many men could attest to this.
Too many wives shied away from her as well.

Donovan

Don't think his leaving went unnoticed;
Only strangers will tell you different.
None could deny his attraction and strength.
Opium would not ease this pain, this loss.
Very strong was his power in our lives
An improvement was always aroung the corner
Never did we expect this outcome; his hope lives on.

Round Robin 6

Simply a promise of warmer weather
lightens my load as I shed winter layers
from my frame. I feel lighter, more carefree.
One step forward, though, and two steps back
as cold and rain remind us that dreariness
lingers in the unsuspecting.

Nature's creations do not heed the final warnings
for frost in the darkened hours. They break ground
and show themselves in the unexpected havens
beneath the decayed leaves left from last season.
They dare to be bold and beautiful as they poke
their heads out and demand attention.

A spot of color, that special brightness, in my day
is enough that I can ignore the setback of weather
and look forward to what tomorrow will bring.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel, and that light
shines brightly and warmly amid the chilliness
left behind by the old man of winter.

My own age disappears as I stroll through the sunshine
and peer at the new blossoms that peer at me. A careful hand
can uncover the treasures offered by nature in the gold,
bronze, and silver that adorns the butterfly as he spreads
his wings. Take flight after the months wrapped
in a cocoon of blankets, sweaters, and coats.

Round Robin 5

I Believe

I believe there is an angel
watching over me in my times of fear.
I believe most things are temporary
if only I have the strength to endure.
Carry on and make the best decisions
available at the time; regret nothing
as it only brings pain unchecked.

They say good things come to those
who wait; well, I've waited but my angel
shows me patience when I've none left.
Things often don't work the way we plan.
The outcome may actually be superior.
It doesn't pay to play "what if?"
It is better to accept and move on.

Trust in yourself and be true above all.
The rest of the world will adapt.
If that doesn't work, it is their loss alone.
Let your "angel" guide you as does mine.
Our paths may cross upon our journeys
and I will welcome you with open arms.
If not, may we both end someplace better.

I believe in myself.

Round Robin 4

The shepherd does not lead me
through the clouds this night.
As hard as I count, the sheep
and the clouds turn into pillows
that choke the breath from me.
I toss and turn with every stoke
of the clock and the pillow
against my face.

Invisible hands will not leave me
alone in my weariness--my pain.
They torment me into sweating frenzy
as I struggle against my assailant.
The hands are not attached
to anyone in particular;
they are attached to my thoughts
that push down on me like bricks.

I've buried myself alive
and have forgotten how to live.
I no longer enjoy the company
of the shepherd in my drifting
toward forgetfulness. My shepherd
has painted the sheep black,
almost invisible in the darkness.
My shepherd wants me dead.

Round Robin 3

In the beginning,
man walked alone.
Life was good.
There was no one to stare,
compare, or dare him
to be any different.
He was content.
No one could tell him otherwise.

There was no one to share
his contentment with either.
But, the lightbulb came on
and God created woman
from the rib of man.
Man, therefore, became less
than perfect and woman was
whole in the image of Man and God.

This soon led to temptation
from which a simple act invited
evil and shame into the hearts of man.
And, if we think about it,
this was the beginning
of procreation
and commercialization.

One leads to the other
just as temptation and shame
couple and grow without bounds.
A glimpse of perfection,
soon overshadowed
by the opposite, send us
into living hells.
We are compelled to do better.

Round Robin 2

She remembers the crowns,
the gowns, and the glory
as if it were only yesterday.
Only yesterday was fading
just as quickly as the beauty
she once held dear.

No one ever told her that beauty
didn't prevent loneliness.
They never told her that memories
would be all that was left.
She knew now that memories
would not warm her bed at night.

And, memories fade too.
Just like the crown whose jewels
tarnish with age and inattention.
Without some scrapbook of expression,
preservation dwindles to nothingness.
The thin metal offers no brilliance or warmth.