Time’s Up

Time’s Up

This poem is not ready to move on,
but its adjectives have abandoned the rhyme
for warm, blue waters and sandy shores. The nouns are
running a marathon with the moon and it
finds itself no longer (verb)ose.
This poem is left with only two feet and no rhythm,
and the meter is almost on empty. It has become
un(in)formed and blank. Maybe now is the
time to stand(za) up, pack up its ink and go.
But it will be back to repeat the refrain.

Just Out of Sight

Just Out of Sight

This poem has seen it all
Trends the come and go – waiting


around the bend to return in
a slim disguise that can not


fool this poem
Long hair, short hair, no hair, facial hair


Wide pants, narrow pants, no pants
streaking across a field


Spikey heels, flat soles, flip flops that
used to be thongs, but now that is


something entirely different
Pop beads, love beads, crystal beads


Moon rocks, pop rocks, pet rocks,
Rock ‘n Roll


This poem has watched it all come and go,
but it won’t stop looking until


it sees peace

About What Counts – a remix

About What Counts – a remix

He counts the birds of many hues
The names of most, he doesn’t know,
but they must count for something too.

His favorites are the noisy blues,
the yellows putting on a show.
He counts the birds of many hues,

this window gives a perfect view.
The black one – oh, it’s just a crow,
but they must count for something too.

He still remembers quite a few
it’s memories that do not flow.
He counts the birds of many hues

until they’re gone, all but a few,
and like them memories have flown,
but they must count for something too.

He sees a face and wonders who,
should he remember them – but no.
He counts the birds of many hues,
and they must count for something too.

A Reply From Narcissus in the Laundromat

A Reply From Narcissus in the Laundromat

When I stumbled into the laundromat I saw
you fluffing and folding and was instantly smitten.
People think I’m vain, egotistical even, but

every time I looked in a mirror or caught my reflection
in a window I was looking for you. I was daring to hope
that someone like you might be following me. Suddenly,

there you were, so I went from machine to machine trying
to glimpse your face because I was afraid to look into your eyes
in case there was no love reflected back.

* from Day 5 at NaPoWriMo

MacIntosh

MacIntosh

It’s an old tree, standing in my yard –
not ancient like the Sequoias, or
statuesque like the Redwoods, just

a squat little apple tree being the best
tree it can. I can imagine it wiggling its
roots in the rich soil, like the child playing

In the sandbox under its shady umbrella,
Deer come to graze on the bounty of
late summer and Robins build delicate,

twiggy nests in its branches, and I’m sure
I can hear it humming lullabies in the night.

Book Sounds

Book Sounds

Listen to

…. the slight whisper of a page being turned
late at night after everyone is asleep

…. the sharp rustle of paper as a page is
rapidly turned in anticipation

…. the final satisfying whoosh of the last page
turned, a book closed

About What Counts

About What Counts

He sits at the kitchen window counting
birds at the feeder. He used to know the name

of each one, their breeding habits, their migration
patterns. A large shadow passes overhead, scattering

the little birds like the memories that elude him. People
and places he no longer recalls, strangers in photographs.

Only the feelings remain.
Surely they must count for something.

Of Courage and Joy

Of Courage and Joy

No one tells you how courageous you must be to grow old
The oldest are often the bravest
No one tells you how many times a heart can be broken or

How many times it can heal
No one tells you your body will fight against you and
Vigilance will become your watch word

No one tells you about how much love a human heart can hold
And still have room for more
No one tells you that joy comes in the form of chickadees

And children’s laughter
Yet, when they tell you that the best is yet to come
You do not believe