I shed a tear
for the Violin
or should I say
her sweet straining strings
drew the anguish
welling up inside of me and
plucked out a tear as the
soprano sang an irish ode to
the love she’d let go
…as I had today
lost a beloved
pet
I wept as the string sang
to me the Eulogy
that was kept from me
by a busy day
of burying her and
then driving to the concert
where I
shed a tear
for the violin
Two Hawks
Crisscrossed
Above my Head
Little Robin
Giving chase
Screaming with dread!
“Why is it
You are crying
My darling little hen?”
“THE FALCONS TOOK
MY SLEEPING CHICK RIGHT
OUT OF OUR LITTLE DEN!”
The Desert
The Desert Hills
The Desert Hills are calling me
Dark Mesa
Called the Pedernal
Whose proud form has stood
Damn near eternal,
Watches over the sand stone cliffs
Across the valley as sage scents drift
From the scorched earth
Of a July day on Piedre Lumbre
In search,
In search, of
Bronze Amulet
To give to my love as an Anniversary gift.
None have I found
That is up to the task.
Most are unworthy
A facade, a mask.
Not the malleable mettle that makes up our love.
None that protects like a shield forged from above.
No patina to show that through thick and thin
We’ve endured the onslaught from without and within.
No, our love deserves
Much more recognition
Than a candle stick or
A dime store trinket.
Yes, our love endures
In Re-creation.
We wear our Bronze
On Our Hearts
In Our Spirit.
A visitor sat in
The Golden Rain Tree
Sitting and awaiting
Still and patiently
Usually, the Finches
And busy bobbing
Their red heads
But today if they
Come to visit
They may end up
Quite dead.
Brushing my teeth
In the back of the Jeep
Watching the birds
Watching you
Watching me
I watched the Big Dipper rise
And Orion set
As the stars
Spun ’round
Above my head
The stones
Tall Figures
Holding council in the dark
While firelight dances
And waves and arcs.
The birdsong is quiet
And held close to the ground
In this otherwise silent
Place with small sounds.
Just the occasional coo
Of a mating white dove;
The cries of the crows
As they pass above.
Everything here is over your head
The Stars
The Birds
The Rocks
Who once said,
“Not even we will stand
For Eternity in this land.”
I wish I had words
That painted the brush
Strokes of Georgia O’Keffe
Into your mind, so you
Could see these desert colors
Bleed into oily black shadows
Of grooves and crevices
Touched in browns and reds
Yellow grass waving on a
Horizon of gold juxtaposed
By the dim mountains
Rising in the background
The seasons are changing
The frost is coming
To bring its crystal blanket
And cover the ground with winter
Turning everything brown and
Changing summer’s growth
Into next spring’s compost
It looks as though
It is laying waste
Desolating everything in its path
But with every cycle
Destruction breeds creation
We must not despair
For a withered stalk
Makes food for the next
Wiley buds
Of spring