She was
A sweet
A sweet blue bird
Named “Happy”
She would even
let you hold her
Her Eggs
Were aquamarine
With golden yolks
American
Ameraucana
“The Easter Egger”
Though she
Stopped producing
Early in life
She was
Well regarded
By the Garden Club.
RIP
Tic tic
Says the clock
As it counts off your day
“Where
have you been?” He says,
“Happy has passed away…”
Dirty work
This garden farm
On any good day, not much harm
‘Cept for
The mice
Who’ve come to barn
But today
You know —
Was different too
It was
The day…
That Happy died—
I need a break —
I need a break
I need a break from me
I’m swimming in
I’m breathing in
“I’m drowning,” sincerely
— John Doe —
I’ve stripped away
Prosperity
I’ve drunken down my past
I’ve left myself
No other choice
Lest this day be my last
In my head
You’re in my head
You know I see you there…
“Take a deep breath
Take a deep breath
Take in all of this air.
Make still your mind
Make whole your kind
Be what you think you should
Now let it in
Release your sin
And become what you never
Would
Gather yourself
And leave your things
It’s time to go on —Human—
Being”
Stop it!
Why are
You do-
ing this?
Denying
Your Nat-
ure—you
Question
Your voice.
This Art
Is not
For you.
You must
make it
Work for
Others.
Without
Consumption
These are
Just words.
Without
Criticism
These are
Not poems.
Divinations
Of an un-
Kind Spirit
Isolation
When you
Get perspective
From above
And can see
Yourself
On the astral
Plane. Comp-
rehension be-
gins again
When you
Return to
What is
Real and
Whole to
You. It’s
Harder than
It sounds!
These heavy feet
Burdened by ghosts
Of my grandfathers
Reminding history
Like wispy shackles
Dragging stowaways
On my ankles
Through my forest trek.
As walking in
Their steps of old
Ice cold conditions
Better gear for me
But me and my
Cold feet must carry
The miles of quiet.
My youngest son
Reminds me that
The 10 miles I
Journeyed were but
One day of 10
Miles for months
For the souls
Who took upon
The Oregon Trail.
I’ll keep my Coffee
Hot and my
Thoughts pastoral
And I will sleep
On my memory-foam
Mattress!
Fushia on pale blue-green
Umbra to sage, or better yet
— cactus-colored…
The green of the desert floor
Giving way to disease and decay.
A brilliant burning out with one
valiant effort
The bright colors of its
luscious burgundy flower’s
fruit flaring away
like a New Mexico sunset.
Is there a place
In your mind
Where you can run?
A happy place
Of belonging
— the sound of a song
It’s warm here
This perfect moment
I can hear it carry
My heart
Into a nostalgia
A moment of sharing
Yet when I’m here
Its presence leaves
My soul longing
Melancholy surrender
To the past
Give way to New Dawning’s
The music keeps
Me
Turn the page!
A place is just a place
Until it is your home
And when you are leaving
All your memories come along
But a place is just a place
When its people are not near
And in this place your place is missed
By those who hold you dear
But a place still holds your place
When you are far from here
It waits to welcome back
Sojourners who can hear
The calling of that place
And those who keep it warm
With memories of communion
Who await with open arms
Southernly winter Sun
Rises slow, casting
Angular shadows sideways
To the north
Cold morning fires burn
A smoky film releasing
Over the city, creeping
Down the valley
As the day progresses
Mountain’s depth revealing
Ridges and crevaces opening
To the warmth
Cold slice of Watermelon