these christmas frogs
serenade santa claus
from the swollen creek
Tag: writer
past past present (20161222)
these ghosts hover
like the shimmer
of christmas booze
over a dickensian pudding
[so many dead
–the poet said]
no one waited until spring
no thaw
and frost flowers
blossomed from gravesite earth
poinsettia and holly berry
heart color bright for the season
pleasing to view
poison to taste
divided by a pair of aces and nines
yet in my dreams
always together
striving
cat critics (20161221)
poem schmo-em
says the cat
curling in my lap
and resting her head
in the crook of my
typing arm
carols (20161220)
christmas carols play on the radio
a classical station
so i don’t get to
hear any bing, frank, mel, or elvis
one wall separates my office
from the garage
allowing me to hear
the washing machine draining
the dryer spinning
tossing clothes on the eco-cycle
i lower my head
to the desk
and strain to hear
domestic music
but it’s all horns
and violins
and the dog obsessively
cleaning his paw
doggerel (20161219)
gristle and thistle and sharpened teeth
dwell under skin and hide beneath
the roiling swell of too-hot blood.
ashes to ashes, and dust to mud
we gather together to raise the dead
serve them cakes and moldy bread
return again to the silent tomb
just another word for womb
cold air (201612170)
the air transforms my words
into cold clouds
cold words
fearful ones
laughter as well
i inhale
my teeth complain
–maybe the new crown
but maybe maybe maybe
this winter air
has pack us in ice
a garage freezer
keeping us fresh til spring
if my words turned into snowflakes
i would catch them in my palm
and let them melt
if your words turned into snowflakes
i would catch them on my tongue
and swallow them
water (20161216)
the dog left a footprint
in the mud
that the rain washed away
lost in the dark (20161215)
you circle back
in this rain
retrace your steps to search for
that piece of yourself
you dropped
on the sidewalk?
in the gutter?
that thing you dropped
it is smaller than a snowflake
fragile as bones
woven of glass strands
and now
you say
i must go with you
to help you find it
i will bring a light
and hope my failing eyes
offer some assistance
copper (20161214)
round red leaves litter the pavement
pennies scattered from threadbare pockets
someone disappeared
and took their words with them
i thought to look because another
returned after a long hiatus
but the ghost
is a mist taken by dry winds
why dwell on another’s choices
why feel the sinking in the chest
the pit of the stomach
why ache for someone i read
but did not know
tomorrow i will look at leaves
and see pennies again
and count their value in more
than copper
balloon animals (20161213)
a room full of
transparent balloons
bouncing off one another
sometimes the static
electricity joins them
together but the air
conditioner will blow
–maybe gently, maybe not–
and they separate
again
we can see through them
but what animates them
that remains invisible
the lights may as well
be off
we may as will have
pins for fingers
Words and Feathers 