Category: daily life
-
prayers in the spectrum
From the bedroom ceiling hung a Buddhist wheel on string sheer curtains, white blinds, half light, windows painted shut, stale air, no breeze, cell phone off, naked inside your head on a single bed with dirty sheets waiting for prayers to move the wheel. 4-2-21
-
The rehearsal
We rehearse for a performance unaware it has begun until applause begins We don’t know, if it is for the curtain opening or closing We wait for silence to adlib the next line “A pearl doesn’t know it’s value or understand it irritated the oyster…..” before the clapping begins again 4-1-21
-
the abusing vine
Before it strangles all life From the tree Cut the choking vine At the base of the trunk For a while It will remain Overhead as a reminder But in time it will fall away Dry and dead Gather it up From cold ground Pile it at the curb Let the city haul it away…
-
haiku while sitting outside sipping ginger/mint tea
a breeze blew a pen and a pad off of a ledge they lay uncomposed 4-1-21
-
Lessons learned at the foot of a tree
lie down at the feet of a tree look up there are many possible ways to ascend 4-1-21
-
wet paint
Before rain comes to fill my ears with neighborhood gossip, I gathered yard debris, admired the blooming azaleas, the last blood red camellia, I plan to sit outside on the porch, attempt, once more, to hack recursive algorithms, fractal Pollack patterns petals drip in homage on moss or maybe, I’ll take a nap. 3-31-21
-
Turning the debri
After the rain you put on old shoes and step outside to consolidate debris you gathered yesterday at the curb With a shovel you turn it over into itself and find despite nature’s best efforts the center is still dry untouched, unwashed and unclean 3-3-21
-
First Light
Before the sun Before footprints where sidewalks hide Before the first cars cut ruts for others to follow I stare out the window At the crystalline blanket Night pulled over rich homes and poor souls Wait for plows To rumble awake and Clear the street out to the main road Soon shovels will pile Perfection…
My husband's poetry 