Grappling

I grappled with the question I heralded the pain of not knowing what I always thought was accurate and the main reason that I covered it up was that I was afraid of the way that you would look at me if you felt that you got played. The mayor of the city of the beating of my heart is out to lunch and his desk is full of papers and layered stuff while the secretary is burning up another cigarette I went into his drawers and found the money to make this bet, that I would rise and remember the fear inside my heart and crush it like an orange peel each time that it might start. I focused on the fading light at sunset just to see the tiny bit of hope that is still alive in me. 

Heavy Sighs

Grim reaper fairy tales

soup chills ships sail

free money draws glances

feet tapping silent dances

monster rivers carve canyon

green trees breeze abandon

Young tumble dirt face

sigh heavy win race

Nonsense

I don't need poetry prompts

I am a renegade queen

I am never stumped

I am a team of green dragonflies

soaring into the cloudy valley

the bog of nonsense

is my home.

How dare I try to make sense?

How conceited, how vain

I should only wish to spew

loose pearls into the rain

I should only hope to grind the saw

blade and all

into the wood.

Panting Panthers Passed Me By

Panting panthers passed me by

while I was sleeping on the jungle floor

my back against the dirt and a thousand plants

bent down for a bed

The paintings on the caves will last for

tens of thousands of years

my bones for slightly less

In them is the story

which time cannot erase

the clay hand

the shaman

the girl in the tunnel

may I be her

one day.

Singers

 If you are a good singer you can sing in the rain

you can laugh with the birds open mouthed 

you can dance in the thunder and slip underneath

the rug where the dust lies

If you are a good banker you can save your dough

you can count your change in your back pockets

and never give a thought to bills

but you can't wait for me at the corner

to trade out our free will

If you are a good singer you can find your voice

tell him how you feel and raid the pantry for rice

at your wedding you can take the team of horses

to the bitter winter

where you can live in the cabin

far from anyone 

and sing

Waiting for You

Waiting in the hungry morning for the sign of life

in the cemetery

waiting for the bees to start to buzz and the fog to lift

waiting for the shoes to shuffle

waiting for the bus

waiting for the door to swing, small hinges

covered in rust

waiting for the stream to turn 

waiting for the canyon to form

waiting for the comet

to take light years to cross the universe

to become a smudge of a star

waiting

Hydras and Water Sprinklers

When hanging by a thread

the thread twists

and the needle burns

When skipping on the sidewalk

the rock gets stuck

in the bottom of my left shoe

The dream when dreaming 

is the language of the Gods

many headed hydra

watering the yard

Tai Chi in the Rain

She's doing tai chi under the bridge as it's raining.

I'm snipping six pack rings in half, 

seagull safety sounds subtle yet fierce.

Her position is of the crane

a tiny book she made of men

drawn by hand

She loves to have tea and smiles

so sweetly like it's an effort

to break free.

Beaches

 The chasm I can fathom when I close my eyes to dream

The canopy of shady branches shaking leaves breeze

The magnitude of earth and sky moving as it does

To escape the greatness of what never was

Alas dear reader weep and dream

And with a stick

In the sand

paint a line on the beach for me 

The Grand

Canyons of crayons made these colors speak

The Pack Mule

Loaded down with leather aching in the sun

another round through the canyon

carrying rum and guns

The adobe walls

of the mission in the distance

the reverberation of the bells

in the sweat-stained heat

the tower

the stark light

the dust

the hooves

what burdens is he asked

to carry?

he does all without question

In the same way we carry our worries

through this whole world

without a word

Beautiful

The rest and the in-between sunshine

The trees and the distant sand

Stone sculpture and liquid scripture

Swirling in the sky while the plane lands

Stars and sleep the meaning of dreams

The ouija board with my fingers pressed

Eyes closed thinking of the answer

As another wave crests 

Jazz is Yiddish

 The moment when the woman is on the side of the stage snapping to the beat with a look of stagnant exhilaration. The black piano shiny under the lights. The saxophone player sounds like money. I watched the Maxwell Street Klezmer Band perform under the lights. I controlled the lights I made them lavender or amber. I wanted to take a picture. Then I thought to write a poem. Why capture everything in some digital way, some photo that will sit on a thumb drive for infinity. Why not capture the moment. Some good old fashioned rhapsody. Some intelligence built in.