head throbs, stomach roils
nausea threatens to rise;
drunken aftermath.
unwelcome symptoms,
consequences of
over indulging.
should know better now
in fifth decade’s last hurrah
I learned too slowly.
Peace, people!
I might’ve had way too much to drink at my high school reunion this weekend.
i loved you
before it was cool
before i knew
what love meant.
love it seems is more
than hearts and flowers;
more than sweet
expressions.
it’s hard work,
honestly, this love stuff.
not for the
weak of spirit.
there have been
days when i felt the dearth
of love; its
cold absence.
but mostly love’s
embraced us like the warmest
hug on the coldest
night. perfect.
c’mon!
you can do it!
rise and shine, girl.
nope.
i’m comfortable
right here in my bed.
c’mon!
time’s a’wasting!
the world’s your oyster!
nope.
go away. leave me.
mumble, mumble, mumble.
c’mon!
i brought donuts!
and coffee with Baileys.
nope.
wait. did you say
donuts? Baileys? i’m up.
I think of you often
Considering the brief duration
Of our acquaintance.
Many nights your name
Drifts like a wraith between my
Amen and my dreams.
Some days I smile, thinking
Of words we once spoke,
Witty, yet inconsequential,
Odd bits to linger over
While I pluck weeds from
The courtyard out front.
It’s not like we shared a
Romance, more a
Light-hearted
Melding of minds.
Maybe you were the
Platonic soulmate foretold
By a palm reader
At a small kiosk
In Baltimore’s
Inner harbor.
I don’t miss you as much
As I find places where
Your presence would
Be a blessing.
I hope you
Are well,
friend.
this afternoon was perfect
for two-wheeled adventures,
leaning into modest curves,
feeling brisk exhilaration.
briefly open throttles wide
to pass sedate pedestrians.
ease seamlessly into lanes,
give nods to bikes we meet.
brake for food, hungry now.
partake of Sonic’s cuisine:
cheeseburgers, tots, shakes.
turn toward home as evening
breezes creep under helmets,
and leafy shadows crisscross
roadways, cautioning riders.
life had much promise
for you two seasons ago,
green budding leafling.
spring urged you forward
out of yearning innocence
a mere suggestion.
hot summer hinted
eternity can be yours
live forever leaf!
alas, autumn came
transforming green to orange
with one final stroke.
rest peacefully now
released from your life’s struggle
to crunch underfoot.
I wrote this piece awhile back for my youngest granddaughter who was two at the time and couldn’t understand why her older siblings got to ride the big yellow school bus and she didn’t.
Harper D is now three, and today was officially her first day of Pre-K, but I thought it would be fun to revisit this mostly true poem.
“D Wants to Ride”
The big yellow bus came to D’s house today.
Garrett got on the big yellow bus.
McKayla got on the big yellow bus.
D could not get on the big yellow bus.
“You must be three, and you are only two,” said Garrett.
“You are way too little,” said McKayla.“I am big,” said D.
“I can count,
I can sing,
I can climb,
I can swing.”
“Just one more year,” said Garrett.
“You will be a big girl next year,” said McKayla.
“But I AM a big girl!” Insisted D.
“I can play,
I can dance,
I can run
Really fast!”
“D,” said Garrett, “Be our baby for awhile.”
“D,” said McKayla, “Stay little for awhile.”
D thought and thought. “OK,” she said.
“I will be your baby for one more year.I will still count and sing, climb and swing.
I will still play and dance and run very fast.
But next year I will get on the big yellow bus!”
“Bye, D,” said Garrett.
“Bye, D,” said McKayla.
“Bye big yellow bus!” said D. “I’ll see you next year.”
Peace, people!
with each moment
the forest changes
from deeply shadowed to
sun-dappled peek-a-boo,
from deathly still to
alive with the flutters
of cardinals and the
skittering of squirrels.
the darkness is there
even in the midst
of the brightest day;
the scurrying of
unseen creatures
disturbs the silence,
glimpses of white
magnolia hint at light.
How is a pariah like a piranha?
Neither are welcome dinner guests.
Give social media credit
where credit is due.
Pariah status becomes easy
for users to accrue.
Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook,
and Instagram, too
Provide pulpits for all
who have hatred to spew.
narrow lined paper,
college-ruled;
perpendicular
red boundaries,
front and back.
only left demanded
observance, right
a mere suggestion,
a hint of moving on.
what use could we
make of tangible
margins, neat
demarcations to
guide our steps?
as points of entry
and departure ever
providing checks
and balances.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 