Jan 31

Boat

Tilda rowed a paper boat
into the deep and endless sea
with a tangerine hat and blueberry coat,
but at least the trip was free.

She folded the newspaper to make the boat,
lining the bottom and sides with tape
and took it out to test the float,
while all the swimmers did was gape.

But still she persisted to sail the sea –
Now let's all take a vote:
how long will Tilda's voyage be
in her folded newspaper boat?
Jan 31

Cherry Tree

I didn't feel 
anything about the
tree
until I lost it 
til the bark cracked
like glow sticks at dusk
and the cherry blossoms
smeared over the axe
like stickers on my cheek
the dew still holding to the leaves
glowed like wounded lighting bugs
on the heavy metal blade
and the lifting of the axe
like the bat I once raised to 
swing at the piñata hanging
from a branch
and it falls again 
and again
and again
like the steady
rhythm of my pogo stick
on the concrete
and again 
and again
til the tree lays on the ground
and moss supports its head
like a new born baby
and flowers bloom around the stump 
like a funeral
and blossoms still unfold 
on the farthest branches
like nothing has happened
and forever is over
I say goodbye to you
cherry tree again
and again 
and again


 
 
Dec 03

Crystal Dog

The crystal dog
likes it when I take his
collar off
when the maple trees line
like soldiers
tall and frozen 
leading to a 
distant memory
Where the crystal dog
has sparks in his eyes
and his nose perks towards
the tree tops
and he crooks his leg
as if he wasn't bred to be
the child of a 
coddling culture
but still
the chirps in the bushes
peek more than interest
and the crystal dog
follows bunny tracks
like hiccups in the frost
oh but he is no longer the
crystal dog
no
the light shines through 
him in the woods
and he burns brighter
than the homely 
crystal dog
something forgotten has
been nudged within him
and at the smell of the
ripe moss and the murky puddles
he is awake 
and I wonder
if there is something
like that in everyone
crinkled and ancient
but there none the less
Dec 03

Golden Swan

There is a
single golden
swan
who stands
apart
in the pond
the others
circle 
with quiet
grace
so soundless
I feel like screaming
just to know it is
real
Haste sits
with crossed-arms
on the bank
it has no place among
the feathered angels
and still the others
orbit him
the gilded one
born
of lily flowers
and snow flakes
but once when I 
went to watch
he was gone
a single shining
feather
left crooked
on the water
and a fox 
stared cold and grim
from the bushes on the bank
but the other swans
marched themselves from 
the water
through the bushes
past the fox
over the mountains
and they found themselves
another golden swan

 
Nov 19

Little Child

She idly
dances her fingers on
the window pane
her hand
small
and fragile
unbaked dough
yeast rising in the
early morning sun
marker smudges
on her fingertips
a single sticker
on the back of her 
hand
and I wonder where
she is going
and her fingers
twist and skip
in circles on the glass
and they flourish
and the dough jumps
and the sticker holds
on tightly
her fingers still
and drop to her 
side
her dance is over
and I applaud
Nov 14

Pigeon Feathers

Oh my dear
We miss you
pigeon feather,
someone took you 
from under the bench
and thought it funny
to do away with you
or maybe you left
your frostbit heart
seeking refuge
from our cold 
blind shoulder
and now
I do the 
seeking
wishing something
to fill the spot
below the park bench
please don't see 
my petty apology
as late
it was simply
never sent
Now my knees
are patterned 
with the rough 
sidewalk
kneeling before the
parkbench
oh pigeon feather
See how my once chilled
shoulder
now weeps
and folds towards
the park bench
melted with regret
how the pebbles 
pierce my sorry
skin
as I kneel before
your ancient seat
how loneliness has molded
forgotten and cold
And the world
wails
it too has found
the pigeon feathers gone
and the metal man
slows
Nov 14

Pigeon Feathers

Oh my dear
We miss you
pigeon feather,
someone took you 
from under the bench
and thought it funny
to do away with you
or maybe you left
you frostbit heart
seeking refuge
from our cold 
blind shoulder
and now I seek
something
the full the spot
below the park bench
please don't see 
my petty apology
as late
it was simply
never sent
Now my knees
are patterned 
with the rough 
sidewalk
kneeling before the
parkbench
oh pigeon feather
See how my shoulder
now weeps
and folds towards
the park bench
how the pebbles 
pierce my sorry
skin
as a kneel before
your ancient seat
how loneliness has molded
forgotten and cold
And the world
wails
it too has found
the pigeon feathers gone
and the metal man
slows
to cry for the pigeon feathers
maybe you all

Pages