There is a crispnessin the morning airas dog days sliplike a molten sunsetbeneath the wavesof autumn,nights arrivingsooner than last week. We hardly noticein our hastefor school suppliesand awesome dealsat American Eaglesale sale SALE!or one last dashto the cottage. Or at our deskhead down – eyes fixedon 14 inchesof total lifeburning
Poetry
I have been writing poetry since the 2nd grade. Why stop now?
Poetry
The Language of Loneliness
Nose downsniffing every cornernook and crannyalong the fencewhile otherseye deepin Androidor iPhoneignore the signsyelled in silencea stick offeredlet’s playit saysthen zoomieswhen eyes liftand smileok, let’s play! ml’25 (early morning in the backyard with Frieda – coffee and the news can wait)
Poetry
Walls
When first you breakshards of you like shrapnelembedded in the stuccoyou once called ‘home’,tiny men in bibbed overallsbuild walls brick by brickwet mortar flyingto protect you while you heal,a facade brightly paintedin rainbow huesto hide the wounded heartinside. ml’25 (original image by Elexa on Pixabay)
Poetry
176
It sounds so clinical,176 – like a tokenor ticket clutchedwaitingfor your starched shirtsor bakery orderbut to his motherthere was a namesung deep like a lullabybeyond our earsor comprehension,whispered softlyby his partneror joyfullyby his children,but to us he was a numbera beautiful black and white numbersleek amongst the waves he called
Poetry
Luxury
There is luxuryin moments spentidly watchingthe sumac swayto an ancientverdant dancelaughing softlyas they gavottein the morning sun. There is luxuryin tattered jeanswell wornperhaps with holesyour Mother cluckedand told you to changebefore you climbedinto the carfor shopping. There is luxuryin lying flaton a hardwood floorwith Miss Friedaoblivious to fliesbuzzing in the
Poetry
A Passing Queen
There is somethingabout a passing queenregal posture wavingjewels sparklingon the wateras she gesturesOnward! to her realmthen dances southwardaccompanied by the murmurof her passing wake ml’25 (cruise ship watching at sunset)