Sunday, May 30, 2010

Amid the swirl

There amid swirls
of tulle, tafetta,
and color
whirls a girl
ever turning
deep within
the wide eyes
of the woman
in the mirror
clutching a
tiny dress
to her impossibly

Saturday, May 29, 2010


Everybody says...
education is key
Nobody says..
the key fits Pandora's box

Find it Bind It

When the walls are
shivering into
thoughts that blur
When hands are
chilled and the mind
races on a zig zag
time to take it all

When the world
seems bleak
bleeding hope
as oil gushes leak
When each page
and soundbite
blares humanity's lack
time to take it all

When it all begins
to swirl and press
and mortality adds
its grin to this collossal

When the dreams of
the past seem childish
innocent play
And words of possibility
disappear in the fray

When blood's very marrow
turns cold and black
Absolutely time to
take it back

Find the fear
and gather it
bind it into
something real

Perhaps a round stone
a cyst you can see
Gather the toxic
smoke of confusion
into something that
can tangible be
Then destroy it
however seems reasonably

If  a stone smash it to dust
If a cyst slide a needle until
disappear from a sonogram
before your eyes it must

Wash the dust, create a
new solution for this toxic waste
Whatever you choose
for the fear you can taste
Find it, bind it, destroy it
in a creation of your own
act with deliberate haste
until the scattered seeds
of despair no longer are sown

If any fear should linger
to tease and to chill
Repeat your own process
again and again and again
at will, until thoughts
cease zig-zagging
and walls unshivered stand still
until thoughts clearly
rest in hands marrow warmed
by freedom from fear
and all is again possible
as a song bird you hear

Hear in crystal waters, blue skies
and the thrilling pure pitch
of hope soaring swelling within
and without, flowing again
on an immortal sensible track
Then will you smile in peace
having taken your self
and all connected to you irrevocably back   

Friday, May 28, 2010

Friday Nights

As the week closes
its wings around
itself either in
joy or relief
a sigh soars
in darkness

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Ways To... A Collection of 5 Poems of "Ways To"

Ways To Fall In Love Again

Remember the touch
of a hand that grabbed
the crunch of leaves
as you sunk together
hands under coats
in a graveyard with
thin gray stones
of one hundred autumn
lovers leaning
into one another

Remember finding love
making in the brush of a
handed coffee cup
a smile, a glance

Remember sighing
in the middle of the day
and in the dark of night
for no reason except
it felt so good

Remember waking to
the sound of your
own laughter and
having it
shared sparkling
bubbling within
and without in the dark
night leaning
into each other

Remember as you watch
slack sprawled on the couch
sleeping to the tv
waking to a hand that
finds you even in sleep

Ways To Know The Smack Across Your Face Isn't Shooing A Fly

He was tired
he was smoked out
drunk up
wrung out
hurt from his mama
just reaching for
a fly
in the dead of winter
with the cracked
windows letting
in the snow
and nothing
except your ears


Ways To Find Your Way Home

Look everywhere high and
look anyplace low
peer under chairs
and in afternoon's glow
Look with eyes open wide
and eyes shut tight
Look with precision and
abandon, with all of your might
Until exhausted eyes tearing
stand still as calm peace
washes your blood
through you and of you
bathed in pure light

Ways To Love Your Mother

If it can't be hearts
and flowers
soft touches and
sweet songs
Let it be a
birth tax

Wai’s Too

He’d come here to learn
After a journey quite
Quickly found the class
that made English strong
There Keenah and Juan
and Samantha yes, true
a small band of
linguists hands on desks
as sealed with glue
"Good evening"
said teacher
A smile on his face
looking at cards
keeping with finger
his place
"Where is Keenah? Ah I see
And Juan… Aha and
Samantha and there is Wai too"
said Wai shamed but honest was he
"Not for Two... Wai is One"
Only One he be ready


Tuesday, May 11, 2010

You Glow

and there
you sit
as you have
for thousands
of nights
yet suddenly
in the spectre
of your potential
you glow
and grow
again and

Monday, May 10, 2010

When I Started Sharing Poetry

when my heart swelled and
blood pounded and I needed
to take aspirin to quiet
my head and sleep until
I could see him the next
day at school lumbering
in the hall
held back two grades
tall as the teachers
His black hair always
falling across his eyes
black eyes dangerous eyes
that locked on mine
and took my breath
even before he kissed
me with a surprisingly
open mouth and a
moving tongue
there in a hidden hallway
I wanted to say something
mark this time for him
tell him how special he
was how he had changed
the world for me
how good he truly was
no matter what anyone
else said
but this was not the
time for thank you notes
or letters
although I wrote good
letters, the pages
would burn with this
heat and one sentence
would just melt into another
in this new found fire
and so I started writing
and when he
lumbering, left back,
dangerous to others
this poem folded in neat
quarters on loose leaf
when he with large
fumbling fingers unfolded
this, my, poem and
one black jeaned leg
raised on a step
as I stood and watched
him finish reading the
words written just for him
watched his eyes close
his head bang back
against that concrete wall
in that quiet hallway in
that instant before
he reached for me and
my eyes closed
and bones liquified
there in that silent hallway
light slanting sideways
he moved the hair
and exposed his eyes
wide and wet
glistening, wide, wet eyes
and softly, softly
he whispered
in a strange ragged voice
thank you for this
and kissed me hard
and then again
soft and gentle
as falling
rose petals
brushing my cheek
my upper lip
and as I fell
into the black
wet pool of his eyes
he held my face
kissed my forehead
said, Goodbye
and left
sighing,deep, raw, gutteral
filled with something
I did not understand
left me with a touch
of his finger on my nose
turned and
walked away rubbing the
back of his neck
and carefully
oh so carefully sliding
my poem
into his tight
back black pocket

How I Started Writing Poetry....

I heard Horton Hears A Who
and thought just what could
I do
to become a person as good and as kind
as good and as kind to all person-kind
The rhythyms were lovely
a lyric from the womb rock
and the words, ah the words
they did tickle tumble
and tock
The music and words
tocked like a fine clock
a fine clock marking
time in the world of
Horton and all Who's
all the Who's who were
listening to all the Who News
to all that was and to all
that could be
exploding our mind's bright
colors on pages to see
and somewhere as Horton
heard that teeny tiny Who voice
something inside us began to rejoice
at last it had happened at last it was here
our words and our music clearly printed there
and on that tick-tocking
joyous of journeys for you and for me
the chaos and color
no matter who we might be
became that most natural world of

So thank you good doctor
Theodore Geisel/Dr Seuss
who opened the door and
let us all loose

And when we got pencils
and papers and pen
it was easy to start
for all that had already
back then
We knew we could do it
we knew it was true
we knew we were poets
because you knew us
and we knew we knew you

Why I Started Writing Poetry

I did not start writing poetry
poetry starting writing me
it started as a child while
I read
Or while in the dark I layed in bed
Or while I watched my father brush in hand
as shape and color rose from canvas bland
Images formed in my head
and side by side words attached or sometimes led
I did not start writing poetry
poetry starting writing me
Its music began to most clearly play
on one bright third grade day
when a teacher straight of back
tall and strict and blue of hair
pointed to the flag out a window there
and said what do y'all see
the flag said one,yes that is true
but what else do y'all see
and to my answer red and white and blue
she said Yes! that is what I wanted to
get through
Snapping in the wind red, white and blue
"picture words" said she
and a small smile within me grew
as I now had a name for the words that
so well and long I knew

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Missed Men

There are men
who shower
the world
they touch

There are
men who
spin tales
a child's
mind with

And then....
there are
those men
who build
of grace
can grow
a son
to speak
with his
own voice

These men
are so sorely
so thoroughly remembered

After Active

If somewhere pins are tumbling
horses are running
cards crisply slapping
and boats splashing
If somewhere there's
a joke to be told
or a joke to be heard
a friend or a family
cared for
in that sparkled somewhere
will your guy
smile forever........

Marriage Is Like Crystal

Like crystal
sparkling wondrously
fragility and durability
side by side

With gentle care it
catches the light
returning rainbows of
through years to come

With harsh handling
cracks and breaks
with lack of attention

Handle with care
the crystal of
your marriage
into the far
off sparkling


The Far-away Grandma
doesn't live in your town.
She isn't around when
you're up
or around when
you're down

The Far-away Grandma
is a phone voice you hear
a name on a card
or a video face that you peer.

The Far-away Grandma
can't see you each day
she can't see you at
and she can't see you at play.

But even if she can't see you
each day and each night
the Far-away grandma
has special faraway sight.

The Far-away Grandma
sees in your life a part
as her love grows and grows
it finds its place in your heart

And so in a way
the Far-away Grandma is...
right there in your town.
right there when you're up.
right there when you're down
right there when you work
right there when you play.
right there each and every minute
of each and every single day

Because as by now I am sure
you must know
the love of a Far-away Grandma
will never, ever, let go.

The Garden

There always was
a rose garden...
even then
when I could
not see
I knew
it there
as surely as
stars sparkled
in blackest night
scenting sense
with hope

And at
the edge
of disconsolation=s
the heavy
mantle proferred
as weighting
against the
endless fall
into illusion....

Came a gate
a garden
of roses
and you....

There for all
as always known
in joyful familiarity
restoration, repair,
and finally
rebirth in the nectar
of rose petals
rising to meet
the shimmer
of the stars

The Night You Flew

That night
you flew
one moment
my wrist
aching with
the weight of
you heavy
the next
sundrenched air
you flew
spokes glinting
my hands empty
flying in that
golden evening sunshine
firelight dancing
in your hair
eyes sparkling
up roads
flying straight
your firelight
from first cry
then, now
and evermore

Childhood Friend

Flashing eyes
protect the
piercing of privacy

Always the protectress
nurturing fiercely
mutual flowering

Princess friend
in the fortress
of our imaginations
wrapped in filaments
of fantasy

There in childhood
fervent and proud
watching out
and over us
the little mothers
that we were

First Time

She said it
Lying there hair
splayed on rumpled
pillow case
“You don't have to stop”
With interlaced fingers
clenched on cold metal
she waited
waited for the long promised
onslaught of pain and passion
A moment and another passed
some rustling, an embrace
“It's okay you can.”
she repeated encouragingly
And he new to this all
“I did.”


There we sat in the full blaze
sun of late July
on my father's deck looking out
beyond the little koi pond
where large fish sparkled
beyond the waterfall
created to spill into the pond
beyond each bud and flower in full blossom
beyond the carefully lovingly created
Eden of my father's making
born in the dreams of a Brooklyn windowsill
filled with tiny pots
now to the far end of the acre's reach
to the stand of glorious tumbling gloxiana
“Listen” said he because
I will not be here next year to tell you how to keep them

The Inevitable Creep of the Tide

There on the shore my father and I
sea breezed blown
he tanned and
black haired
waiting at a sanded
mound I ferrying Fantasia's beach
buckets of seawater
He drizzling into magical
being a castle
three quarters
as tall as I
All afternoon we worked the
sun lowering in the sky
people walking
by and stopping
to look to smile
a trio of tow-headed
siblings watching
for long minutes
thumbs in mouths
until they were called
Finally sand golden sun setting He drizzled
wet sand through his handssqueezing a draped
doorway into life
a small fuschia flag
posted and waving
in the salty air
and I
watched my father
my castle
and the sudden unnoticed inexcorable
creep of the tide
lapping at its sides
I leaned against him
inhaling the scent
of him - cigarettes and salt
we bought creamsicles
from the man who came
around one last time
In the orange light
the bittersweet taste
of citrus and cream
on my lips the gentle tide
turned - rose and pushed
waves closer - inch by inch
until in a sudden lurch
of powerful spray
all that remained
was a tiny fushia flag
floating out to sea
My fathers arm
stayed around my shoulders
as we sat warm in the chill
of bittersweet


Who knew
love youcould do

Please Let Us Walk Slowly Through The Door

Not retarded we don't use
that word any more
so harsh so vulgar
so hurtful they told
us standing at the door
Can we see our baby we whispered
in your eyes not retarded, not a moron
any more Can we see our baby bundled
in your arms as you
stand there talking at the door
Can we begin our walk Not compromised, not
You see we don't use words like that, not then or any more
You might never understand why Standing idly, idling forever
on this side of the door
Can we begin our walk
Slowly... slow... slow... slow... A dandelion dazzled vista
A snowflake tickled tongue
Soft grass caressing toes
Sand finger trickled run
Cold watered river rock
Ocean tided pull
Into a whirling thrumming world
Will you please just let us go
Each moment filled with wonder, a ribbon of endless
magic more
As we follow slowly... slow... slow... slow...Uncompromised, unchallenged
Our child throughout each door

So Beautifully - So Easily Dead

You lied in your bed
in that hot August
the linens white and crisp
Your mother peeked in and
recoiled in horror
Your grandson a teen just
murmered 'bummer'
Your wife smiled and fluffed
and smiled some more
and hurried out and in your door
I sat with you upon your bed
And combed cologne through your
silver head
As I sat with you upon your bed
I saw not what the others saw
I saw both less and so much more
My father hair raven black
Broad shoulders, a strong hard backI
sat with you upon your bed
and sang a song you taught me when I was but three or four
A song you said a sweet sweet poem
sweet chariots coming to take you homeI
sat with you upon your bed
smelled the scent of turpentine
saw canvases white turned
to form, color and light
as I stayed with you from
morning to nightI
sat with you upon your bed
as I hummed Motzart in my head
and then you lifted
arms from your bed
with eyes still
closed the concerto
you led
I sat with you upon your bed
And realized that you were seeing
something inexplicably vast there
but you were standing in front
and blocking my view
But for that moment I simply, calmly
unequivocably knew
I sat with you upon your bed
You opened your eyes once and
asked me
When? Am I still here?
I nodded and said you knew more about this now
than I
You closed your eyes
let out a smiling sigh
I sat with you upon your bed
And felt you breathe and in my head
In deep, sweet scented apricots your heart mine filled and fed
until you were still
and beautifully, easily dead

Cold Poems


Ah yes, cold snow falls
as skies darken
and roads black
seem icy
as others
pass me by
and leave
me alone
with fear
my only


Breathing deeply
warms the hands
through the heart
from the
black ice


Close the door
lock the bolt
warm the tea
the coldness
has seeped
from outside

Hope and Hopeless


Less than two pounds
silver slivered
needles slithered
side by sinew
tubes flowing out
into concave breaths
tape fine as filaments
over unblinking eyes
closed until
it is time
to see
the wonders
of life
like silk
ribbon unfold


Too small
too early
too vulnerable
to live

More Than Five Times

Many More Than Times Five

I laugh
I cry
I rejoice
I question
But many many
more times than
I dance
I jive
I pen a poem
And feel alive

The Sad Tale of Eve and Ng

Eve was a lovely girl
from a small town who
knows where
A who knows town where
one and any
Knew each other one and many
A town where all were
about the same
until a man came to
who knows where town
A gentle man with
tipped eye corners
and an ebon pate
And he and Eve
both in quiet
time took to standing
at her gate
The gentle Eve and
quiet Ng spoke
long and longingly
And as summer turned
to fall they took
to walking in the mall
The gentle Eve fair
of hair and the quiet
Ng made quite a pair
and in the town of who
knows where
there began a rumble
at first a giggle, there
a titter, then a guffaw
then quite more
polite quick smiles disappeared
and smirks exchanged turned to leers
Before first snow the gentle Eve
and quiet Ng could not pretend to know
that in the town of who knows where
faces hardened and began to scare
striking fear in those two of gentle heart
they decided that best they part
and so on one evening
following first snow
Eve with freezing tears
for no reason but hatred's
momentum watched Ng go


To the evening
Gentle and quiet
Sunlight unglares
Aglow spilling over softened
Sounds, rustles, whispers
To the evening
Spreading across sloping fields
Spanning the in-between
day is done
darkness on the horizon
Hurrah to the gentle evening
Time of rest
There between the beginning
and the end
Sweetly surrender to the dimming
of bright day's bursting ..
turn from the fear of the dark's
encroaching uncertainty
Sweeetly surrender to the
comfort place that is neither
frenetic nor hopeless
To the place between

Evening neither desperate to accomplish nor
desperate to hold on
To the evening
There in
the gentle,
the softened,
the glowing
lie back and rest for a time
back in the peace-filled arms of the
Evening that eventually
embraces all

To the earth

To the earth

Oh sweet earth
my chubby child's
fingers cool
yielding the
sweet surprise
of fat pink worms
sweeter than chocolate
first perfume filling
my head rising from
spread wiggling barefoot
sweet earth
rising below
hips, sides and
bare legged first
and second and third kisses
cool under pulse pounding
earth beneath my father's hands
elbow deep as he scoops
great armfuls
inhaling great satisfied
sweet for his garden of
endless delight
earth falling in surprising
clotted clumps
one after the other striking
the shining wood on
a sunny summer day
the box in which my father
his breath as sweet as apricots
lying still on white silk
as earth slowly fills the hole
and smoothly moves
to a new place on
drawing sweetness from

For Four Year Old Josh

Fresh from the bath
hair still damp
Skin rose petal soft
the only hint of the
man he will become
when he hugs me hard
stands back and hands
on my shoulders looks
straight into my eyes
and says "My heart is
overflowing with love"

SY YENCE (A Poem About Science)

In the days of yore
there lived a man
Sy Yence that
was his name
Science? his
seventh grade teacher
asked askance “Young man
what is your game?”

And so it went each year
from there
each first day of each school
when Sy Yence wrote
his legal name and
teachers thought he was
obnoxiously trying
to be cool

It didn’t take them long
to see that he was a quiet
boy burdened by his name
and after initial annoyance
one teacher after next
to Sy Yence’s side they came

Sy Yence was a quiet boy
repeatedly misunderstood
beneath his timid exterior
a rage in his heart grew
and so it was no real surprise
when the Chem Lab up he blew

He watched the flames from
on the lawn in his college
freshman year
as planned he was avenged
his eighteenth birthday near

In that day or two following
the transcendent conflagration
Sy Yence changed his
name to Joe Smith
and completed his transformation

Sy Yence had been a quiet
boy and grew to a strange and quiet man
Now Joe Smith sat alone with numbers, vials,
and complicated formulae
And when asked his name a flat cold smile
would preface his reply
as murder games danced within his heart
He’d answer “Just plain Joe Smith not ever again Sy”
Given his strange demeanor no one ever asked him why.

Four Grade Science - Fair?

Fourth grade science
The Uniqueness of Us All
Family fingerprints
black on white
worded whorls
unique differences
lettered neatly
unseen the smudged
posterboard the
cajoling please
I promise just one
more fingerprinting
The mis-stroked keys
on thin stripped labels
Finally standing in
glory the uniqueness
of us all
my work sparkling
clear, concise,
researched and explained
ready for presentation
there leaning on an easel
at the science
as I stood next to
the heart surgeon's
spawn's six foot
plastic human
neon replique
at the science
learning of fingerprints
uniqueness, integrity
and shame
at the science

Death to Death

Death to death
Enough I say
I cannot write
of you another day
As a child I shivered
covers drawn on my head
thinking of the day
when I'd be dead
I pacified that chilly dread
It is rare for children
to drop quite dead
At twenty I would quell the fear
By pushing that all things being normal
death was not near
At thirty and forty and even fifty too
I pushed away fear for
death was not naturally due
Scares and fears came here
and there as I waited with
bated breath always fearing
the coming, the coming, the
cold grabby fingers of death
And now as time has
moved and moved
the 'youth rationale"
no longer useful proved
Interesting I do find
that after all this
countless breath
I laugh now, live
and say
death to death

Ode to a Deadline

You used to swiggle
wiggle fast
and now you've stretched
out flat at last
Will you again
move from here to there
or have you reached your
final where?

The Dead Line

From the womb
the line begins
as we swim into
the light lie
about for a while
crawl and then
stand and slowly
toddle to our
place in the
dead line...

Home is an island in the turquoise sea

Home is an
in the turquoise
that wrapped
its warm sweet
arms around
and breathed sweet
soft air into me
Home is an
in the turquoise
Lilting voices
goats strolling
blood slowing
spine loosening
the layered chrystalis
over the me

Home in an
in the turquoise sea
emerald curved goddesses
on their sides lie in
the sun shining there
protecting and soothing
languid and voluptuous
absorbing before coalescence
any possible care

Home is an island
in the turquoise sea
that I stumbled upon
as a womanchild steeped
in the promised could of maybe
Home is an island
in the turquoise sea
spilling light into
darkness and from dream reality

Home is an island
in the turquoise sea
dazzling colors
tantalizing eyes
salt sprinkling skin
on white powdered sand
as toes walk within

Walk in rhythym
of life as all moves from
sea back to blood
and at times rain
falls in sheeted
power pounding in flood
pounding on roofs
sucking all sound from the ear
yet even then
on the cusp of all fear
the island offers its
breasts bursting
its breasts bursting full
suckled sunlight
melting harm with each pull

Home is an island
in the turquoise sea
sun clear shining yet again
always the flora fantastical
the air soft and warm
all pretensed pretension
all artiface melted away
in the light, heat, perfume
and clear turquoise sea's sway

Where the self is set free
where the chrysalis falls
and all on soft wings float
home in that island in the turquoise sea
That island where reigns
in each droplet soaked moist
in each sunbeam and green leaf
in each dazzling blossom and emerald hill
in the very air moving
moving as all outside stands by comparison still

Home is that island
in the turquoise sea
where one can somehow
beyond explanation just
simply and majestically be

A Glimpse of Horror on a Sunny Day

Bright sunny morning
spilling sunshine over
white rumpled covers
as we lay languid
your hand upon
my breast
your fingers
warm and sweetly
touching until
they stop
and there in the sparkling
soft sighs still
floating in air
you say two and a half words
"what's this?"
as my now icy fingertips
follow yours
and cold crystals of
darkness gather and inhale
our collective
as all recedes to the
singular point of
what should
not be but is
the lump
under our locked
frigid fingers
beneath my skin
and above my pulse paused

Sparkle Under Rolls of Flesh

There under the roll of flesh
is the tight waist
neath the knuckles now faintly
puckered the smooth plump skin
On corneas slightly altered
the imprint of infants smiles
and last breaths, turquoise seas
and storms, of snow of rain of
the heart, of all that has had been
and is currently unfolding there
in the eyes that smile with a
more a more muted sparkle
the me that is I in there
under the body that formerly
presented itself in a more
tightly, pretty package
no longer are are the edges
knife creased, no longer
is the bow perky and upright
some say this is wisdom not
a funk...
I look for the self that
survives beyond the flesh
that becomes more unfamiliar
strive to let go and hold on
and feel the sparkle

The Inglorious Fall of the Mystical Mrs. Kowalski

I was stopped by a teacher
whom I did not know
as I walked from the Girls'
room, from the Girls' room down the hall
"Take a message to Mrs. Kowalski
She's at lunch and cannot take a call
Mrs. Kowalski was in the Teachers' Room
down a hall, inside a door
that I had never been within
but knew with third grade
certainty a "par excellence" adventure
as Mrs Kowalski herself would say
was, for me, about to begin

I did not know what
she did in there
I had never thought
to know
I knew only
for certain
that beyond my
pounding heart
beyond the gold
leafed door
unleashed, unfettered, free intellect
would passionately glow

And so face burning
with anticipation
I turned the brass
handle and pulled
that heavy door ajar
and there sat
Mrs. Kawolski
my perfect Muse, my
kindred true matched soul
the woman who spoke of
picture words
of wonders of the world
who wore her hair
piled high, held with
bright enameled sticks
as she freed a banner of
knowledge light unfurled

The wonderful Mrs. Kowalaski
with whom I lived each school day
one following the next and next in
joyous infatuated kind
and on the days apart
I dreamt of our life together
in a stone house near a lake
in a wood, living in my mind
A house where I would go
when I was finished grown
Where we would drink
crimson wine in crystal glasses
and speak in modulated voices
about how the years had flown
She'd smile into my
grown up eyes and tell
me she had always known
Our voices would be like
music spilling everywhere one might look
and we would talk endlessly into the
deepest night of this or
that good book

For Mrs. Kowalski and I
would talk of course of only things
that mattered
There near the lake that
glittered our thoughts like leaves
again and again were scattered
falling one and one and one again heaping
softly fitting one into the other
until again I was convinced that
Mrs. Kowalski was my destined mother

That is the the way it was
before I opened up that door
That is the way it would have
been if I had kept things pure
That's the way it would have been
if that unknown teacher I did ignore
But here in the Teachers' Room
Mrs. Kowalski, perfect woman of my
heart, my soul, my mind
There sat Mrs Kowalski
causing me to wish I could go blind

Blind and never see her ever chomping on a pickle
trails of juice dripping down her chin in
a snaking grotesque trickle

As I stood there in that doorway
of the gilded Teachers' Room
and watched the formerly sainted, now briny
Mrs. Kowalski fade and fade and fade
into mediocrity's unrelenting gloom

Until The Heavens Have No More Stars

He leaned against the white
hair combed wetted with cologne
but still the smell of ripe
apricots lingered in the air
as he spoke to her

Her leaning close to his
lips to hear
"until the heavens
have no more stars"
said he whispered
"We had a good run babe"
said she holding the
tears for all that time
when she'd look for him
in every starry sky


Take this scalpel
and while I sleep
scrape the still born
baby from my womb
and send me home
with arms filled
only with a single
azalea plant
and a life-time
of longing

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Those Who Never Stand

There are some in this world
that never get to stand among men
that never feel the ground under their
There are some in this world
that never get to roll in the grass
or throw a ball
feel their hearts beat fast as they
touch another's body in lust and love
There are some in this world
that never get to stand
that spend their lives
in silence except for the
flicker of light in the center
of their eyes
There are some in this world
that never walk but somehow
perhaps are just above us
all who cannot see that the binds
that hold us more tightly than
their freedom to soar

To Go Or Not To Go.... (you know the rest)

Saturday, May 8, 2010

I woke this morning up at four
and wondered would I go out
the door
had received a call two days ago
that someone dear to one finally had to go
The caller was a person for whom
customary caring often translated to
a sense of oppressive gloom
When, how and what to satisfy the question did loom
I turned the many sides like a prism
sparking in early morning light
each facet offering another version
of what was 'right'
and finally decided quite simply
that if I was up thinking at four
then at nine I would be out the door
perhaps on some other plane there
is an objective wrong and right
in matters of the heart there is a but..
a powerful voice that starts deep in the gut
the voice that informs what is known to be right for you
and the action that follows is what you will do

and so I went
and it went well
but even if it hadn't
still I would have went
and still hope that I would tell

Times Square

Time Square bright with lights
faces of all colors blend
in a palette of humanity
voices lilting, crisp all
tone and tenor
merge in the backdrop
of the rush of energy
the whirl of life
and remarkable
peace among many
it is not difficult
to see why someone
might choose Times Square
as the place to bring
fear it is easier to
see how simply it
is overpainted

Posted by Dr. Pearl at 6:45 PM 0 comments

To The Good Ole Days I Go

Off I go wish me well
in the good ole days will I dwell
in the days long ago
with all the good set to go
to the days filled with beauty
with sparkling luster and fun
to days dotted with Coronas
cold limes and hot sun
to the days of tight bodies
pressed together spoon into spoon
to days ending with dancing under the moon
to days teaching children long hair pulled back and high
to days after teaching on a motorcycle there will I fly
to the days of tight bellies and to bellies tight with child
to the days and nights following too miraculous to be filed
to the dance of the days of the sparkling fun
to the good ole days with good friends smiling into the sun
to the good ole days will I go mind, body, soul and baby boy
Posted by Dr. Pearl at 6:40 PM 0 comments

Down To One

It's the holiday
the table white
linen set
crystal sparkles
silver shines
the good china
all lifted down
from the high
and now in early evening's
golden light
slippers shuffle
soft and nearly silent
on the glow waxed floor
as finally finished she
sits in her
usual seat
to watch the
door that
stays shut
no matter how
often she checks
Posted by Dr. Pearl at 6:38 PM 0 comments

Sunday, February 14, 2010
Back on Saturday..until then recharging with pen and notebook.
Posted by Dr. Pearl at 7:06 PM 0 comments

Friday, May 7, 2010

To a tiny baby...

As magical as fairy's wings
as certain as your
sparkling in
the shimmer
of hope
off uncertainty...


Sand and Sea

We sat on the sand there my father and I
close to the water by and by
I so small my legs stretched out only reached the top of his close to me thigh
We sat on the sand there my father and I
close to the water alone there he and I
Watch said he and of course I did
As he scooped a hand of loose sand which in his fist hid
Watch said he as he opened his hand through his fingers
drifted grains of sand
He brushed his palm with meticulous care
until only one grain remained sparkling there
Looked from his open palm straight into me
You are as small as this grain of sand in the whole scheme of things that are and will come to be
And then brushing his palm and
holding his arms around me
turned me around on his knee
as he pointed with arm outstretched remember said he
you are also as vast as this sparkling sea

Starched Dresses

My mother, child woman
on long lean legs
starching dresses
til they stood
like waiting
those who
would dare
to question
the claim
of our tiny
our family
a wounded soldier
slashed from stem
to stern
black hair dashingly
falling across
his forehead
a beautiful woman
love, responsiblity
hope, faith and
to prove
that she
had the right
to be who
she was
her girl child
in bows, curling
her hair
and presenting
her for all
to see as
a child
who was
in the starched
that proclaimed our
family=s honor.

The Real Deal

With no sight
of my own
I came to know you
through his eyes

That shining girl
with perfect teeth
clear smooth skin
hair wind-ruffled
flashing that smile

Tall standing
lean on
legs so strong
and long
they never seemed
to stop

A real girl
a soap and water
real deal girl
Even sometimes
with Tweed, Channel
Shalimar those scents
for myterious women
you were still

That tall, smiling
shining, hair ruffled
soap and water girl
known through
the love in
his eyes
sparkling forever

Fire In The Snow

To the fire in the snow...

I can never hate the snow
The ice
The cold
That burns
And chills
Because my
soul was sealed
with hope
with promise
with passion
with friendship
with commitment
Resurrected by
a special love
a transcendent love
that glows and grows
fire, warmth, and comfort
within the snow
Still and forever
Beyond the inanities
of organza and lace
Of musical bands and
dancing witnesses
Beyond all
To the core
of it all
to the dazzling
sparkle of
fire in the snow

The magic of
Our life
Our love,
In the fire of the snow.........