Wednesday, April 30, 2014

PAD - Day 30 - Call it a day ..... He winked - She blinked

He winked – She blinked
She sat parchment
hand holding a sheet
of paper
His signature looped
strong in black fountain
penned ink
He thought he had
made it easier above
the whirr and clank of
the machine
For years – after he
had thrown his hat
on the door peg
showered and changed
into comfy clothes for
dinner – for years before
during , and after the parade
of children and dogs and
one cat came and left -
midnight had come and
he’d wink, with passion,
with exhaustion, and finally
with an ironic twinkle
of possibility – reach for
her hand and say
“Let’s call it a day”
and now as midnight
approached – sitting on

a hard chair in frigid air
blinking at that damn paper
with his own words
written just below all
the DNR gobbledygook
she could not
she could not

PAD - Day 30 - Bon Voyage to The Street


Bon Voyage to The Street

I walk this now nearly
quiet cobble stoned Street –
lamplit incandescent
with the wattage of words
walk this now nearly quiet
Street waving Mused arms
whispering wavery phantasms
tip toe touching the tops of
chestnut trees, floating as
white blossoms mystic,
drifting, melting
on this now nearly quiet street
leaving our human footprint
on these wet cobble stones
gleaming under my footfall
as I walk this now nearly quiet
Street again and turn
for one more look as our
individual voices lift and rise in
collective gossamer glimmer
weaving in lyric silvered strands
a single celestial cape drifting
above it all brushing each spirit
revealed on this, in this
blue marble
this spinning blue marble that
we all shared for a singular time
and in the way of mystic magic
know that for a single instant all
pause in perfect poetic synchronicity
our own footfall lingering echoing
on The Street
forever - etched
as the clock clicks and
yes, the time has come  
to call it a day

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

PAD - Day 29 - 3 Magical/Realism Poems


Magical Mystical Realism Ride
The line on which chubby toes
stand between that which is and
that which whirls is misty,
all is magic, all is real in this
spinning blue marble that we
all share where fathers reach
with strong arms and raven
hair to snatch us to safety
from moving carousels
hold us against strong
beating hearts and music
crescendos and we
curl into forever love
that remains as a whisper
in the wind
as a woman’s toes
stand poised
on the line
still blurry
still magical, mystical
still real


From the tips of mountain peaks
vanishing in clouds of mist
that disappear when one stands
within – to aquamarine waters
that shimmer with sunshine
crystal color completely clear
flowers that blossom from
winters frigid harsh grave
an infants outraged scream
pulled from an unknown
existence to waiting arms
all creatures living, grasped
in passionate embrace
holding fast with clutched
toes as the marble spins
holding and letting go
singing a bright song
or a song of surrender
of song of solitude
singing, holding, letting
go, as the marble spins
so small and undefined
from above, so vast and
unknowable – all the
thrumming of life and
the stillness of its end
the mystic rising and
falling of breath itself
realism and magic


Two teens at the shore

they carried one towel
between them
and burned in
the sun and with
a passion that flared
magic – perhaps
the infant

Sunday, April 27, 2014

PAD - Day 27 - Monster Poem


in years to yet become they
would remember that day -
the girl cousins sat beading
in a small circle on the swept
wooden porch beside the empty
rocking chairs stringing from
a pile between them – picking
a few colored bits of glass at a time
the uncles, off to the far end,
sat and stood on, and against, the railing
with a little chew -munching silently,
with flat faces -even the youngest uncle
who just last night before it all, was finally
called out as he palmed a cheat card in the
dining room and would not leave the game
until they folded the table and the chairs and
walked off refusing to speak about it again
the aunts were thought to be in the wide
white channel of the kitchen, a few at the sink
washing fruit, others at the counter cutting
what would be bright salad served “later.”
But they weren’t –
They had untied their aprons and through
wavy glass watched their mother’s apple
blossom tree where their only son, a small
bright boy of nearly eight scrabbled himself
like a land-locked crab up into a bower of
white petals and picked a lapful of small
perfect green apples - just as a sigh ran from
Mother’s bedroom above and down the steps
on light slippered feet just ahead of the beastly
thing lumbering behind her, as one, they heard
that lyric laugh of their childhood, and knew
without need of trudging up the stairs to stare with
reddened eyes at her husk, that she had outrun the
pinchers of the bulging eyed Cancer crab –
a wafted wisp of her lilac scent lingering
about them all in a forever embrace as
the kitchen screen door slammed gently,
lovingly, firmly closed behind her irrevocable
release into the soft summer wind  


Saturday, April 26, 2014

PAD - Day 26 - Water (Poem 2)

Violin Concerto
I sat in thundered
silence pulse
pounding on
the couch as
music shook
the walls to
closed my
I sat in thundered
silence against my
father feeling the
heat radiating
as he shook his
raven hair eyes
closed in ectasy
transported as was
I by the startled
mystic vision of
a single shimmered
tear tracking down
his flushed cheek
and knew now it
was true the
world was water
waiting for the
right notes to

PAD - Day 26 - Sea of Tears

Sea of Tears

Like Alice
at times
to swim 
in a sea
of my own wept tears – 
most other times after times 
I simply 

the tears saving the
for sunshined
gentling my soul