Posts Tagged ‘poem’

The Moment Before

There was a moment
before words became articulation,
hardened into intent.
Time enough for the heart to intervene.
For second thoughts
to douse anger’s blossoming flame.
How can I ask
forgiveness when sound’s shape
could have been
instinctively choked back down by
a throat’s contraction.
Remorse cannot excuse the sword
allowed to sharpen
in that kiln those long seconds
before the thrust.
Never mind I already regretted
my clenched fist.
The black of my soul exposed.
Even as the bile
was spewed, I knew the wound
would draw blood.


Haiku Mélange

A mélange of
green pepper, onion
and mushroom
tempered by tofu

Add garlic
and drown in
the mash of
garden tomatoes:
it’s sauce


At 3:07 in the morning
on a bathroom run
I’m confronted
by an elderly gentleman
looking startled
there in the mirror with
disheveled hair.

Having gotten out
of bed without putting
my glasses on,
he does not recognize
me at first either.

Catch And Release

Firmly anchored to the rear deck,
with a weekend beard
and protruding cigar never lit,
our neighbor fly casts
into the green depths of his yard.
Careful to avoid
birdbath and reposing Buddha,
he threads the needle
between deciduous and evergreen.
Hydrangeas bypassed,
he teases his barbed jig beneath
the budding peonies.
Robins peevishly hop to avoid
harm as a snaking line
disturbs their pursuit of worms.
Angling for whatever,
be it twig, leaf, or mere snag,
he awaits a strike.
Possessing no license and
unconcerned with
the restriction of a bag limit,
carelessly he trolls.
Still, his modus operandi is
catch and release,
he reassures us with a wink.

The Minutiae

There is always another task.
Dinner to prepare. A child demanding
me me me. That classic novel
languishing unfinished on the nightstand.
The clutter of our own
contradictions to sweep under the rug.
All those ruffled feathers,
yours and theirs, still in need of soothing.
Even as one’s essential self,
like a second language, clamors to be
understood, tomorrow’s
homework assignment takes precedence.
Preoccupied, we drown in
the minutiae of endless numbered days,
waiting for the oven’s ding.

Mixed Palette

costing more than
the white wall
framing it,
a painter displays
his true colors.

An off-color joke
is hung out to dry—
silence on the other
end of the line.

Thinking outside
the box, wielding
chalk, a child
enlivens neighbors’
sidewalks, too.

Taken from
the same palette as
today’s local color.

A rainbow promised,
how can this
politician claiming
to be color blind
ever deliver?

Seen too late,
a technicolor sunset
has already lost
its vibrancy—I write
about it anyway.

Stark Naked

Surging across Canada’s border,
an arctic cold front
has forgotten to put its clothes on.
Shamelessly exposed,
nothing is left to the imagination.
Not bothering with
decency, its extended forecast
scandalously continues
to wear the same skimpy outfit.
To think its thick blanket
of covering snow could become
such a flimsy garment.
No matter how adorned it is,
fully accessorized with
the bling of Christmas lights,
a warm heart cannot
compensate for its two cold feet.
Even if dressed for it,
we feel stark naked underneath.