Spanish Passion

her name warbles from the speakers
she glides out empty rink
red dress ruffling
shouts and applause

spanish guitar emerges and she must begin
all alone she must fill the ice with
red passion
truly center of

attention

body
flexible agile strong
jumping spinning stroking smiling

until a crazy edge and
a fall

music does not stop
can’t start over

she finds her feet and
continues
still smiling

but the fall has rattled memory
and the moves are forgotten

picking up the pieces of thought
she does her finale and smiles again

clapping follows her off the ice
as she grows up a little more

Soprano Sax

whenever I hear a soprano sax I think of
Warren Beatty and Julie Christie and happy
endings but I don’t hear a soprano saxophone
very often there is this lovely cd by the
Hilliard Quartet where they sing along with
someone named Jan playing jazzy riffs on a
soprano sax but somehow that’s different
because that music takes me to a different
place with soft clouds and bright lights (hey
I’m back to Warren Beatty in line for heaven)
and you lose yourself in the warmth and clean
lines

and thoughts of thankfulness

Feeling

sun glances in
---------through windows
--------in hallway
dusty-----shuttered blindness----as I walk and think about

sitting on a
feather-ticked
-------------bed----------listening
to tear stained words
which envelop
room in a---------bright glow

how illuminated
dust cracks
the voice and sends signals out
terrorizing the body

an ambush of sunlight
in the hallway

Athens Subway

down the escalator
----------down into depths
--------------------down into past

monitor shows 38 degrees at 11 pm
heat escapes through white cotton shirt
two minutes until next train
through window---------unearthed ancient walls
-------------------------------------------treasures

rush of sound precedes steel and glass monster
rush of people to the door crowding in
two feet of space
we ride through bones of city

cell phones attached to women’s ears
a jumble of incomprehension
from columns to arches

heat begins to build
avoid contact until next lurching stop
stumble off and up to surface

-----------------up into darkness
---------up into the heat
up to the present

Oil Leak

-----------the
------van leaks oil
-----round dark spots
-----on the driveway
--------in the gar
-----------age

I bend down to touch a spot

slippery on my fingers as I rub them together
and then try to wipe them on a work glove
that’s sitting on the shelf in the cluttered garage
which needs to be cleaned out and organized but
it’s almost too cold now so it will probably wait
through the white wafts of winter while we take
care of work and appointments and activities and
plays and performances and family and church and
holidays and applications and homework and
meetings and whatever else we can squeeze into the
bag of existence and carry around without anything
falling out

or at least not everything

Departmental Meeting

voices searching out
words thoughts like leaves fall and mix
a fertile compost

Mom

she shows up every day
dress and high heels
walk down the hall
unsteady wavering
balance off
hips knees back sore
even though he only smiles
sometimes when she enters the room

she reads to him
her voice tired
english imperfect
hours fill up
even though he sleeps or
doesn’t seem to hear

she tells him the latest
about sons daughters
grandkids
even though he doesn’t
remember from the
morning to the afternoon

she feeds him
mashed potatoes
gravy
ground mystery meat
pale green broccoli
one slow spoonful at a time
even though he makes faces
for each bite

she kisses him goodbye
saying she has to go
home for night now
even though…

Global Warming

they form a kind of
-------flecked blackness
---------------in the distant
-----------------------sunday morning
------------------------------------sky
---------------------------------there must
-------------------------------be a thousand
----------------------------------or more
-----------------------flying in curvy
------------------check marks

which
like the clouds
keep moving and changing
and we watch through car windows
and think about
how late in the year
it is for geese to be taking
----------------------------wing
and heading south it must be
the melting ice bergs
and poison gases bringing
impending
disaster and doom
to our comfy lives
and clockwork seasons

now
every unusual season and natural disaster
is a black smudge
in the distant sky

meanwhile-------I turn the car off at the drive thru

Study Calender

white wool
curled horns
black nose
eyes gazing out

right into the room where
I sit and look at your
silk skin and raindrop eyes and pillow lips
as we graze on the hill of
a quarter century
sometimes crashing heads and horns
but always right at home
in the assurance of
our belonging

I wonder what he’s thinking

There Should be Snow

there should be snow on the horizon
a white line across the distant world
but instead it looks like summer with
the sun streaking orange red and gold
across the western sky as I traverse
the prairie highway and begin to
drift into another lane of thought
covering the highway with crayons
and hurrying across fields of stubble
to find the sun and tell it to stay a
little longer (even though it’s november
and life should be bleak and white and
leeching warmth from every pore) and
pick up the crayons

here -----I’ve got a piece of paper

Brotherly Love

did it really happen?

hanging upside down over railing
screams blackening the air
held by the ankles he shouts
threats silencing me

it’s all I remember

then the hours of football on green lawn
running catching throwing
special plays
ball landing in my outstretched arms
triumph

inhabiting the world of childhood

intimidation and instruction
fear and friendship
words of lightning and sunshine

are we still the same?

is memory truth?

what are the facts of love?

Cleo Poem #4

I looked at your face today

they say that with your whiskers
you can tell if an opening is big
enough for your body

your small, exquisite mouth
opens in a cry
you want out----or in-----or just usnearby

you see in the darkness with
those liquid eyes glowing in
ever-changing patterns of watchfulness

with a tiny wet nose you
smell everything in the house
but only go close enough to understand it

you never eat anything outside
dish with those needle teeth that
never penetrate skin

your countenance shines
in our egypt with
quiet purring love

On School (My attempt at a sonnet)

Brown tables stand ready with black chairs.
What will happen today when they saunter in;
Each one with unique styles, moods and stares
becoming part of the general din
in which we attempt to impart knowledge?
Or is it for something else we are here -
leading young minds to the ocean’s edge
to face the sea of challenge without fear?
Why do we force our children to endure
hours of sitting in a pencil paper mire
when we know that learning when it’s pure
only clutches when our minds, engaged, inquire?
We’re entrenched in a mighty school fortress
which can start to open with awareness.

Three Four Time

why are all the greatest songs in three
four time the lilt and the sway crescendos
building inescapably climaxes triumphing
at the top of a hill filled with shadows
and roads leading to strange, colourful
villages where everyone speaks German and
is drinking white wine out of plastic
tumblers or ceramic cups with quotes from
Goethe and Schiller written on the sides
and the children are dancing in a circle in
the town square except if you slow down and
then you are in outer space floating and
there are a million tiny stars and you turn
and see the bluegreen earth shimmering in
the sun’s light unaware of it’s own
waltz-like beauty

Jake Preaches

white wisps crown his head
body, pulpit, stained glass speak
voice like a laser

Night Drive

silent white noise drones
inside green dodge caravan flying
along concrete highway

strings of headlights needle the
dark night
red tail lights slowly getting closer or
----------------------------moving further away

bits of conversation whiz past or
silence reigns there too
each set of beams
in its way

finding paths in the blackness
---------searching for a song in the dark

The Fort

it smelled of earth worms and wet wood

started by digging down in the shade
a square grave two feet deep

found scraps of plasterboard and
sturdy two by fours hammering together

hour by hour in the back corner of the garden
saws and hammers and smiling crooked nails

a roof rested on our mansion
keeping out some of the rain

met by flashlight deciding future
making rules examining treasures

secret club of three boys determined
to organize our world our way

I still see it there in the corner
by the trees holding our friendship

the smell of childhood

For J.

green emeralds
green islands
green oranges
green valleys
green leaves
green trees
green grass
green tea
green backs
green plans
green shift
green thumb
green peas
green cross
green frogs
green hills
green mould
green land
green sea
I love you
green eyes

Prayer

orange flames leap and dance on soft pile
in the garden eating up twigs and dried
leaves and then subsiding and turning into
smoke which snakes up and into the grove
of trees the wind blowing it out into the
town creating that instant unmistakable
smell of burning leaves burning eyes and
nose I stir leaves to create more hesitant
flames pile reduces to a mound and then a
patch the air full of the microscopic bits
of leaf which transport into the atmosphere
and reach God

Autumn Music

crinkling maple leaves carpet yard
-------------------------------pure piercing music of autumn
ten points on brittle tan surface
-------------------------------harmony of tone and structure
thousands have fallen
-------------------------------notes descend to a scattered unison



tree

bare


methodically gather them up
-------------------------------dissonant wind howls through ears
machine launches them into billowing bag
-------------------------------melodies circle perimeter of existence
dumping dusty debris in garden
-------------------------------notes held in agonizing intensity
mountain of dryness---------leaving



yard

empty

This is It

what was behind it?
this mask you wore of
soft words
splashy outfit
white glove
crotch grab
buttery voice
moon walk
false mangled face

sometimes we saw a glimpse
when you crumpled your shirt in anxiety
over the tempo of a song
or when you couldn’t say that
your earpiece was simply too loud
or when you simply mourned the
loss of a tree

what your body did
magnetizing eyes to your
exquisite grace and quickness
sending sparks of love and harmony out from
fingers feet hips shoulders mouth

maybe this is what it was.

Commuter Beauty

grey dusky morning
chill pervades the air
in my little red candy shell
rolling down empty asphalt

beams of first daylight
flash through side window
I look and see muted colours
echo sky soul strings

horizon glows with monstrous globe
bright arc of orange freshness
wakes November fields
warms November hearts

back to the highway
and the chill (less edge now)
candy car keeps keening
moment caught forever

Christmas Lights

cord slips through fingers
untangle dusty colours
some bulbs are burnt out

The Pact

I remember

the street
a paved avenue of daydreams
past the creepy house of wrought iron nightmares
lined with broad ditches and tall trees
daily---back and forth
alone or with friend

two boys thinking of now and then
we stop at the tracks
before the descent
and make a pact

“remember this moment forever”

sun in a blanket of blue
black and white runners on our feet
wind ruffling hair
stones that we have kicked all the way here

I begin to rise and float above the street
the town
and I see the tracks
and two nine year old boys
stuck in time and place and

I remember

Sarah at Four

girl shining and trembling and tall getting to be pooh
bear this halloween standing with brother ready
to walk the streets collecting joy from neighbours and
friends who stand in doorways and marvel at the girl
in the yellow costume stuffed with parka and pillow who
knows all the words of the song and waited months to
be able to wear it bouncing like tigger and wide-eyed
like piglet who flies at the end of a kite string on a
blustery day but now she is standing at the edge of the
carpet and practicing her “trick or treat” and I look at
the picture and
smile

Gerald with the Hammer

little feet short legs nylon jacket
down the concrete path beside the water
Grandmont Park
geese gather here

we walk
stepping in every puddle
yellow rubber boots shining

he carries a hammer
a real one
it is a part of him
he’s building all the time

our voices echo across the water
greeting the geese
twinkle twinkle

puddles and hammer and song
all tie together into one
bouquet of
boy
bursting----------forth

Lynette at Two

wide eyes
round cheeks
perfect body

hopping hop hop
stretching those growing legs
flexing to the end of your ability
taking pleasure in your body
and what it can do

your hair bounces
your hands anticipate every move
your eyes eat up the darkness
always on the move

don’t stop hopping
don’t stop stretching
don’t stop flexing

keep moving to the rhythm of

life

November

trees stand stripped-----undone
black branches against grey sky
winter approaches

Voice of God

deep voice vibrations
ripple out
as he
------reads

organ pipes rise vertically
in the background

silence sounds before
glass tones tingle tense
brain cells

black shirts drape
hiding individuals

music
unites and creates one
entity

God
------speaks

Halloween

bowls of packaged sugar stand ready
voices outside call and I
open door to memories

body clenched against wet winds
trudging gravel streets pulling wagon
safety pins hold bits of cardboard and string together
glowing faces shine through face paint
looking for the next house
a grand adventure
I stand back watching as they take first
steps in a world of doorways

I place the candy in the bags
smile and close the door

Friday

wind winters through hair

---------tree branches struggle to hold
---------on to the last of the leaves as
---------they let go and swirl onto the
---------yard and sidewalk they dance
---------across grass and rest against
---------tree trunks and buildings
---------dancing to the music of the
---------changing seasons

I limp along on my trick knee and
carry black briefcase of doom
on the day before Halloween