Cleo Poem #7

curled up on rocker

a presence of soft

you stay there hours and hours

spending your day being cat getting older

you used to play with rubber mouse

or pen on the floor

now you pass them by

occasionally mustering energy for a leap or a scamper

but your Egyptian reality

focuses our souls

mature

magnificent

mysterious

Monet at the MOMA - NYC poem #5

have to take the picture from an angle

to get it all in 

three panel profusion of muted colour 

at the end of the day

fatigue flattening spirit

and then I discover this room of calm serenity 

stand back and lose myself

in the massive upsweep of blue

fading into wisps of tan

a dark cloud of menace on the right 

as if nature’s eyelash left a mark on a cheek

after a kiss 

there is a bench and I sit

trying to inhale it all before my exit

but the feeling is fleeting

and I’m already thinking about dinner 

but for a brief moment I

swim in that eternal blue

Cowboy Junkies at West End

table with pink roses

hair falls across intense face

voice like rose’ wine

Walle Larson plays Body and Soul

my berry patch green tea cools off as I hear the

first familiar phrase coming from the tiny stage

dominated by man in bright orange shirt

tenor tones softly elegiac of coleman but also

subtly new and fresh so I close my eyes and

the trendy tea and shrill shirt fade away and

this old melody that circles the seen and

unseen in a warm authentic hug is all there is

Times Square - NYC poem #4

we walk  

distracted

in awe at the crass beauty

surrounded by a million lights and video screens

creating constant daylight

daze of

commercial noise 

we always come back to this

after

lovely nature of central park or

enduring art and architecture of museums or

powerful performance of theatre or music 

for this is the real cathedral of these

times
and we worship  

Philip Seymour Hoffman in Death of a Salesman - NYC poem #3

a hug that seemed to go on for decades

two actors as

a father and son

reconciled 

no more spite 

tableaux on storied stage

in heart of city

in heart of country

in heart of world 

silence crackling like thunder

except for the sobs 

a hug that transcends specific time and date

and travels miles and years to

heart of individual traveller 

to reconcile 

no spite

New York drizzle - NYC poem #2

I

stand

at the

foot of

the empire state

building and look

up to where the

spire swirls in the

foggy atmosphere

and imagine drifting

above manhattan

with the fog and falling

as raindrops on these

iconic streets 5^th avenue

broadway 44^th wall times

square and becoming part

of the dust on the pavement

like the millions of people

who walk these streets every

day as cogs in the giant machine

of civilization that starts with the

will to build this pointed tower to the heavens

jazz at Dizzy's - NYC poem #1

rounded colours create            space

in this third floor fantasy of

perfect tables    chairs    stools    and stage

waiting for the buzz to begin 

space    for the rounded wandering lines

of notes that intertwine with thoughts and feelings

creating the perfect martini of

tastes and treasurable moments 

moments linked by the smiling eyes of

young woman in black at rounded grand piano

fingers transferring the creative energy of

mind to the rounded circle of human community

dead tree

there is a dead tree on our yard

spruce or pine – is there a difference?

right in the front north corner 

brown brittle needled branches

line the leaning trunk

the tree next to it seems to be dying too 

maybe it was too dry

or it got too wet

or maybe disease

or infestation 

we’ll have to cut it down

chain saw teeth angrily biting the trunk as we

bring it safely down into shallow ditch 

there are many trees on our yard 

we won’t miss it

as we cut it up and

burn it in the fire pit

and send it into the ether 

roasting wieners on a warm sun-drenched

summer afternoon

awake

they start around 4:30 am

wren
         robin

   crow

             blue jay

        sparrow

             finch

             meadowlark

chirping a symphony of
early morning nature
and I wake to it

heart beating in time to the random rhapsody

unable to re-enter weary world of dreams

eastern sky is pale already

and the long solstice-time day wants to begin

I lie and think about the poetry of birds

proclaiming June to the world
and wonder if I am
really
awake to it

bison stop

alaska highway
snakes
northwest
--------------a gray ribbon through majestic mountains
and we drive mile after mile
--------------- gazing the un prairie power

stop for a herd of bison

crossing                the             pavement

massive brown bodies on

thin nimble legs
horns curving
crowning neckless heads
dwarfed by huge shoulders

tan tawny young ones

trailing mothers
on uncertain hoofs

and we watch and take pictures

                     like the one on my lap now
until we can drive on

a brief buffalo pause

in the mountain journey
of life

I Spy

sunflecked maple leaf green

wavering in wind

of suncloudy day

mown grass green of lawn in light

and shadow

weeds pale in compare 

dark green of spruce bough

touching ground with weight

of needles

green pointed aloe shoots

in all directions

pregnant with healing 

bluegreen carpet adorns/adores

hardwood

design different shades and shapes 

but eyes lift once again to spy

the windy leaves of great green

summer