Le Poeme

A Paucity of Prompts

2012-03-12T21:30:00.000-06:00

she's not sitting across from me
her furrowed brow, concentration on some words
splashed across a page, it's my fault
for drinking something else in another location
I wonder if she is writing without me
how lonely her words would be without
mine so nearby.

Boulder, CO

2012-03-11T21:39:00.002-06:00

I wish she was here with me on this road
looking towards these mountains
watching the cows drift across these plains
the clouds marching across the skies in the distance.
my tires hum on these roads she has traveled so
many times, now her feet touch other streets,
cross other roads apart from me
I can only carry her with me in
my heart.

SuperGeek

2012-03-09T19:21:00.002-07:00

I have joined my community of choice

SuperGeekdom with Bluetooth in ear

talking to the walls or open sky,

the tomatoes in the aisle, the person who isn't

there, not to the one who is.

Supergeekdom, what delight to talk

without stopping anything else.

a beautiful day

2012-03-08T22:18:00.000-07:00

white snow
gleaming under white skis
white clouds whisper across blue
skies, white skis, white snow.

On the platform

2012-03-07T21:59:00.000-07:00

I was heading out of town
so was he, both furtive in our own ways.
my tears, hidden behind too large sunglasses
his behind a blue muffler with white stripes.
I could see the sadness in his eyes,
both fleeing unhappiness as one does
as city, as if it were just a matter of
location.

Ten Minutes to Something

2012-03-06T21:02:00.000-07:00

ten minutes until something

changes in your life, two minutes, one minute

an hour, two days, did you notice

that your hair has turned grey, that the

dimples you always wanted masquerade

as smile lines across your cheeks,

did you notice the green in the garden,

how the city is now taller than it was,

ten minutes to something that might

change your life.

Two Men Smoking in the Dark

2012-03-05T22:08:00.000-07:00

One:
The cigarette glowed against the chain link fence
quivering as he raised it to his lips,
a spark fell to the ground
a cloud of smoke hung in the air

The Other:
acrid smell of cigarette smoke
floated behind him
the glow hidden in his hands
still cupping the match against
the wind.

New Pants

2012-03-04T21:25:00.000-07:00

a pile of pants

a needle a thread

a machine

pins in place

an empty drawer

places to go

laundry

a need for pants

the pieces fell

in place,

stitches replacing pins

new pants.

hangin' out

2012-03-02T19:45:00.002-07:00

he just sits and watches the world go by
without asanas, meditation or a whisper
of competition; no chanting, no books, no prayers,
no nothing, just waiting patiently chin down, eyes
up, maybe hoping for a treat, maybe watching
with some caution, not too much, just a little,
he watched her go in, hoping the revolving door
would produce someone he loved.

The benefit of distance

2012-03-01T21:00:00.000-07:00

the hotel was too expensive for what it offered
the small tastefully decorated room
when she wanted a King and a mirrored ceiling.
he relished a venison steak
not a fou fou salad at the yuppy restaurant she picked
the clouds obscured the full moon
the trains squealed on the tracks all night
no spooning tonight
cold butt to cold butt
they sulked
his snoring woke her up
her leg twitched as it did when
she was stressed and unhappy;
he woke up early and limped downstairs
to the kitchen to see her still in her frayed nightgown,
her thinning grey hair framing her translucent eyes
that he always loved even as they faded
and they reminsced about that romantic weekend in Glenwood,
how in love they were
and still are.

Brussel Sprouts

2012-02-29T21:27:00.002-07:00

brussel sprouts boiled, blah blah, puke puke!
brussel sprouts broiled, yum yum, yum yum!
brussel sprouts baked au gratin, yes yes, yes yes!
brussel sprouts blanched, another ruin!
brussel sprouts so maligned, so unloved,
yet so lovely, broiled, baked, roasted,
dressed, undressed, eated leaf by
delicate leaf.

Blue Hatted Man

2012-02-28T23:32:00.000-07:00

his hat didn't match his suit
that autumn of golden leaves and rainbows.
his shoes clicked on the pavement like
a woman's high heels on the way to the opera.
we know each other from somewhere.
his tie was a red floral pattern,
his shirt a silky creamy color,
a charcoal grey suit.
he wore shoes with wing tips
I looked up into the blue chilly
sky and understood his need
for his blue knit hat.

Your human qualities make me sad

2012-02-27T20:58:00.002-07:00

A is for avarice
H for hypocrisy, so human
we believe we are different from you in
our specific sins;
certainty in times of doubt
surliness when a gentle touch is called for
a rude retort in place of silence.
S for selfishness, the saddest seed of
discontent, our backs to each other in
what should be a comfy bed.

Talking Motherhood in the Locker Room

2012-02-26T20:36:00.000-07:00

they promised to be more present
with their children,
after yoga
and lunch,
a manicure and
a quick stop at
Whole Foods.

Cheese Fondue

2012-02-24T21:30:00.000-07:00

he said he was on a diet
who would believe as he
lifted a petite fondue fork to his mouth
loaded with fat, 100% fat, delicious
Gruyere and Emmental
cheese, melted into white
bread, our mouths dripping
in white wine.

I'm slipping

2012-02-23T21:36:00.000-07:00

what happened to wednesday
that nothing was written, not even noticed
even by me who sits every night here
by the window watching the moon
rise and fall again tonight a sliver
of light resting against an unseen cradle
does the moon have a mother?

Time to love

2012-02-21T16:54:00.002-07:00

it's time to love, the chances are
that it's not too late, with good reason
people have told me that later in
life, one may be more open to
forgiveness.

(This poem was prompted by seeing a letter from my mother folded in exactly this way on my desk as I pondered what to write about.)

Getting to work in the morning

2012-02-20T21:38:00.000-07:00

Not yet, not yet, slow down brain
we aren't there yet, still in bed
listening to the dogs whine,
let them whine.
I'm not getting up yet to go to work.
So many steps to get there, finding my
slippers, no first pushing the covers off,
finding my super ugliest slippers ever
that shuffle towards the kitchen
wehre all the cups have deep tea stains,
a meal of white and blue
berries
accelerating to the bathroom
pajamas off
undies on
pants on
shirt, sweater, socks, shoes, coat my bag my hat my gloves
jump on my bike ready to go the wheeels go round and round
ok, big brain, time to rev up for work.

Finding a place to write

2012-02-19T21:11:00.000-07:00

Monday nights it's Innisfree
where the college kids hang out to flirt,
glancing often over the top of their laptops
to check out the scenery.
Sunday night, tonight, it's the usual with a twist,
a saxophone serenade downstairs,
a cup of Verveine tea that Grandma
took every afternoon before her nap
before her glass of wine before dinner,
she wrote in her sleep, never bothering
to finish the lines, only to wake refreshed
from the life she could only dream of.

Friday night

2012-02-17T21:12:00.000-07:00

he laughs from his comfortable spot on the couch
that I place a headlamp up against my forehead
to see the dog poop on the walk that I wish he was
taking with them, but he's comfortable on the couch
with his colds and blues, we'll give him a break
tonight.

.

out of focus and beautiful

2012-02-16T20:34:00.003-07:00

the landscape moved across her eye so fast

a mistake that could change her life in its accidental beauty

when nothing makes sense but everything did

all of sudden in the blur of white and blue

green suffusion, darkness in light so that

nothing seemed so clear as in that moment

not so much captured as capturing.

Tonight I Make Them

2012-02-15T21:14:00.000-07:00

granola bread vinaigrette
clattering spoons and dishes
heat
the smell of warm yeast
cinnamon and vanilla
Dijon mustard swirled into oil
sliced almonds drenched in
maple syrup and roasted
in golden thick cut oats
all composed over a glass
of wine

Kapton H

2012-02-14T22:21:00.000-07:00

Ana and I pick various prompts for our joint poetry writing on Monday nights. I have been bringing a random selection of books, last time I brought one called The Space Environment. Ana picked the word "Kapton H" for a prompt. This is a polymeric film used in spacecraft insulation and for protection against micrometeorites. Her poem was about a super hero called Kapton H, which was quite hilarious.

Mine was more a propos to what Kapton actually is...

not the greatest protection in a time of need
a space condom it is not unless you
secretly are seeking a heavenly pregnancy
sparks swirl, a burning heat radiates
in all directions, the skin is flayed,
but there is no one to to ease the pain,
no ice cube packs, no caresses,
it's lonely out here in the dark
we have only the stars to keep us company.

2012-02-14T16:16:00.001-07:00

Current fabrics at cozytoes!

Becoming Important

2012-02-13T21:31:00.000-07:00

it was silly this phobia she had
of arm falling off because of a pimple
on her forehead
she had allowed it to be important
to displace the rest
the dreams from overly long nights,
the ones she swore she never slept.
this she could speak of and seek reassurance
there are so few we can believe in,
that we will go to heaven,
be happily married
or write a good poem.
her arm will not fall off,
we assure her
and happily she can go on to
this next day hoping for a better night's sleep
with two arms to hug herself in
her moments of fear.

listening to snow over the drone of traffic

2012-02-12T22:00:00.000-07:00

facing the city sounds my ears filled with the steady
drone of traffic, the pitch of acceleration, the lull
puncutated by a sound nearer by, an occasional plop,
plop, drip, a hum of water travelling up, plopping down
as snow, ice, water, vapor rising in sun rays
i can only hear with my eyes closed

Les lecons de francais

2012-02-10T22:06:00.000-07:00

elle as lut mon poeme
ensuite elle l'a repris
je suppose elle va aussi
reprendre ce poeme,
je ne sais pas si je peux vraiment dire que ce si est un poeme...probablement pas,
je sais il n'est pas
bien fait
c'est bon, les lecons en
francais.
bonne nuit!

il fait toujours la nuit et il fallait

il fait toujours nuit et il fallait
que je me reveille et nettoyer la cuisine,

que je me réveille et nettoie la cuisine,
une lettre envoyee il y a des mois,

une lettre envoyée il y a des mois,
des mois, des mois

des mois, des mois
retrouvee dans une tiroir noir, noir comme

retrouvée dans un tiroir noir, noir comme
ce nuit que je nettoie, cette cuisine apres

cette nuit que je nettoie, cette cuisine après
je mets mes peu vetements dans ma petite sac

je mets mes quelques vêtements dans mon petit sac
et je pars

et je pars
je ne regarde pas derriere

je ne regarde pas derrière
c'est noir, c'est fini.

c'est noir, c'est fini.

Transformation, from a floor's perspective

2012-02-09T21:05:00.002-07:00

musty, sweaty darkness enlightened
red walls, a new dresser with labels
odd labels like "boxers" and "T-shirts" and
"more T-shirts" how curious it all is
so much weight lifted from my weary planks
I breathe a sigh of relief and look some
more at a laundry basket, a desk, a second
dressed also oddly labeled with "Bibs" and
"bike memorabilia" I wonder at that, who
keeps such things so many years but I know
who does when I see the green striped
women's panties hanging on the wall.

a cold comin' on

2012-02-08T18:55:00.000-07:00

it crept along the hallway looking for a way in
a new party, the other guy was a bit of bore
even this cold got tired of the endless hacking
time to move on
time to move in
where
something/someone new, fresh
challenging
that one, that one will do
no colds for a long time,
no lingering bad taste from some other
nasty bug, nosirree
yessiree, she's the one
for me.

Nettoyer La Cuisine

2012-02-07T21:57:00.000-07:00

il fait toujours la nuit et il fallait
que je me reveille et nettoyer la cuisine,
une lettre envoyee il y a des mois,
des mois, des mois
retrouvee dans une tiroir noir, noir comme
ce nuit que je nettoie, cette cuisine apres
je mets mes peu vetements dans ma petite sac
et je pars
je ne regarde pas derriere
c'est noir, c'est fini.

This poem comes from a prompt on Monday pulled from Daniel's French grammar book, and the memory of cleaning my father's kitchen before being thrown out the back door.

Passing Through A Room

2012-02-06T21:45:00.004-07:00

............................................."They passed through several rooms
...............................................filled with odds and ends,

..............................................clothes on hangers but also guns
...............................................stacked in corners" -

...............................................from Life is Elsewhere, Milan Kundera

I would pass through his room filled with odds and ends

but there is no exit, only a window on the far side

I could float above the floor, my feet buoyed by piles of

old bank statements, mixed boxes of insect repellant and motor oil,

twenty years of T-shirts acquired at a millenia of bike races.

I went in to gather hangers, many migrated there

like birds to a flock,

I pluck them out as a hunter raises his rifle

to harvest a goose traveling south to

a warm, sunny place.

Bye Bye Messenger Bag

2012-02-05T22:41:00.000-07:00

You came to me, fluorescent orange bag delivered
by two hands I used to hold when he and I crossed the street
or not, just to hold hands all the time and one day he said
he would marry me
I smiled
again when the bag arrived so many years later
from a man standing tall who doesn't need to hold a hand
to cross the road safely
but the bag
meant so much to me, decorated with personal pins,
filled with a red purse from San Francisco, a green
leather pencil case from Switzerland,
custom electronic boxes, who would need
those; no doubt heaved in a rubbish
bin in some alley,
pictures of my daughter,
pens, pencils, addresses,
so many little parts of my life,
taken away in my now faded orange
messenger bag that has traveled
so many miles and now
cast away like so much
trash by someone who
could care less.

Snow Fall

2012-02-04T07:29:00.002-07:00

Snow fall
from the grey clouds
and more yet, more snow
burying sidewalks, our sins,
topping birdfeeders and mailboxes,
the tunnels of white blind me
the shovel leads the way.

Burning down the house

2012-02-02T21:15:00.002-07:00

at least oil was not on fire, just paper, the flames
only dancing to inches, not feet
no fire extinguisher required,
no children to rush out of the house
through a smoky living room,
just me, rather sheepishly noting that
once again I can't read front from back,
nor reminding myself that
really
leaving paper on stove burners is
probably not the brightest thing
for someone of my abilities
burnt paper to add to undone dishes,
empy refrigerator and
grumpy dogs.

Working too much

2012-02-01T21:28:00.000-07:00

it's a problem
I know,
working too much
but first he comes in,
then she does, with
their issues, interesting ones
and the African violet at the windowsill
perks up her ears and her purple blossoms,
looking at me as if to say, well,
that's interesting, don't you think
and I reply, yes
but I already have
too much work,
my dear flower,
when will you help beyond making more
beautiful purple blossoms,
that doesn't take much intellectual firepower,
does it.

Errata

2012-01-31T22:02:00.002-07:00

the final stanzas are missing
and I didn't notice having read too many already
embarrassed at my insensitivity to
William Meredith in his rendition of
the Wreck of the Thresher
instead of turning to page 389 to
link the errata to the poem, I reach
for another piece of tiramisu chocolate
absconded from someone else's
Christmas stocking.

someone missing on monday

2012-01-30T21:31:00.000-07:00

you sit at a table, pages unwritten
children sleep in their beds, unknowing
so many things done tonight, unnecessary
for creating happiness, unfortunately
all too important in other ways.

The Life Cycle of a Chickpea

2012-01-29T22:08:00.001-07:00

baby chickpea
dry as a stone, small white pebble
hard enough to break your teeth

adolescent chickpea: after an hour
in the pressure cooker palatable, smooth
unsure of her identity

mature adult chickpea,
draped in coriander and cumin sauce
an amchoor scarf thrown carelessly over
her shoulder.

Leaving

2012-01-27T21:55:00.000-07:00

the necessaries spread out on the floor
underwear, big coat, toothbrush as Jenny will not be there
with hers
sad
isn't it
no one to tour London with or smile at
and who will smile back
a book, a Nook,
let's look
inside the bag
and make sure everything is there
that can be taken.

Wind

2012-01-26T20:20:00.000-07:00

it's blows from the west every day at noon through evening
when we all move from the plains towards the mountains
from work towards home, from banks of computer screens to
rolling
pins and
crocuses beaming up from frozen soils
we lean into it
our overcoats buttoned tight
determined to reach
home.

For Whom the Bell Tolls: A book review

2012-01-25T20:52:00.000-07:00

it's a book about a bridge in Spain
that was clear early on in the book.
a quarter way into the book,
ok, I get it, it's a story about a bridge
and a few people, some American guy
from Montana who carries explosives
and sleeps in a robe, one different from
my bathrobe, for sleeping outdoors in snow.
ok, the bookmark tells me I am two thirds
done and the pages are so thin and so
heavily loaded with ink,
Pedro, Rafael, ..and oh, yes, Maria,
and horses fall dead next to their soldiers,
explosions ricochet across the hilltops
mixing fear and courage, betrayal and loyalty.
only a few pages left, the bridge lies in pieces,
as did their soldiers
as the bridge is gone, so ends the book.

I gave this book 5 stars in Goodreads.com.

taking a break

2012-01-24T21:03:00.002-07:00

in this moment,
I don't care if there is war, famine or strife
for this moment there is only air streaming across
the hole in this flute, the vibration reverberating through
my fingers, into my hands, across to my heart
or not, depending on the day, but doesn't matter
really because in that moment, the worry of war,
famine or strife does not matter
it's nice to have a break.

A man writing a letter to a woman; a woman reading it

2012-01-23T20:57:00.000-07:00

He's not sure she will be able to read it
beyond to see that it is in sections
1, 2, 3 and 4 with a pause
between 3 and 4, a hesitation....
she will wonder at the space
what will be revealed and will she
want to know,
or maybe it's just a natural pause
when he looked out the window of the cafe
at some passersby and his pen slipped away.
his writing got larger and less legible as if
hurrying to finish and she wondered at his rush
she, still in her pajamas, the steam from her coffee
rising to her nostrils, no rush for this letter to end
why must it end this way, a pinched signature
at the bottom, no room for love.

Birthday Brownies

2012-01-22T21:21:00.002-07:00

Four seemed excessive,
really too many, they are way too rich,
we need to lose some holiday weight,
S. is leaving for Denmark and he won't
be exercising as much, J. is working too much,
we already each ate one after eating
mozzarella cheese balls and salami,
really, it's excessive.
really.

Prompt: I want it to confirm your worst fears

2012-01-20T21:31:00.000-07:00

Ana and I write poetry every Monday and come up with all sorts of prompts. This one was from our last Monday. If I used a prompt from today, it would be about frustrating computers, bad model runs, cutting your arm off in some desolate canyon...shall I go on?

your worst fear, that I will run away with another man,
would it be better if it were a woman,
how about if I moved to Paris alone,
the small suitcase near the coal closet hurriedly
packed with a few items,some lingerie and socks.
would it confirm your fears about me, or do those
fears reside in such matters as restless leg syndrome
which kicks up at midnight, or bad breath
even after brushing?
I want to confirm your worst fears about me
so we can both sleep well at night knowing
I can do the worst thing imaginable
and we will survive it.

Desserts

2012-01-19T21:09:00.000-07:00

I go to neighborhood meeting for the desserts
the chocolate cookies with pecans
the molasses and lemon bars lined up on
a white platter, the bowl of strawberries.
zoning, community garden, sidewalks
and liability digested alongside chocolate,
washed down with several glasses of wine
why else go to neighborhood meeting?

Missing You

2012-01-18T20:21:00.001-07:00

your curly hair with the flat spot on the back of your head in
the morning when you roll out of my bed, comforter in a crumpled
pile off to the side.
baking cookies and never getting around to decorating them
they still tasted good and disappeared somehow
the sound of creaking stairs
a Beethoven concerto with a few missed notes
the stack of used tea bags is only half as tall
even though you never leave yours out
a pile of boots, a jacket, a square cut purse
all the little signs of you, gone,
missing you.

Duets

2012-01-17T21:48:00.000-07:00

I always play flat
she sticks me with her bow on long slurs
I can't quite hit the high "E"
she misses the B flat most of the time
between the can-can and William Tell
we mercilessly slaughter the score
and laugh to tell about it.

What do dogs want?

2012-01-16T21:57:00.000-07:00

A simple predictable life with lots of naps
preferably to the steady drone of master's snoring.
A rawhide half eaten, securely held under a right
front paw for enjoyment.
A dog wants her walk in the early morning
after a pre-breakfast to provide energy for
her full body wag, for sniffing that tall stand of
grass by the fly fishing shop, or for leaving
his personal signature behind.
he wants to nap after breakfast to recover from
his exertion as he listens to his mistress talk on the
phone to someone she loves.
dogs hate conflict.
if she has to go to work, they want access to the couch
even though they know that they are not allowed,
if found, they will slink off with guilty eyes.
After a full day of naps, walks and food,
a dog wants a good night's sleep dreaming of
chasing, and catching, an endless supply of cats and
squirrels.

Dinner

2012-01-15T22:31:00.000-07:00

I watched them from across the restaurant laughing
and discretely asked the maitre d' to bring them the finest bottle
of wine for their enjoyment
they looked around the dining room in bewilderment, passing over
young couples in love, families with small children, finally settling
their gaze on an older gentleman in the corner nursing a brandy
after a fine meal
they'd never guess it was me even as I removed my
camera from its case to capture their smiling faces.

Snow bike

2012-01-12T20:51:00.000-07:00

while cars slide into one another
wheels careening, spinning backwards,
horns blaring, fingers raised, voices steaming windows
I ride silently only the creek gurgles to me
under her icy stole, my bag dusted in snow
tires leaving only signs of studs
diamond studs on an icy
landscape.

tired

2012-01-11T20:25:00.000-07:00

he was talking but the words made no sense
jumbled as they were, his mouth not even matching
I noticed his corduroy pants and wondered if his wife had bought them
of course she did because his shirt is green silk
and before her, he looked so bad, really bad, I can't even remember
what he wore, just that he looks so much nicer now
and he stopped suddenly and asked me if I was tired
and I said, yes, I'm so tired and then I noticed his shoes
were new and stylish and we decided it was time for
me to go home.

Running in the Dark

2012-01-10T18:53:00.000-07:00

in the distance
a light bobs up and down
another follows
they run in tandem
their shoes crunching in the snow
in complete darkness
intertwined voices project forward
fade behind like the whistle
on a passing train
the headlamps pass
into complete
darkness.

Roll of the dice

2012-01-09T21:38:00.000-07:00

A "3" and a "2"
no, too young for me,
let's roll again.
"7" and "5", too old
I'll take you, "3" and "5",
you're available and close by
even if you do have "2" dogs.
when we meet I will share
my "4" and "7" over a
red sangria and we'll sum it up
"3 + 5 + 4 + 7 = 20"
I'd prefer a prime but perhaps
having a range of summations
and multiplications might work
better in this complicated world
of matches.
If not, I'll roll again.

(just kidding, Stephen!)

Sunday night

2012-01-08T20:39:00.000-07:00

chicken soup, French bread and Brie,
wine, warmed peaches and cinnamon ice cream
Spiegel im Spiegel,
Scotch dance, Minuet and
Moon in the Ruined Castle all flute
singing as the dogs' eyes drift towards
closed, their breath even and calm,
never mind the applause, a sleeping dog
tells all.

getting ready

2012-01-06T21:28:00.000-07:00

they will look inside my brain
and decipher chemical signatures,
tapping their pencils on special papers
with insurance company stamps
as letterhead, they will decide
if the combination is acceptable
for a full day of construction or
waitressing, while I wait for the
conclusions for doing rocket
science.
I already know
why do they ask?

chemins

2012-01-05T21:43:00.000-07:00

the path looks softer to the west
but I am heading east towards somewhere,
I"m not sure where sometimes in the morning
I wonder where I am
or where you are, where are you
on your path, is it heading south this spring
shall I join you in this mystery or join the local
co-op or play my violin every evening a
warm cup of coffee steaming on the dresser.
this path wanders so aimlessly, I don't
know how to steer yet, the rudder is
stiff, where do I apply the oil.

The First Performance

2012-01-04T19:39:00.000-07:00

an audience of one trying not to smile
which would make me laugh, looking serious
and attentive, Buddy at his side
looking the wrong way, such is my
audience of one.
I almost laughed anyway while trying to keep
my wandering thumb in place, my lips placed
correctly, the pads of my fingers over the holes
all without cracking the "E", that most unstable
of unstable notes, the gnome.

and suddenly my two pieces were done, I
hadn't laughed, I didn't forget the pieces
in the middle, not too many notes cracked,
ah success!

Condo for Sale

2012-01-03T19:36:00.002-07:00

The grey smear along the hallway wall; painted over after years
of dog running along the hallway, rubbing his side on the way
to wake up the lazy ones still sleeping in bed.
the broken lamp shade; fixed years after the edge
chipped off from an overly rambunctious swing towards
what future we didn't know, couldn't guess.
the brown carpet stained in shades of brown tire
tracks, dog tracks, human tracks; gone, ripped up,
replaced with a noncommittal smell waiting to be populated.
a stovetop spilled over with the vestiges of paleo meals,
a countertop gone speckled, a refrigerator hiding
remains in its dark recesses, the bulb never changed;
replaced with gleaming stainless steel appliances.
the fox is no longer on the wall, she hangs over
a fireplace somewhere else, the mildewed towels
tossed in the fabric recycle bin, unneeded bike parts,
stained clothing, broken vacuum cleaners, ugly dishes,
excess silverware streamed out of the front door, clothes
reassembled in other closets, the front door shut
waiting for someone new to unlock it and walk in.

Cars

2012-01-02T20:11:00.000-07:00

Childhood
I. Bluebird:
he slammed his finger in the door
I loved the car, I did not love him.
II. Butterscotch:
She drove off every night in the sleek yellow lozenge
we ate meat loaf and washed the dishes
dutifully.
Youth
III. Saab Sonnett
every else carpooled in a Subaru wagon
we drove in the Sonnett, his hand on my leg,
our bucket seats touching.
Adulthood
IV. The Justy
Three cylinders of raw power.
V. The Prizm and the MiniVan
we are now mature adults.

2011 and 2012 Resolutions

2012-01-01T21:03:00.000-07:00

last year I vowed to touch my toes sometime in 2011,
yes, without bending my knees!
and I did, I did, for a day or two, and declared victory!
this year, a year of alphabetical reading, from authors
starting with A heading
towards Z,
likely not getting there,
reading through pages previously turned,
books dusty from waiting on tall bookcases
for me to pick them up,
check the penciled in
price on the inside
cover, the first
step on our
adventure.

OK, I still have to finish For Whom the Bell Tolls, which is kind of hard to get through, I admit...and I can't use that book for my "H" because I started it in 2011.

while the dogs pee in the bushes

2011-12-30T21:00:00.000-07:00

while the dogs pee in the bushes
let us commemorate red dresses,
pomegranate margaritas and mixed fajitas,
let us remember stories about ex-girlfriends,
reading glasses adorned with paper clips,
toothpaste smudges on blue sweaters
and mushroom soup in cafes
let me remember Yoga books from the 70's
striped socks and holes in my favorite jeans,
on-line Christmas shopping days after Christmas
and bicycle baskets, Buffalo Exchange and
best of all, afternoon naps where you wake
to the moon traversing overhead
and wonder where the hours went.

Fulfilling Anna's Dream

2011-12-29T21:24:00.000-07:00

thousands march in the square
as Putin gathers his strongmen,
his political artillery lined up to shoot them down
in cold blood in the street, masked, they
empty the shelves of Moscow to starve
the thousands who will not sit down
will go home only to rest and eat the
last crumbs in the breadbox before
heading to the square again.
They will endure.

(I am reading about Anna Akhmatova, a Russian poet who suffered terribly under the Russian tyranny. She died in 1966.)

a poem after Prose by William Corbet

2011-12-28T20:37:00.000-07:00

our friendship has shrunken to postcards and Christmas greetings
once we lingered in fragrant pine forests, loaded packs filled
with gorp, Kraft macaroni and cheese and canned tuna fish
what days they were under black skies decorated in starlight
you gaze at me from the Christmas postcard among your family,
your daughter wears braces this year; your son has grown so tall
but I know that you wish you were with me under the starlit nights
I can see it in your handwriting and the way you sign your name,
so reluctantly.

What happened to my broccoli?

2011-12-27T19:27:00.002-07:00

what happened to my broccoli
its branches leafing out from a sturdy stalk
denuded like the trees gracing the Champs Elysee
alas, my plate does not care for elegance,
seeking instead delectable morsels
that should be perched on every branch.
what happened to my broccoli
between store and saucepan
leading to much sorrow.

Monday evenings with Ana

2011-12-26T17:57:00.000-07:00

Monday evening 6:30 to 7:45 or so,
tea in hand, pens at the ready, a page open
we lean towards each other and say the word
"blue" or "owl" or "the expedition that never was"
and proceed to write, faces scrunched or intent
or both, conjuring up words to match that maybe
will please, maybe not, but we do it together
that together of writing and finishing, and reading,
and laughing, praising, exclaiming, understanding
every time a bit more of each other
and ourselves.

So tonight Ana is not here..and I am missing her!

Christmas

2011-12-25T22:05:00.000-07:00

dog breath on Christmas morning
rousing me to make coffee and muesli, strap skis
to my feet and glide on icy tracks left behind
always behind the stronger ones ahead of me so
I lag as always happily now to go home to
waffles and a new bike with studded snow tires,
never have I been so excited on a Christmas
morning as I admire my new bike with a shiny
front basket for carrying cast iron skillets of
sauteed pears swimming in rum and cream.

Tequila

2011-12-22T22:40:00.002-07:00

amber, blanco,reposado, silver
he loves them all in the aisle of Liquor Mart
wondering if Jenny will notice the charge on the credit card
she will, she's like that.
"It's been a tough month", he practices with slightly slurred speech
imagining the smooth slide across his tongue and down
his throat leaving behind a pleasantly burning sensation.
he knows she'll want to discuss whether the tequila
should be a shared expense, it's his vice after all.
he knows the answer, unconsciously reaching for his wallet
to check its health, for reassurance.
Reposado, 100% agave, come with me and
decorate my sideboard.

Snow Falling

2011-12-21T20:51:00.000-07:00

It is dark in the front bedroom but for the Christmas candles shining out the windows
to passersby who huddle in their warm coats, their feet scuffing up newly fallen snow
that drifts downward in waves to settle under the glare of the street lamp.
a violin plays in the background, a dog sneezes, the phone rings in the
aroma of freshly baked cookies, when every one climbs into their pajamas
next to a loved one and counts the snowflakes as they drift down like drunken
angels to settle under the streetlamp outside on a cold moonless night.

Hospitals

2011-12-20T21:47:00.000-07:00

they pretend to be cheerful with their views towards the mountains
color coordinated wallpaper and upholstery in well appointed waiting areas.
doors open and close quietly, people disappear into long hallways,
their voice dampen away with each footstep replaced by the swish of
the nurse's uniform as she approaches to ask if I am Lynette;
her clipboard says to look for Lynette, female, 52, in purple scarf.
I am glad I am not Lynette.
Lynette disappears down a long hallway ushered by a nurse with a swishing uniform
in floral pastels and a smiley face button reminding us to wash our hands.
No one wants to get ill and end up in a hospital.

"Notes from a non-existent Himalayan Expedition"

2011-12-19T20:12:00.000-07:00

(Title of one of the poems of Wistawa Szymborska poached at a free write session with Ana)

we walked naked across the ice like Patagonians,
a decorative fur skin carelessly thrown over our left shoulder,
except Vincent who threw his over his right to demonstrate his
non-conformist tendencies.
The Sherpas knew we were mad as hatters but humored us
as we dropped dollar bills behind us like breadcrumbs;
they were as quickly gathered
no path left behind to guide us home.
the crevasses screamed as we stepped over them,
exhaling mint flavored gasps of icy air that would have
billowed up our boxers if we wore them;
only Vincent wore a pair to cover his bald head
the pattern of star and stripes visible from a distance
even though he was Belgian.
Our progress was slow, the Sherpas were surly
and disrespectful
the whole thing was just damn unpleasant and
frankly,
boring.
even Vincent's jokes were deteriorating rapidly,
so when the newspaper thwapped on the front porch
and the dogs got to barking, I ended the mission
abruptly and mercifully, sending Vincent
back to his wife and kids, the others
scattered to the winds.

The flutist

2011-12-16T22:21:00.001-07:00

he stands tall
in his suit and tie, a golden plate
against his magical lips.
he tips his head to me in the crowd,
lifts his flute to play
astounding sounds that
emanate effortlessly from
his body which seems to sway
in a musical wind no else feels against
their cheek.

Cobus du Toit is my flute teacher! How lucky am I!
http://www.cobusdutoit.com/

Sewing up Corn Bags

2011-12-15T21:23:00.002-07:00

are your toes cozy
and those of your loved ones
your dogs, your cats, your rabbits
your hands, your arms, your legs
and are the toes of your loved ones warm
or does she put her cold toes on
your warm ones?
oh please make me a corn bag
today for me, for my loved ones,
for my dog, my rabbit, my cat
so we all may be happy
this holiday season.
www.cozytoescornbags.com

watch their hips

2011-12-14T22:08:00.000-07:00

watch their hips, not their lips
do they walk the talk, or talk the talk
walk away, sister, he talks but never
walks except away from you
leaving your tears to fall alone.

A solitary mitten

2011-12-13T20:17:00.000-07:00

a solitary mitten, a solitary hand
on a solitary day of grey skies,
empty offices, of snow flurries
threatening a depth i can't shovel
with one hand ensconced in one mitten.

i call the neighbor to pick me up
in his yellow taxi - he installed a hook
to hold my cane; the radio is blaring
hot8, a band just here from new orleans.
they were all black, we were all white.

they sat in a line-up like thugs
after the concert to sign CDs
i felt so white.
they looked at my missing hand
and saw
nothing.

Scanning the Spice Rack

2011-12-12T20:52:00.002-07:00

The basil is low and the box of turmeric is filthy,
the oregano is out of alphabetical order and
the big bag of ground thyme is a bit excessive,
you only use a pinch once a month or so.
did you write down what we need
oh baby, we need spice in our life that
covers the smell of dog breath, wet woolies,
compost bins and dirty laundry
we picked up from the Chinese outfit that
charges less than the green place down the street.
you get what you pay for, he muttered,
in response to something I never said.

lubrication

2011-12-09T18:42:00.000-07:00

it's not what you think,
lubrication of the sort women think about
men hope for
instead a gimbal turns in space
silent as a ghost, surreptitiously
scanning amongst the lights below
cars whizzing by on highways,
planes crisscrossing the sky
who knows what lurks below
what dangers, what delights.

Mistaken Molecules

2011-12-08T21:42:00.001-07:00

the mistaken molecules bounced off the primary mirror
towards the aperture, not realizing their spreadsheet was
miscalculated only to find the door was closed and warm;
they rested there only a nanosecond before bouncing
back towards the secondary and on to the tertiary,
then lighting up the faces on Earth on arrival at the CCD.

Dear Reader, Ms. Lois

2011-12-07T19:58:00.001-07:00

Dear Reader, Ms. Lois,

your gentle handwritten envelope arrived
in my humble mailbox on a snowy afternoon,
clutched clumsily in my gloved hands, my heart
bounced at such a happy event, a handwritten note,

and yet, from who
I wondered,
this name is not
one I know

until I opened it and knew
you as my friend.

Blowin' in the wind

2011-12-06T21:19:00.000-07:00

the answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind

the answer is blowin' in the wind

the question

how many feet will our oceans rise?

how many people will be driven from their homes?

how many people will die?

let's keep looking for an answer

in the wind, let's capture the

wind in our sails.

Congratulations, Stephen,

on your new job!

Tripping on the Sidewalk

2011-12-05T20:26:00.001-07:00

you'd think it was a poor neighborhood with
flickering fluorescent street lamps going dark
at the worst moments when her foot in full stride
caught against the step in the sidewalk sending her
tumbling forward and to the side neatly breaking
her humerus in two,
she hadn't had any plans to subdivide
that night.

Pink in Snow

2011-12-04T22:04:00.002-07:00

A poem in pink on snow
with studded tires, fenders and a
basket, what is so lovely but to
ride along the path by the river,
branches laden in purest white,
sparkling snowflakes drifting down
onto our heads, like pixie dust
onto a snow angel's hair.

Human decorations

2011-12-02T20:10:00.000-07:00

earrings
nipple rings
clit rings
ball rings
eyebrow rings
tongue piercings
nose rings
tattoos
men
women
please,
no children!

Out!

2011-12-01T19:23:00.000-07:00

he walks in, hips swaggering with confidence,
optimistic since the One is preoccupied watching
stupid videos of cyclists
sure enough, the One leans over to pet him,
gently stroking his ears and head,
then realizing he's been suckered once again,
by a Dog!
Out! he cries
Out!
I laugh
this always happens.

No one wants my job

2011-11-30T20:56:00.000-07:00

as I was telling her
she looked away
I followed her gaze
to a blank wall with a spider crawling up along the seam
she doesn't want my job
I can tell she doesn't want my job
tracking micrometeoroids or bathing in atomic oxygen,
following molecules or sifting through moon dust
she'd rather rub elbows with humans
and have lunch, leaving anovas
or novas to the ones sequestered
in their offices with the door
mostly closed, orange ear plugs
in place, that would be me.

Viento y corriente

2011-11-29T19:59:00.000-07:00

they watched us

being swept across the bay

and out towards the open sea

the old man and the boy watched

our inexperienced arms

effortful attempts with no hope of

reaching the island that looked so close from shore

we heard the motor before we saw them

coming towards us slowly, but unmistakeably

taking our bow in their hands

pulling us to shore

my flute and me

2011-11-23T21:30:00.000-07:00

I'm not telling him that I'm bringing my flute
to play in the bathroom, door closed, so no
one knows where the scales climb and fall
sometimes so clumsily, at times thrilling
me to the bone after months of the longest tones,
the most tedious of exercises.
No, I can't lose this in Mexico,
the flute is coming with me and
we will play together
somewhere.

Eavesdropping at the gym a couple days before Thanksgiving

2011-11-22T21:38:00.000-07:00

don't forget to mix the cinnamon into the butter
before spreading it into the rolls Thanksgiving morning
your husband will wake up so happy when he smells them baking

are you going to brine your turkey? I read on yahoo that
there is something called dry brining but I'm afraid to
do anything new

I'm getting so fat and worried about the calories.
she moves closer to her friend, massaging her
substantial love handles and pointing to the cuts
the surgeon will do after the holidays

are you going home for Thanksgiving dinner,
I hope it's better than last year when your mom
and aunt got in that terrible fight, the pecan pie
was awesome, though.

I'm going to my friends, she invites over all us singles,
I am bringing tofurkey even though most people think it's gross
it's really good!

picture courtesy http://farm1.static.flickr.com/141/333323031_0ef47c8dcb.jpg

strangers

2011-11-21T20:38:00.000-07:00

she is sleepless, he snores lightly, confidently
knowing he will wake to the aroma of espresso.
he curses the fellow student who trashed the micro-pipette;
she massages infinite series into convergence.
they go home to a messy house and a tidy apartment on a busy street.
their lips only touch homemade bread.
his brown eyes do not meet her blues; her greys
on any other day match the sky there.
his reflect off rocks.

The Woman on the Airplane

2011-11-20T22:06:00.000-07:00

she believes God directed her to move to Colorado
and leave her children behind in Texas;
we both love to sew (in principle) and she seems nice
but can I sew with a woman who leaves her children in
Texas because God told her to
I'm not so sure even though I took her email address
and the man sitting next to us leaned over with a smile
to ask if we were friends and how sweet,
she crossed herself when the air got turbulent,
I just secured my seatbelt, I'm not sure I can
sew with a woman who crosses herself when the
air gets turbulent but she said she was lonely,
maybe she should pray about that and find someone
else to sew with who crosses herself when the air gets
turbulent.

missing days

2011-11-18T21:36:00.000-07:00

Friday already? and what happened to Wednesday and Thursday
after Tuesday's broken cookie jar? such sadness that not a poem,
not a word sprang forth, apparently easily forgotten between Matlab codes
and phone calls, yes, overwork kills the brain in so many ways
we did not even recognize that words no longer flowed, no
longer read, no longer created, learn from this, young grasshopper,
overwork leads nowhere good.

The Broken Cookie Jar

2011-11-15T21:10:00.002-07:00

it broke over the weekend, he reported sadly,
usually it fills itself but when you were gone
it didn't work anymore, I hope you can fix it
sooner is better.

Mock Orange

2011-11-14T19:57:00.000-07:00

the flowers open late in spring
fragrance leaping towards the kitchen window
then subdued in summer, brown and wilted in falling
to the ground they remember
the better days.
of maidens swooning over them
now sleeping in beds of rusty dry leaves
until the sun comes up shining
lifting their delicate eyelids
in an innocent smile

Rain in Cambridge

2011-11-10T19:41:00.000-07:00

I come to Cambridge for rain
to rinse Colorado sunshine off my hair;
I come to Cambridge to sit down in a well-lit
kitchen to eat chocolate chip cookies
carried here for the one I love;
we smile at each other, molten
chocolate chip cookies smeared
across our lips, glasses raised
to us, being together.

off we go then!

2011-11-09T21:48:00.000-07:00

Boston calls blearily from rain sodden skies
suitcases sultry with slickers, not swimsuits
off we go, off we go!

Travels

2011-11-08T21:25:00.000-07:00

leave unpaid bills and barking dogs at home
chewed windows, wandering blue newspaper bags
and those you love, empty champagne bottles and
confetti...such celebrations before boarding a plane
to somewhere, to someone you love, how lovely
to have love in both places.

A Stone

2011-11-07T20:28:00.000-07:00

a stone kicked off the path
into the weeds to sit among
the others expelled from their place
in the sun by a passing
pedestrian,

they sit so silently there
without communion,
who would want
to be friends with
other losers.

I just read the oddest little poem by Vasko Popa called White Pebble which of course made me wonder about the lives of pebbles, stones and other living things.

9:54 p.m. and it's late

2011-11-06T21:58:00.000-07:00

the cold has stolen in across the mountains
slithering her way through the lodgepole pines
past the bears settling in for the winter, the
deer nestled together for the night, the mountain
lion lifting his nose for the scent.
it's dark and late, the curtains are drawn
to ward off the cold fingers reaching through
the windows, somehow it feels later tonight
after I moved the hands of all the clocks;
they told me it would feel so late tonight,
an hour more of cold sweeping through
the mountains to embrace this house.

November 4

2011-11-04T20:42:00.000-06:00

it's 8:07 and thirty nine degrees,
cheers drift down the hill through the double glazed windows
it's football Friday
I watched them trudge up the hill in their Buff sweatshirts,
carrying stadium seats to shield their bottoms from the cold
it will be a long night
here the dogs are asleep on the carpet downstairs,
my flute is waiting for me to finish this poem
so we can play again
it's a lovely quiet Friday night
for a football game up the hill,
so quiet here inside.

Snow on Roads, in Ditches

2011-11-03T20:53:00.000-06:00

Snow covers the trash littering the side of the roads
concealing it from the watchful eyes of workers in orange vests
it's time to relax, our eyes can glaze over, or squint into the brightness of new snow,
forget our commitments to pick up, pack up, stack up
the cigarette butts thrown from windows,
the empty beer cans, an occasional diaper,
stryofoam cups and kleenex,
look out across the field of snow,
across the white ditches
and up into the blue sky.

Ooops..I am the Adopt A Road coordinator and I forgot to schedule the clean-up for this fall, and I really don't care at this moment.