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Just a place to share my poetry, because sometimes people ask.

Monday, February 17, 2014

A Whole Life



A Whole Life

If my life were a book
when I was six years old,   
it would have been
at least ten pages longer
than a lady bug’s-
I have thought.

As if a fashioned spine
made a difference  in worth,
compared to a staple
made from a twig.

And a journey from a tree,
to a shoulder,
to a stream,
was somehow more profound, 
without wings.

The Rose Laundromat



There was no rain but there were faint sounds of a bird splashing in water falling off of the side of the Rose Laundry Mat. The smoke of a nine A.M. cigarette kissed the calluses of an old man’s hand as we waited for his clothing to dry.

July

Splashing,
we’re  in wet.

It’s not raining at the
Laundromat.

Nine AM smoke
kissing the calluses
of an old man’s
fingers.

The crow’s feet
are in
water
 trickling.

Soft. Pink. Stucco.

60 inches



60 Inches 

He had a story of his father’s well bred dog.
“papers from here to the V. A. Hospital”,
he said.

He thought she had eyes
 like his daughter’s.

He said “comma”
Between words that needed it,
 “fifty years ago comma
I could feel my heart beat”
And fifty years later
this reminded her
that hearts still beat.

“Do you remember 1969”?
She wasn’t born yet,
But she’d heard of spaceships,
From time machines
with eyes like arrows,
and breath like whiskey.
He reminded her that breath still tastes,
 like whiskey

T-Bird



T-bird

He wrote
type-writer deep
about his car
in college,
he built his car.

He washed his car
in High School.

In the 70’s  he had nothing to lose
but brick layin’ knees,
a split retina
a wife.

A builder
with saddle hands-

Convertible.
T-Bird.
Romantic.

Street people


Street people



They move

with the sun only

(on the street).



Leaf silhouettes

landing in

muddy

puddles.



We step in.



Street people,

out of place

places,

out of place.



Soaking in,

dirt and water.





Petal painted

ink people,



Means

for meanings,



On the street.

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