Mike Poems

Small Acts

a little sun through window
a whisper as the house
takes a breath and I’m
a moment older lost in reflection
about how the ones I loved
come back to me each time 
I get out of bed remembering
how someone who worked
with me stood near me
as I cleaned up a spill
a small act but it was
a big thing at the

senyru

shadow in the aisle
where a friend and I
once stood

haiku

cat at my side
as I poem
a jungle of words

The Cat's Story

I hear every noise and the house stirs
as he lies in bed. His door is shut
but I smell him on everything
he’s touched in the loft.

I listen to the sound of the house
as it breathes.

He allows minutes on his lap
each morning, pats my head
and brushes me away. 

Then he is gone.

O how he forgets he’s mine.

He

When I Took the Old Way to Ames

I passed spreads of field
the places where farmers
made livings from soil.
The view enticed
but I couldn’t stop.
I couldn’t stop
but I couldn’t forget
times spent on uncle farms
before I went to college.
The morning sun shone
but memories in college
in Ames shone brighter.
There I learned
the language of love
the concepts of life
that I held in my hand.
Each book of psychology
opened worlds

Telling my Friend about the Sky

Restless clouds hide
the sun and stars
as I drive alone.
A voice on the radio
asks what is important
now. My bones ache
and I embrace my dreams
as clouds pass overhead.
The voice talks about visions
of children as their lives lie
ahead, but I am older. 
The tires on my car sing 
as I embrace the moment,
but memories find their way
back to

After Rain, I'm Left with an August Day

My ears ring as I sit in the loft
and the sun shines through haze.
It rained last night and I know
it will rain again. I’ve already
checked through my emails
embracing my ritual to start the day.
The house cat rubs against my leg
until I allow it onto my lap.
I visited a friend yesterday
and we sat outside
while he talked

Petrichor

Something was changing one day—
I felt it when a cool breeze blew.
Restless branches danced and swayed
while the world around me grew silent.

With the first touches of rain
I smelled ozone in the air
and in a moment of glory raised my arms.
I embraced the moment as mine alone

but looked for the word to describe how I felt
like

Prior to Intent

her presence at first sight
an illumination
something I didn’t understand

she stirred imagination

a current ran through my body
and whatever stirred
was beyond comprehension

an angel, perhaps

I watched
as she checked into my life
and disappeared without a word

but she lingered in my mind

a constant stirring

until the next time
when I said hello

MOSQUITO MIKE

MOSQUITO MIKE
Just something a bit humorous on this hot summer day..

There once was a mosquito named Mike.
His buzzing and biting I did not like.
     On my arm he found a place
     flitted and fluttered with grace.
I swatted at him with a handspike.

Mike dodged and weaved with carefree

The Beat of My Heart

Without a word I slip out of bed
and a thousand conversations
run through my mind
as I walk barefoot across worn carpeting.

Two nights ago, I barely made it home
while driving through a deluge
and water on the roads.
I defied the warnings
and survived
as bolts of lightning laced the sky.

I was the storm.
I was the silence.

Now as the sun pokes

At My Leisure

a blank page
when I awaken
and walk barefoot
across the carpet
and when I embrace
the song of nothingness
it wants more

a cool breeze through the window breathes new life

onto the page in front of me
and the sun peaks through the window
as I sit at my laptop
and slide my feet under the desk
I love my muse and learn to let

Soft Voices

morning light through window
a song heard in my dream lingers
living beyond time
birds outside my window sing
I hear the voice of angels
a conversation with a friend
I showed her a poem
she read between the lines
silence said more the words
a beginning perhaps
silence said more than words
she read between the lines
I showed her a poem
a conversation with a friend
I

Poem for The Black Hills

They bore the winds of time
as they rose from arid lands.
They sun poked past one peak
while my work crew waited
to move to another place on the highway,
and we knew the day would fade.
We knew
highways must always be mended
and the same with our lives.
We spoke in hushed voices
among these hills
made when the earth shifted.
Somewhere beyond rested
a

My Last Day in Ogalala

Road work had been finished
for the winter on an asphalt strip
north of town near a nature preserve.
I said good-bye to the hotel owner
and he invited me back
although the town was a lifetime away
from my home. We shook hands.
The town wore its history well
with a façade of an old west town
complete with a jail and post

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