the evening is alive with promise
dogs lie on their porch, loving the breeze
chimes are tinkling in a happy manner
there are two sounds – the air conditioner and crickets
the wind picks up strength; leaves rustle
one dog’s head comes up; he gulps some wind
in the distance a dog barks. My two dogs are on their feet.
They run up the hill barking with serious intent.
She smoked
She smoked,
my mother did, a LOT!
I never liked it.
To me she looked like
of those “molls” in
detective magazines,
later on television,
cigarette dangling
from the corner
of her mouth
acrid smoke
curling up (she didn’t inhale)
choking the air
as she played cards
or worked
at her desk.
To be sure,
there were “issues”
between husband and wife.
Mid-Great Depression
Dad out of work
or out of town for work
alone with
kids to manage
clothe and feed
with what?
So she smoked.
Small family Jewish
grocer let bills run up.
Smoking a comfort?
Housedresses, nothing new,
shoes needed for kids.
Teeth bad, pull them.
Children need dental care.
Sharp tongue cutting
no whining
“Just get on with it”.
Hurt, not understanding
we sulked. She smoked
Smoking and smoking
taking in relatives
with lost jobs, lost homes,
sick or in need, managing somehow
depressed (never admit it)
feeling put down,
frustrated, underrated
and underappreciated
never accomplished anything
worthwhile with her
college degree.
But, in her own way,
a saint in a housedress
Smoking away the grief.
It is over sixty degrees today
Unusually warm for pre-March Kansas
I sit on my porch, sunbathing
Wearing corduroy slacks, a jacket and tennis shoes
A swift breeze gives my face a bit of a chill
My fingernails are black, so I do a little grooming
What did I get into? The black comes out as crumbles.
My dogs are overjoyed that I am out here.
They run up and down the length of the porch, showing off.
Every time I think I will shake the rug, a dog lands on it.
There is a siren sound in the distance, it has desperation
Our ears go up, but none of us bark
We are as respectful of that siren as a soldier could be
I look at the remnants of woebegone snow
It looks sad, knowing its days are numbered
A late February day in Kansas
Porch sitting and listening
Curiously no bird sounds
I hear a neighbor for a brief second, only a few words
Advantage of living in the country
‘Twas the night before Christmas and baby
Liz-Beth cried, crawled, and sat waiting for me.
My police neighbor trains a NARC doggy
Liz sees, does, and sits by her need…daddy.
‘Twas the night before Christmas with kitty
run up our tree limbs from NARC-BARK doggy.
Families oldest—not me—son Kenny
went out on a limb. Said, ”Come here Monkey.”
‘Twas the night before Christmas…Slippery
slides on floors and walls. Very neighborly
keeping feet on chairs and tables. Snotty
caught a cold it can’t shake—from son Franky.
‘Twas the night before Christmas…Alexy
is a skater. All seasons with Nosey
her bandit raccoon get very messy.
Alexy’s coon will be skating someday.
‘Twas the night before Christmas—misers turn
as a Fifth Avenue trunk is well-earn
for the unwrapped gifts are of no concern.
Emptied pool covers bike/motorbike--yearn.
honey rays sunbeams
enter through window
old oak tree's leaves dance
squirrel run up trunk
mate sits on back fence
feel recliner
yorkie silk hair
porcelain cup
forced vent warm air
news station
dog barking
ears ringing
coffee
bacon
eggs
Be kinder to the tree, they say
Don’t poke or prod or cut at it
Don’t try to break its branches
Don’t run up to attack it
Be kinder to the fish, they say
Be gentle with the guppies
If caught just let it swim away
Don’t try and fish for copies
Be kinder to the little guy
Be softer, like a mother
I know you’re meant for it, they say
Helped raise your younger brother
Oh but I won’t, Oh but I can’t
Don’t want to live the horrors
I choose to not participate
To not hand out disorders
Pass down our long-lived misery
Pass down all of our karma
I choose to be a butterfly
Not trapped in my own armor
And now my future is in halves
Two choices on the table
To birth a child, or to not
I choose to not be able
Barking at the dog
One day the dog got angry
I run up a tree.
I am bound and chained to a very tight leash
Now the stillness hangs lifeless in the air
Icy tentacles grope, grab and squeeze
My breath is taken away, I do decree..
Darkness has snuffed out the warming light
the trembling fear has started to begin
the hand of death has taken away all of life
goose bumps run up and down my skin
bearing its sharp teeth, ready to bite
it has my insides like a twisted knot
I feel ready to run, take off in flight
so I am fused in this one very spot
This gloominess goes by many a name
Its strength its mighty then might
wrapped in a shroud of icy pain
but I am not ready to stand up to fight
from the grey clouds of much distain
blows the cold wind and the pouring rain
There is snow on her coat, her ****, and her eyelashes
She has run up the hill in spurts and weird little dashes
Her breathing is labored, she remembers now she is an asthmatic
Her inhaler is where? Too bad carrying it with her is not automatic
There was this little train in Queensland
Quilpie Flyer was the name
Ran from Charleville to Quilpie
Made it every day the same
It was the Daily Mail Train
With a carriage at the back
Taking Ringers and Bush workers
Who went further down the track
A small steam engine for the traction
Have to tell you it was fast
The trip sure was all action
It really was a blast
The top speed when in motion
Maybe sixty miles an hour
Did not stop long at each station
Dropping mail, and meat, and flour
Had an unequaled reputation
As the fastest in the land
Charleville to Quilpie Station
The record sure to stand
This train ran up to the early 60s. It did the 215Klms trip, with 5 stops in two and a half hours. When it was at a station, a quick run up to the engine, and you could get a billy full of boiling water from the engine, for tea. As the train moved off, jump back on the passenger carriage as it went past. The driver would watch you on, before hitting the acceleration.
Wonky grandfather clock you are so much fun to see
Loving it that my father created you just for me.
Your curvy sides make me smile, at least once a day.
Your chimes and bells love to whistle and clink my way.
No one else has such a clock I am pretty sure.
You make me happy, your intentions are pure.
I keep waiting for mice to run up onto you dear clock.
In my mind hearing “hickory dickory dock”.
The wide sea swells with muscular power:
surges under thundering clouds.
Waves
in chaos
rush and tower,
careless of steepness,
smash
in whirls of foam,
slam
on slabs of rock.
Until
tiring,
sighing as
rays of sunlight slice
a shredded grey sky,
the sea’s scaly skin sparkles:
the monster settles in rest.
Vast and deep are the mighty seas that roar.
Yet, at curving edges, surfers ride waves,
landing softly on sandy shores.
Sleeping under an afternoon haze, the sea stretches
between headlands: salty ocean beneath the sky’s hot breath.
A toddler with his mother is paddling in the shallows,
where little ripples run up the beach now the storms are gone.
A beautiful little princess wishes she were someone else
Perhaps a blue bird that sings or a black crow with a shrill
Or something soft with white whiskers, a long-tailed mouse!
From the balcony she watches the village children on the hill
As they run up, up, up, and then roll down, down, down
They laugh and scream and sing merry songs and play
The little princess sits alone, she wears butterfly wings and crown
In an enormous castle with a tower, there she lives, far away
Who shall I be today is her most favorite made up game
In her own enchanted world, and with a grand imagination
Ever so joyful day after day, where all remains the same
To be just as she is, pleased and abrim with gleeful elation
Rascally roadrunner in the sun
finding grasshoppers on the run
feed your babies high protein
build a nest off the ground
in my two live oaks
run up and down
smiling clown
goofy
bird
When
the heat
gets too much
and drinks are few
and baths fewer still
find the nearest sprinkler
a thoughtful human neighbor
has turned on specially for you
repay kindness with showy gusto
Slow flames under the blacktop,
simmer-ghost rise
from the sloughing road.
Rubber scorches its skin
shedding blackened snakes.
It's a hot day,
creeping turtles fill pot-holes
with their hot-plate shells.
The highway drums along
to the churr of cricket songs,
along the way, either out or in,
dead-eyed samurai
rage-on at the speed of silence.
A fly in a warm margarita
brain-waves a thought of heaven,
then drowns in a wet question mark.
Sneakers, crocs or Jesus sandals?
Whichever way we walk
the town will be further away then we thought,
and the heat-hacked pigeons
will light the way like Tiki torches.
I guy reads about Maui
and its hills of ash.
A place where ice runs hot.
Dry tears run up
into his eyes.
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