Short Skitters Poems

Musical autumn leaves in slashes and swirls.
Flowing around me, making melodic curls.
Titters and skitters from mischievous squirrels,
What is more magical than September oak twirls?...

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A leaf weaving its way
    down a flowing stream
  skitters windswept 'cross
    an autumnal lawn

  Once detached from a twig
    its life far too brief
  teasing undying belief
    ~ as green turns to grief...

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The music laughs 
piano thoughts
the tiny bird alive you caught
skitters wild across the keys
I hide within your satin sleeves
crepe and crinkled fragile soul
crescendoes gather and enfold
mesmerize me and infuse
a scherzo written by a muse...

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were that i could speak again
the thoughts frozen in my head
the sun rarely burns me now
and the moon a haughty stranger
lifting its one eyebrow at me.

i stir uneasy in the concrete bowels
where skitters my fears
in halloween masks.

i think i'll yowl with the cats
on the roofdeck

(5 feb 79)...

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a teeny tiny
mouse shyly skitters among
the crisp-dried leaves and deadfall
the teeny tiny
mouse believes that Spring has sprung
to free him from his burrow

when fragrant flowers
rise with soaring sleepy heads
teeny tiny mouse snuffles
as jasmine entices
teeny tiny mouse to run
free and scurry through the fields...

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startled fox turns with his fluffy tail down
His fur he wears like an amber kingly gown
Against the forest wall, he gives so much color
Hiding in the thicket is his older brother
His teeth have barely come in, he is a baby
Will he run off like a frightened deer? Possibly
He skitters away; now his beautiful tail is up.
He is a kit, I realize, not a dog, pet or a pup....

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Modern landscaping amuses me no end
in mansions and cottages round the bend.

To folks who seem aesthetically cultured,
a well-mown lawn is still ill-manicured,

unless there are potteries strewn around,
cracked, skewed, partly sunken in the ground.

But pots breed bad skitters that fill your artery
with dengue through this silly pseudo-artistry.

So, next time you stare at your yard be wary:
Mosquitoes sting anyone dabbling in pottery....

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the chaffing entropy 
of self-maintenance
combing human features
into land-slips

predestined by its engineering
an electric screwdriver
skitters away
from its moving parts

dishes in the sink
soap suds wearing away 
willow patterns

a domestic maintenance 
erodes ceramic bones
they grow thin and break
replaced by tougher plastic bandages

we dry our hands
notice it is evening
turn on a vintage 
hundred year old lamp

few things live longer
than times short shelf-life...

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