Like an eye looking out through black and blue night.
Scintillating squint in Dead of Winter; looking through
Slat of the Midwinter blind. The Canadian waning of light.
I could have been listening to a sermon, sitting on a pew.
Caught the “deer in headlights,” before the eye closed.
It was like peeping through a hole of the universe; gold.
Tree branches spread out, as if fancy’s figment disclosed.
I’m open to chiaroscuro and the Creator’s diurnal hold.
Could have been an angel’s flashlight, looking for a fleck.
Perhaps where Heaven touches earth, that is so cold.
The wind twines with hymns and the flurries hit the deck.
A groom carries a splendiferous bride across the threshold.
God’s natural art emboldens impressions with constant sear.
The intensity both bold and minute embrace our existence.
Climatically they manifest, grab hold, redirect, and adhere.
Never ending dispersion of colors and seasonal coexistence.
Under a suicide sky
The moon runs blood red
We lost another one to the pain
It ain't no sunshine tomorrow
When today ends like it did
We all can change this night
We all can say you matter
We can all forget the blame
It's time to notice what's become
The mental strains
The blood it spills
If you could save just one
Would you step up and not let them fall
Could you be the hope
This life is more then just living
It's being able to breath
Its being comfortable in one's skin
To let it all go
Wipe the slat clean
When will we see
When will we be free
Freedom is not by the blade or the shell
Freedom is forgiveness
Freedom is inspiration
Freedom from the regret the fear the hurt
Free to believe we all are so much more
Free to give all we have to a cause
To unite in difference and a love for all
The Eastern window is open
and early morning birds sounds
invade the room.
Drawn blinds are no defense
as one after the other
the inevitable rays of light
sneak in around each shimmering slat.
At 5 o'clock.
The sun hangs like a red ball
in the middle of the white horizon,
a flaming standard.
The steam clings softly to the
bathroom mirror and like misty,
glorified remembrances masks
the true man's reality.
At 6 o'clock.
A breeze brushes the wind chime
hanging by the kitchen window,
a tiny cry.
The slant of the August sun
is already painful to my eyes
and tears make short trips down
the side of a breakfast glass.
At 7 o'clock.
Across the street, a dry field
plays home to a waiting boxcar.
My gaze drops down.
Hot water burns the face
of the egg-covered plates
as the softened yolks
slide off like skin...
8:15 and 32 seconds.
Where are the songs of yesterday?
I hear the echoing screams.
Turn off the air conditioning.
Sit down in the halls.
It's not over until the last
Fat Man falls.
Hot air balloons were escaping from the house
Coming from every slither and slat like a mouse
They rose from the doorway into the wind
Colors of turquoise, orange, yellow, all ascend
Where had they been? Where had they been?
Some came from the windows, others from a crack.
They floated up gracefully, and none wanted back.
I watched their colors go up in the sky.
They were gorgeous and plentiful.
I wonder why?
birdie on a painted slat
he flutters into a rush
of spring leaves
as if he were diving into a cold pool
brr…brr
pert season is heating up
4/19/2023
Life slows down
in the country
The meadow makes time
to show off her roses and bluebells
Picket fences, every slat admired,
bask in pristine whiteness
Bees and hummingbirds all a-flutter
sweet vibrations at garden's edge
Lazy bottle of moonshine
lingers long as a summer's kiss
I would ask you to stop needling me
if I could feel my feet anymore
Certainly, by now, those raggedy dogs
are well traipsed off. And the crotch tweaks
only remind me that I need to go
to the bathroom again. Or is that even you?
Whoever it is, I do thank you for holding me
over the toilet, as often as you do,
and for reminding me to face my porridge
every night or so, although, I remain
such a smudge of my former self,
wedged secretly between a box spring
and a bed slat, flirting shamelessly
as I do, with the dust bunnies.
Rain beats against the window,
As my little boy leans his brow
And little hands against the cool glass,
Staring, longing to go out.
His eyes light up with joyous excitement;
Grinning from ear to ear,
For down the hall by the door
He sees his sister's red and white polka-dot umbrella.
Glimpsing around to make sure no one is looking,
With quick steps across the floor he goes to the door.
He rises on his tiptoes,
Reaching and wrapping his little fingers
Around the doorknob.
Slowly opening the door ajar,
He seizes his sister's umbrella.
Pushing the button he pops it open
And slips away unnoticed.
The pitter-patter of rain strikes the umbrella
He holds high above his head,
As he runs across the yard
To the old wooden bench in the pouring rain.
Jumping he grabs a wooden slat
And struggles to climb on the wet slippery bench,
Springing high his little feet finally makes it up.
Bouncing up and down,
Screeching with enthusiasm giggles
watching the colorful rainbow,
Soaking wet,
He holds on to the back of the bench.
6/19/2020
Staring down at waters murky
Under tattered aging timbers
My thoughts went back to the past
And the life that I remembered.
As I stood on those rustic boards
And looked all round about me
Came thoughts of life’s moments lost
And those things that would never be.
At times my heart was lost and restless,
And life felt empty and so bare
The losses brought my way often felt
Much more than I could bear.
I see the longing yet in my heart
It keeps passing through me still
My heart sad and ever restless,
Although old, is yet strong willed.
The sadness will never leave me,
And acceptance never take its place
And the sorrow of things I’ve lost
Will always leave its trace.
And I think of hours spent
On my tattered rough-hewn friend
Each slat bearing cares or sorrows,
Calling me back yet once again.
As long as the bridge remains
And the muddy waters flow,
As long as my heart holds sadness
The bridge will calm my woes.
Murky waters beneath a simple bridge,
I’m thankful I stopped by many days
And brought my thoughts along with me
To scatter along an old friend’s way.
Oh to the whoa, Honey, today I saw a trio of funny!
Walking the street, my blink did many times repeat,
mercy be, I did see three furry cats wearing hats.
One cat was quite curvy, two chunky, but sturdy.
Curvy was all a-curtsy in a flat, wacked, black hat
that on top popped a nervy, floppy drunk skunk.
I don't think nervy knew or gave skunk any thunk.
One of the chunky cats was pure funky to look at
for his hat seemed to have been picked at
like a muskrat laid splayed on a slat from train splat.
The third in the herd on that quirky street journey
was quite the brat-cat, a tweet putting on a show.
On this cat’s head sat, to my dread, a wee placemat
that was threaded in a somewhat hazmat format.
So, my honey-bunny, not for love or for money
could I scat catalog three felines in asinine hats,
but I worked at chit-chat with the quirky cats
and was agog to learn through our dialogue
that their names were Dog, Frog and Hog!
Now, let's go eat fishes to stretch our britches.
We bear bunnies must avoid tight pant glitches..
I walked up the sidewalk to the front door
That had a welcome mat.
The doorbell I rang was kind of flat.
I saw Frankenstein peeking through a
Window slat.
The man who answered the door wore a
Tall black hat.
Good evening. Oh drat!
The skeletons are doing the head pat,
Our hunchback is a brat
Who needs medical attention stat,
Casper the friendly ghost some how
Stepped on the cat
Which put it in trama now we are using
Wolfman to catch the rat,
The gypsy can't believe where she is at,
All the zombies fell in to the witch's vat,
This brought the witch that was flying to
A Stop with a splat.
As for old Dracula he keeps saying what?
The mummy took a swat
At the bat
Who was chasing the gnat
Out of the biggest flat
I have ever seen. The spider's webs were
Made out of some good looking tat
As on it they sat
Looking at me as if I could make them fat.
Nice chat.
I said suddenly remembering my folks
Didn't know where I was at.
Imagine that.
I knew it was time to scat.
Curves
Slow, cradled walk towards the goad,
Skin pink naked to the crowded few,
Light beckons the inner property pack,
Until the red is aphoristically bright said.
One body, one noon to habituate around,
One lapidary to bleed for tight inners,
One clavicle osmosis to two muscles,
Two refutals needed for the fame slat.
If society had a heart it would tick,
Anything for all people this or that,
Inside the other it would say alloyed,
Legal means not legal forgot to writ.
Rhoda Monihan
Rain beats against the window,
as a little boy leans his forehead
and little hands against the cool glass,
staring, longing to go out.
His eyes light with excitement;
grinning from ear to ear,
for down the hall by the door
he sees his sister’s red and white polka-dot umbrella.
Glimpsing around to make sure no one is looking,
with quick steps he goes to the door.
He rises on his toes,
reaching and wrapping his little fingers
around the doorknob.
Slowly opening the door ajar,
he seizes his sister’s umbrella.
Pushing the button he pops it open
and slips away unnoticed.
The pitter-patter of rain strikes the umbrella
he holds high above his head,
as he runs across the yard
to the old wooden bench in the pouring rain.
Jumping he grabs a wooden slat
and struggles to climb on the wet slippery bench,
springing high his little feet finally makes it up.
Bouncing up and down,
screeching with enthusiasm
watching the colorful rainbow,
soaking wet,
he holds on to the back of the bench.
9/3/2017
A crimson bird perched
On a pointed fence slat, "crack!-"
A sunflower seed!
Carol Mahan
A soft spring breeze blows gently
across the open toes
of my Italian leather sandals.
Sitting on the weathered oaken bench
I can picture you swinging on those wooden slat swings
with your flowing hair pushed back in a ponytail
bouncing up and down off the top of your cashmere sweater
I imagine your little smile as you giggled with your girlfriends
I can still see that little twinkle in your eye as you caught me staring at you
I smiled and my cheeks turned a pinkish red
I remember walking over your way and asking your name
You said it was Spoilt Brat and I couldn't help laugh
We took a walk as all your friends watched
You were so bold, grabbing my hand and starting to run
We ran so fast and then fell helplessly in the grass
You touched my faced and pulled me in
and we kissed, oh such a wonderful kiss
so soft and light. you lit up my night
Such beautiful memories coming back to me
on this sunny spring day.
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