DEAR WHITE PEOPLE
THE LIFE LIMITED
Not the express train –
The uneventful
Quick-trip to decay
We’re on the Limited;
Confined within limits
On life’s platform
Night watching
Brief recognition vanishing outlines
Illuminated windows, They stare ahead
Silhouetted profiles against flashing light
Glimpsing the gold coins of
The Paradise Express
We remain for the day
As we see ourselves
Age and wisdom
In separate cars
On that same track
Tearing through
A landscape of
Scattered grace
THE PERILS OF BEING THE BEST
I’ve been running for my dream
That started well before
The public even knew
There was someone to adore
I was swimming for my dream
Well before I was born
Who knew the heights that I would reach
The laurels my head adorn
I’ve been throwing at my dream
As you watched and tisked disdain
“She’s so big and unbecoming”
As if my goals were your domain
I’ve been fencing with my dreams
Assault by angulation
Beautiful balestra in hijab
Avoiding fearful imagination
I’ve been balancing all my dreams
On rings and bars and mats
Long before you got off your couch
To write uncharitable scat
Don’t shower me with bloodless praise
“I’m the greatest in the land”
And in ultimate compliment say,
I “compete just like a man.”
Flunking Retire -ment
I have flunked that good, after life
Leaving desk, chalk, and youth sublime
Eight years and a clarion light
Continues to call me to dine
~
With character filled texts and chairs
I return to a chalkless life
Anxious, faded elegance dares
To drag my dreams to “that good night”
~
Dreams die hard desire remains
I answer the call to return
Restoring dream’s dust to grain
Desires continue to burn
~
Teaching is now a brand new flight
Where time and love is now outsourced
Knowledge now comes in bits and bytes
Pass, fail with a little remorse
~
Virtual reality reigns
As 21st Century fun
As if being “real” needs explain
Over needs for real wisdom
~
So I am back to spread my grains
Of wisdom and where I found
Meanings to life ‘long side the brain
Which the “Road less traveled” is bound
SPRING – Vol. II
Comes in on muddy skids
Ignoring the calendar
Shaving its low gray brow
Undercover of a high cloudy sky
Wet with anticipation
It comes in when you see & hear
The great white flock
Of tundra swans
Trailed by a few dark geese all
Bellowing goodbyes
From overhead
It comes
The day you’ve had enough of
Of ice and frozen bones
The day you refuse to acquiesce
To your bed until the sun breaks the spell
Shaking off the coldest month
In the history of keeping warm
It comes
The day you throw
Off winter covers & sing songs
Warm enough to overtake
The sorrow that is homemade
And unnecessary
The Beloved Monster
Walking against the wind
Off the lake slows my pace
I consider the remnants of
The coldest February on record
The receding snow
Pulling back from last night’s rain
Leaving molded columns of
Autumn’s leaves
Along the road
Heaped dirty and waiting huge
Ice & snow mounds long since
Spent of fun and wonder that
Came new last December
March is here with its uneven
Message: promises of what might be
The patches of green
Slicing white winter
Mocking romantic winter havens
Warmth upended with
The old wooden mailbox
After the passing of
The beloved monster
Patron saint of the winter road:
The snowplow
KITE SEASON
Happiness builds a fast fire
Underfoot the running child
In fields wild with flowers
Laughing, some unknown joy,
That life will be good
Happiness forces arms open
New experience
Embracing daring
Nothing but youth
Before receding to the corners
Beaten back by the collected ticks
A clock and a heart weary
Holding happiness at bay
Then comes
The thumping hush
That muscle upon which
Nothing is lost
Rolling and dipping
Tethered calmly against
Winds of age & change:
Happiness,
Flying its own kite
MARCH 3rd
It’s still here; winter
Marching to that clove of seasons
We remain road-kill
Frozen, run over by ice and time
Clutching fingers stiffened releasing
Any vestige of warm memory
And all the light
That winter allows
To see war as it is
(Not the misguided
Miscalculations of man)
But nature’s
Mysteries of the obvious
Safeguards of Spring
The lake is down –
To the frozen edges
A swan or two
And tasteless
Geese footing
To rocky nests
Where they curl into
Feathery boulders among
The cold pebbles
Upon which you’ll slip
Next summer
Try to find music in
Canadian geese honking
All night – by morning
You’ll know all about
Exercising in futility
They remain in spite of disdain
Small fluffy armadas floating in
February 28th’s icy water
Honking in a frosty daybreak
And, just when you’re ready
To curse the freezing dun
Madness of the season
An arcing muster of mallards
Waving in decisive consideration
Of parting clouds
Lands, arching necks
Off which the sun glints its elegant
Emerald promise of spring
The Exultation is in the Knowing
