HAPPY NEW YEAR – 2022

January 3rd and the Sharp Shinned Hawk has returned to the feeder 

Dropping into the cedar bush waiting for an old, slow dove

But it’s the red squirrel who drives my husband crazy 

Rick and his wife Judy have taken a winter

Residence in our walls. Their bedroom quarrels

Legendary in the ceiling above my husband’s office.

I know the nights have been rough when I lay abed

Long into the morning stirred from slumber at the loud mutterings

Of my beloved below

“Fuck you, Rick!”

Yes, from the man who marched under his

banner of long hair 

Fighting for a hopeful harvest for the world

Fighting against ugly forces intrinsic in warring hearts

My peace man

The silhouette against all those night fires

Set to capitalism

Arms always raised in righteous revolutionary anger

Never in surrender 

Now sits at his desk perusing

The hopelessness in today’s headlines

Wishing the Sharp Shinned Hawk

Took prey larger than the dove.

G.D.F. 1/3/22

PANDEMIC POLITICS

 

 

confetti

What is there to make the heart swell

Against those ungovernable desires?

Wars; showdowns at

The corral

The jungle

The beach

The half-learned lessons class

The thin stream of info-wire

Signifying new battlegrounds

Sneaky. Anonymously mean

And wrong

Stabbing at our rucksacks

Full of unused Gods

           •

What poetry can hold

What it can’t

Anger controlled

By rhyme or meter

Impolite bluster

Baroque or scant

Edgy words on pages teeter

Sweet noises overrun morning thunder

Evening song diminished in

Skeins of days torn asunder

                   •

May November carry our souls

From a hell lined with poetry stole

From that Shredded Parchment,

Now lying in confetti baskets,

To be strewn in ignorant rapture,

Over brides, babies, and caskets

OF TIME AND DREAMS

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What is that time called

Just before sleep fully takes over

When the night-mind, in acid-etched clarity

Lines up the day’s matters

Forcing them to kneel in pain’s shadow?

What is that time called

That sounds its claxon for battle 

Swinging the Damoclesean sword

Slashing away

The nubile dreams of the innocent?

The time just before being delivered

To the mercy of that clamor

Accompanying the onset of dreams

That time when heart and brain come

Together each with its own music;

Sharps and flats dueling for supremacy

Offering a clarion call sometimes

So lovely as to be taken as anthem

Shepherding the heart

Through sunsets,

Births,

Deaths,

Success,

Failure;

The basic drawing-and-quartering of life.

What is that time called?

STAYING POSITIVE WHILE STARING AT THE BODY COUNT

IMG_0394
Venting frustration
Failed attempts at normal
But normal, escaped, is now
Free-range
Arranged on social media
With intermittent WTFs

 

I’ve overheated
I’m angry
It’s Florida

 

Housework –
I’ve ironed clothes that wrinkle
Wishing life and virus could be
So smoothed

 

A Grocery run –
New hunting and gathering ritual
Homemade masks to protect
From the angry uncovered faces
Staring at my NY plates with disdain
As if my name were Wuhan
Rather than Hot Mess

 

With five-o’clock wine
I watch the sunset
Tossing its diamonds
Upon the waters of Newfound Channel
Week five:
Quarantined in paradise

ON BIG PINE KEY:   QUARANTINED WITH WORDS

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     My words,

They’ve marched in on dreams,

Printed conversations with those

Who’ve mastered their form

They’ve fallen from my tongue in hailstorms –

WTFs after reading NYT’s homepage

     Today, I am stuck at the intersection of

“If only” and “Where to now?”

30 minutes ago, over coffee and sunrise

I knew where I was going

 Now, not so much

     We walk the dog

I look for the cardinal who had

Been singing his bright red song

For weeks now

He’s gone – beating the lockdown

Finding a mate who loves his music

     But I am still here

Quarantined in paradise

Wrestling with each letter

Clanging demands

Words; unheard cries

Unraveling the earth

Before it dies

 

 

QUARANTINE: Week Two

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Like our electronic toys

The world has a reset button

When we ignore her overheating

She admonishes with flames

When we foul our nests

She sends the oceans in retort

And when we ignore the world’s health,

Its inhabitants’ well-being,

Choosing to chase vicious luxuries

Because – we can

She sends the enemy invisible

The virus incurable,

Barely namable

Scoffing dreams and schemes

Our world has reset

An algorithm for stimulus

Six-degrees of separation

Leaves room for empathy

We leave food for the hungry

We drive the immobile

We care for the sick

We handsomely tip the daring

Souls who venture into the

Empty streets of commerce

Bringing food to those of us with money – to eat

But, the natural world wants us

To open our eyes

She wants us apart enough

To see those lives

That will never change – even with

A conquered virus

She wants us to see the fallacy of

Putting profit before people

She wants us to see those

Who have always been

Quarantined by poverty

In spirit and in purse

Yes, the world has reset.

Sadly, the culling

Won’t be equitable

 

Reset people

Reset!

 

Aisle 17 at the Big Pine Winn-Dixie

winn dixie

 I walk the aisle in awe

Stripped of bum-cleaning supplies

People fearless of bums rubbed raw

Toss in single and double-ply

Stocking up in preparation

For coronavirus’ hit

When needed is just separation

And reliable testing kits

Don’t tell that to these locals

Who’ve survived Irma’s rage

They’re more apt to get real vocal

And war they’re willing to wage

So I am quiet as I judge

The woman who’s caught my eye

As she swipes the last Scott Tissue

Both single and double-ply

I’ve pondered such movements rarely

Overreaction — I guess is fine

But by the time I get to dairy

I turn and head for the wine