Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Well, I'm part French Anyway

Listening, loud, to French songs,
which I do not understand.
Songs about riches
and love
sometimes leading to heartache.
Melody and voice
carry the story.
Persuasive enough in tone
that I can understand.
Or, perhaps I am a fool,
dreaming of the French countryside,
a bottle of Bordeaux
and the time to look at you.

*In response to Three Word Wednesday

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Distraction as a Plan

Nearly became distracted,
trying to detect the distance
from violet to plum,
amethyst to eggplant,
as the Earth moved,
revealing the midwestern morning.
Saved, by the chirp of a finch
and the chitter of a squirrel,
I returned my focus
to the task at hand.

*From the prompt at Sunday Scribblings

Monday, March 28, 2011

This Unbroken Line

saw it in the mirror.
harsh lights
and just waking eyes
focused on the business
of being presentable
mean the edges are blurred.
But the snapshot,
under cold, blue skies,
bundled from the cold,
I focus
on my face
and I see, plainly,
bits of her
are still with me
and I smile
life doesn't end
but continues on
this unbroken line.

*In response to Carry on Tuesday

Saturday, March 26, 2011

The New Normal

Words volley back and forth
as we speak without listening.
The new normal,
as we lead dual lives
each with identical roles:
Sublimating one
so the other can shine.
Identical goals
but different routes
that someday
can cross

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Exit, Stage Left

Spring snow
nestles into eager blooms,
individual flakes
keeping their shape,
showing their beauty
against a backdrop
of what is to come.
A fitting dénouement,
as another beauty
to center stage.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

If the Guilt Fits

Seed catalogs arrive
bursting with good intention
and photo ready gardens
filled with fresh looking folks.
I try on my mid-western guilt
but it no longer fits
so I place the catalog
in a pot, outside,
and let the spring rains
make it swell
and bloat
and wrinkle
and return to pulp,
which I then sprinkle on my garden
filled with weeds
and good intentions.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Done Gone

She called it hillbilly music.
listening to tales of heartbreak,
helping it down, first, with beer,
then whiskey and water,
wondering why her snow-white dove
had been delayed.
Shot down, I expect,
like happiness in a world without horizons
only haze filled yesterdays,
already gone.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Turning Hope Around

Clouds roll in.
Obscuring the sun,
diffusing the light,
turning ochre to amber
to rust
as the rains fall
on already sodden ground,
flooding past hope
and, strangely,
leaving me dry.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Better off with a charcoal pencil

The Grays still play
the dominant role,
ruling over this domain
with iron fisted strength.
Scant color attempts
to bleed through
but is quickly back under cover
of clouds
and snows,
blackened by exhaust
have exhausted me.