Not so Complex

&c.

Note: this partly a found poem, pulled from the pages of the

Kentucky Gazette and general advertiser, July 29, 1806, found

at the digital public library of America (www.dp.la)

My head aches

from changes in pressure

and my vision swims,

replacing what I know is here

with a vision

I’ve only seen in history collections.

I stand

in front of

T H E B U F F A L O E

whose table

is plentifully supplied

with the best viands

the season can afford,

next door to

Trotter & Tilford,

newly stocked with

M E R C H A N D I Z E

received from Philadelphia:

fancy callicoes and chintzes

Longhorn and Dunstable bonnets

&c.

&c.

&c.

for cash in hand,

but my hands are empty

and my pockets

only hold plastic

so I turn back,

saddened

by what is lost

along the road

and burned

from our collective

memory.

Stale Poetry, Fast

Against a backdrop

of this everything now world

I find myself slowing down,

wishing

this ordinary minute,

this action of pen in hand

transferring thoughts to paper,

creased from its time in my back pocket,

could be sliced,

and placed under a microscope

to be examined

before it is converted

to ones and zeros

and broadcast

to the Earth.

Yet,

here it is.

Why droplets of water cling to the underside of bare spring branches

-- for Domino

Gray skies

and wet winds

carry the hidden magic

of color

which they gift

to dormant grasses

and early spring risers

coloring them

in rich greens

and vibrant yellows.

Standing beneath

a bare maple

I focus through

a droplet of water

and see

a world of color

bent

and magnified

against an expanse

of glorious

wonderful

gray.

In Case of Gray

This first hard spring rain

has washed away my blue sky,

leaving mottled gray skies

where tendrils of melancholy

reach down

trying to touch my smile.

I fight back

with a yellow daffodil

clutched in my hand like a sword

and a running start across a field of

verdant green

sliding in

to cover my knees in sorrows mortal enemy-

grass stains.

I smile.

Victorious.

Teaching the Sun to Shine

She paints her sunrise amethyst

then smiles a young girl’s smile,

innocent

with just a trace

of devilishness

for she knows that all the world

is here

before her

for her,

so she shines.

Hold that Thought

-- in response to De Jackson’s Boxing Shadows from day 2 of the April PAD

This box full of darkness

has a small hole

in one of the corners

where it bangs up against hope.

And hope,

(that little devil never gives up)

carrying thirty times her weight in despair,

turns the box

from this dank corner

so light

can enter

and hope

(the little narcissist)

can again be seen.

Morning Song

This morning traffic has rhythm,

a horn blast from outside

echos

a trumpet blast from within,

a short stop outside

is followed by

a crash (cymbal) in,

I shake my head

to clear this illusion,

for I know

the world

and I

are never

that

in tune.

This bit of Brightness is Brought to you by . . .

Red bell peppers

over blue flame

hiss

as they release

their water

and their waxy

supermarket skin

cracks and blackens

dulling

the brilliant red,

but adding

a smoky hint

of mystery

to this otherwise

dull

cold

spring

day.