Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Walking Beneath the Trees

walking beneath the trees
 
the song comes in my head and 
heart twists into an empty shape
fortuitously filling a void
 
the breeze is light on touch
like your voice beside my ear
i can hear fleeting whispers and
mad raucous laughter
 
is it real that you’re in the leaves
is it real that you’re in the clouds 
oh draw me a funny rabbit or cow and
make them hop the moon tonight
 
tonight i sight jupiter and the moon
has a rainbow around it

you’re in the bits of my universe now
forever with me yet beyond touch
you’re in the bits of my reality yet i can

only sense in the lightness of a breath

(april 19, 2016) 

Monday, February 15, 2016

bread and pho

you’ll never get to taste my bread
i’ll never get to use your mixer
just think of the flour fight that might ensue
just think of the cackling of two magpies

i will name a new kind of dough after you
it will have sweetness of dried fruits 
and an over abundance of butter, more butter

we never were shy about fat, you and i
we never believed in limits to our palate
we made others envious of our cuisine

you’ll never eat my pho again
like the time at your parent’s house
we had it stinking of cooking fish sauce
but the kids devoured the food, you smiled


15 february 2015 

a scottish cemetery

in scotland this time of year;
daffodils carpet the cemetery; 
so delicate, swaying gently.

old man’s beard laden the old oaks;
i wandered beneath them on worn paths.

hard to believe i found such tranquility;
hard to accept you are to be in such a place.

incontrovertible that you have left us;
i hope you have found serenity.

it is  eventual the world will hear; i know,
our raucous laughter will sound again, together.


15 february 2015 

Tuesday, February 09, 2016

parked here

for ingrid

parked here, i sit wondering of you;
two weeks have passed and no word
since you said you’re calling 911.

parked here, sweet crepes and butter
were our morning delight in franz's
since days we could claim youth.

don’t let this be that kind of poem
not yet, not in this way;
so far, those memories
so far, the path still lies ahead.

parked here, i hold a glacier’s tears
millennia have passed, patience, they say
i won’t count future lives until we meet again.

don’t let this be those kinds of words;
people murmur in fear of unknowns
since days we stared at stars.

8 february 2016

Sunday, August 23, 2015

mother and i

mother and i,
she tried to be a grower but
didn’t get grandfather’s green thumb;
i did.


i am the grower and
i am the arranger, too;
that is from my father.


i arrange flowers that are words;
words that are images;
it was his gift.


my aunt says it’s apparent.
she says, i’m my father’s son;
my gilded tongue, sometimes forky;
the softened charm that is rarely refused.


not that i share nothing with mother.
mother and i, we can be alike.
we can be removed;


hidden behind the leaves and roses
among the thorns,
too threatening for curious fingers.


i can, not show the softened heart,
keep my shirt sleeves unrolled.
mother and i; we have only one sun
but very different worlds.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

lamb

(after Christine Boyka Kluge’s Lamb)

i read a poem about a lamb across the valley,
lost and distant and there was mention
of smoke separating the animal from its viewer.

as i think of it now i imagine myself reflected
in the yellowed worn page of the book;
well handled, well read and perhaps well loved.

i see myself as the lamb turned upside down
on the edge of the paper as if a world inverse
of this more complicated reality outside

of its frail edges. i see myself removed
from myself and wonder of the smoke mentioned
and whether it was me who started the fire;
the fire that would eventually eat up the page

into hungry embers and when the lamb

in the image had burned, would i disappear? 

Haiku

Strangers walking by
Outside the open window
So far from your view


Saturday, August 08, 2015

Haiku

All in order now
A crimson sky above me
Another dawn smile

--

Line of cypresses
Gossamer memories fading
So far away now

August 4, 2015

Sunday, August 02, 2015

His father's son
With senses like Waterford
And red ruby heart

--

No summer kisses
Beneath the Emerald Isle
She waits patiently

--

Autumn almost here
So distant a time since last
So distant the space

--

August 2, 2015