on the black asphalton the black asphaltmy footsteps leave no trace --a Roman milestone in the grass
a snow flake fallsa snow flake fallsinto the warmth of my hand –safe
the old citadelthe old citadelechoes with birdsong –a green forest
a white cata white catin my pathgood luck?
The full moonthe full moon —just another lightin a crowded sky
Just above the cloudsJust above the clouds,at 500 mph —the stars do not move
Grandma“Is there something terribly wrong with me?”I sigh and look up from my book. In the evening light my grandmother stares back at me, utterly unaware that it’s the third time she’s asked in as many minutes. Complex maps of wrinkles frame her wide eyes, each crease charting the grief, joy and laughter of a lifetime she is slowly forgetting. I look at her and I remember the wit and spark that used to punctuate her speech. I remember the way she used to strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere; how she’d find wonder in the simplicity of everyday life. Her curiosity, her sense of adventure, her love of the world and of all the people in it have been replaced by a child-like fear of the unfamiliar.I look at my grandmother and behind her old, tired eyes I see a young girl who has lost hold of her mother’s hand in a world full of strangers.“No, Grandma. There’s nothing wrong with you at all.”curtains shift –the faint glowof
Deliver usThe wind exhaledThese metal chains upon herfingers froze in fear.The pianist gaspedkeys reverberating withtense and bated breath.The bush rustled then,it's fragility masked byhaughty foliage.The cyclist haltedmuch to the chagrin of theinferior hill.Gloved hands held the giftand muscles relaxed, relievedthat life is okayafter all.
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closeMy young son shuffles into our sunny kitchen on this late-spring morning. From my seat at the banquette, he is happily greeted with the customary, “Hey, man! Did you take some good dreams?” Sleepy-eyed, with that just-awakened stare, he nods as he scoots along the padded bench. Bear, his stuffed friend since infancy, is draped over his arm, limp and flat from several years of intense loving. He stretches out and plops his head into my lap, hair ruffled from his recent adventures in dreamland. Combing my fingers through it, lightly massaging his scalp, we wordlessly ease into the day. ‘like Eskimoses’we used to rub noseswill you remember?
~Love~Complementary;two DNA sequences.Orange halfs; not fake!
The BoardwalkAn old traditionStrolling around the gift shopsWatching the arcadesT-shirts, key chains, shot glassesFor past, present, and future
Birth - A TankaA dandelion --gentle, yet somehow, still strong --holds itself firmly.Wind touches like a lover,Giving them a brand, new life.
Haiku #510Is it a beer?Is it a dream? No. It'sa lead at half time!
haiku #511Feel marginally better than you did beforedo what you used to
dusty chessboarddusty chessboard the old master yieldsto his grandson