green field

sweet Eloise, she
loves words; she loves their sounds and
also their rhythms.

unrequited 2

I pine for her, but
alas, she’s an evergreen,
a cold weather tree.

(#1)

the slow march from Indian summer

cool morning breeze keeps
turning colder until “breeze”
turns euphemistic.

blue collar

the treadmill rolls and
we work the week through without
gaining any ground.

things I’m trying to ignore

a dog barks under
a tree outside and a cat
meows for her food.

reflections through a time warp

… what you were meets what
you’ve now become, grins and says,
“hey, haven’t we met?”

(source)

a dream deterred

you can have a dream
and chase it, too, but what if
the dream won’t have you?

veneer

do your very best,
but there will always be flaws
you cannot obscure.

drained

waiting for the phone
to ring, unaware that the
battery is dead.

even the voicemail

what her voice ignites
cannot be extinguished by
a thousand hydrants.

root causes

it’s our way of life
they hate, not that we propped up
despotic leaders.

100,000

minimum number
of Chinese censors watching
web activity.

maturity (or maybe just laziness)

picking fights used to
be my hobby; now I just
let them come to me.

eagles, week two (recipe for disaster)

three-quarters stifling
defense mixed with an utter
failure to finish.

sympathy for Benedict

I recommend most
delicate care in choosing
the words you say next.

silver lake

such ambient tones
as children and waterfowl
frolic at the lake.

thursday mo(u)rning

thursday is mourning
the loss of wednesday, but soon
will have to move on.

brought to you by the letter “W”

like a cock you crow,
like you invented daylight
(and security).

pre-autumnal

pre-autumnal dawn;
the cool, moist air colliding
with day-breaking light.

recollection

ten in the morning:
telephone wakes me – she asks,
“have you heard the news?”

eagles, week one

the anti-t.o.
helps the birds to a good start;
donte stallworth rocks!

cancer 4

devote to others;
the more help you give, the more
connected you’ll be.

acceptance

you are who you are;
what is normal anyway,
and why should you care?

locked and bound

hearts that wrap themselves
in the past are often the
hardest to open.

sitting in a coffee shop at midnight on a sunday

black notebook woman,
what are you writing? tell me
I could be your muse.

perception/reality

Gilbert said, “Some men
never feel small, but these are
the few men who are.”

labor day

labor day is here
with its cookouts, parades and
forgotten meanings.

unreal

she smiles and moves in
ways she thinks common, and all
of it captivates.

a little depression

hello Ernesto,
breath your winds and flash your floods,
then be on your way.

261

blood in the street sings
a mournful anthem, pleading,
“let it be over.”

(context)