This rodeo takes me
in sandpaper blue,
solemn all whiskey dances,
my gratitude is resin cracked,
peace dangles like a carrot
above this trench for one,
I know this day,
it has the heft of every yesterday,
it has the schooling of
broken stone walls
In A Colorless Autumn
In a colorless autumn
of unkempt, there are
seasons of none
and gone missing,
today, this one day
has come for decades,
I believe the one-note
bird I hear is the composer
of salt for dry tears
Like the ocean, with its
spackle waves, I visit
the shoreline brittle,
but today,
this bed is blue enough
water, I choose to
crumple in the music
of stillness
I Am Blue Flame
I am blue flame,
I am the mountain
in every bird,
and today, in snow,
a garden grows impossibly,
frighteningly where
I am copious ruin and
courage, straw ribbon and
emerald
In This Hour
The room is no song I have heard,
this hypothesis season of
cold lexicons leans as if drunk
on black wine,
I imbibe wreckages,
I will not come here again
to this jigger of life,
this tatter, this strewn,
this toss of sentence
without trial
Winter Stayed That Year
Winter stayed that year of one
tremendous comma misplaced,
the winds found trees
unschooled in dance
that fell as dominos,
I tried saving money
and laughter,
I bought the happiness of
yellow apples and swept pears
of dust from under the beds,
my fudge sold like springtime
The Line to Queens, a poem
We both smiled
in a way that said,
come home and who
might you be?
You got off first,
you didn’t look back,
I watched you
for years – walking away
Every Thursday
when one practices
Friday, I never
saw you again
Never learned your
name or your lifetime,
gave you fifty different
names for rock on,
lover babe
In Its Attire, a poem
Like winds set free
from cold stables,
like a toss of deer,
like mountains pooling
in the distance,
I went out into
the jostle
of gold coins
for autumn had come
to walk among us
The Umbrellas, a poem

In the distance, umbrellas
falling from the sky
any rain is a lake
of otherwise sea
a whisper goes round
soon it’s the wind
in the stars and
a cup of spiced Chai
Photo: pexels.com
What Was It?, a poem

There were blank pages full of echo,
We sat in the same room becoming
swatches of paint and rowboat, we
followed night into scatter and wind,
There were tendencies of child, but
no, and when I say there was
rain, there were ten gears
that cracked, crackled and blazed
I remember you as the one, but
how could you know the blue
I chose would be the paint chip
mountains from a silent film?
Photo: pexels.com
No Dark Violin, a poem
There is no dark violin,
so we comb our fingers,
wanting to speak,
wanting the silence,
touching tender,
choosing a hue
And We Go On
One of these days,
it will not be impossible,
it will not be fog
and hypothesis,
and the trees will
return from that place
they go,
puddles will bathe moons,
and just when roses
can’t be more –
they will star
The Water
The water turns here
by rote – a recitation
plump with gurgle
and moonwork
no one can say
why this turn,
I like to think
it followed a swift
changing its mind,
that it enjoyed
its tap shoes
on these rocks,
that an ambling lazy
afternoon, for moments,
became a stream
The Dog Wants A Burger, a poem

We walk on the beach
one of us wrestles seaweed
The tide goes out
one us says, God’s speed!
We run into other dogs
one of us pretends I’m not there
I suggest some restraint
one of us flies through the air
One of us gets a burger
on the ride home
I suggest the ball
One of us wants a bone
Photo: pinterest.com
Sitting In A Favorite Chair, a poem
It seems to finish alone,
the evening silent blue,
the call of butterflies
in silence overdue
And pen in hand I scratch,
like morning hungry hens,
but all is silent chair,
the sleep of soft pink wrens
Yet in an often dream,
the poem is success,
in slow swim of night
the heart finds ways to bless
Surreal, My Oxygen

You’re surreal, my oxygen,
The tears in laughter,
A much needed and a quiet,
A shower and a shower –
don’t make me decide,
And Joe’s Diner for dinner
in a booth in a window
in love in a romance
language sans words
Photo: Petersen Furniture Inc.
A Turning (tanka)
stepping away
turning to go
summer in music
fall in love
and watercolor
In That Realm (gogyoshi)
in the beaded
gowns of battle
under rose tinted skies
you will love there
and wish to stay
Adding Cream (tanka)
adding cream
light snow in the wind
I watch you enter
unmeasured
Picassos
The Bird (gogyoshi)
a bird strikes
the window
I know the dull thump
and every flower turns
to reach the sun
Tomorrow (gogyoshi)
tonight, I’m fastened
to tomorrow
in the corner
a stack of books
to be written
In the Garden (gogyoshi)
late in the day
the sun is working
in the garden gathering
gardenias and tossing
them through the windows
I Remember (gogyoshi)
I remember you
from a good life
wherever you are
please return to me
the reckless laughter
A Song (tanka)
a song on the wind
coming across the field
if only you knew
how your music is
my only time of day
River Current (tanka)
I have written
a river current
into the meadow
I run thirsty
arms wide
Rock Opera (tanka)
in lilies
the rain begins
clouds kneel
with the toadstools
in a rock opera of hail
“The Same Word” (tanka)
a fallen bit of
word then
the bird continues
with the same word
I am ringing
“Fawn” (tanka)
in a back pocket
of spring from
a packet of seeds
comes a fawn breathing
a new day
“Long Voyages” (tanka)
on long voyages
one needs a heading
like wild blackberries
dark ripe heavy clouds
in an overused colander
“White Satin” (tanka)
the moon collects
in a bowl until
it’s brimming
white satin
falling dream
“Cup” (tanka)
the moon
is lost and
all that matters
is this cup
to gather the stars
“Music” (tanka)
my love of music
in the morning
geese
migrating
one room to another
When Death Is Meringue

When death is meringue
When death is merely the
goldfinch gone elsewhere
When death is on holiday
or too booked up
I shall go down to the sea
like boats do and sail
Photo: simplyrecipes.com
Oceans Diving Off The Rocky Sky

I need to see every flower
pouncing from the earth
To see oceans diving off
the rocky sky
To see mountains tangled
in weeds of clouds on
the horizon
The keening earth in volcano
The end of each day pleading
that I leave this place, so I
can safely return come morn
Photo: wallup.net
Softly Comes Slowly
Softly comes slowly
to the middle years
of this winter,
the wind brews
a cold cup of resin,
while clouds are
chipped chotchkies,
fisherkings straddle
an edge of memory
as the moon crouches
to explain
The Last of ‘Still Autumn’
A day of dipping tree
first winter is due tonight
I would call the hour “still autumn”
and so we spend still autumn
rearranging the fire into fire
knowing the snow will come
all at once every car the same model
every tree turning to see
Ya Wonder, a poem
The way the sky makes crayons in the evening.
The way stars simply don’t mind a thing.
It’s the way the frost was Dylan just two weeks ago.
And Saturn spins at the burger joint in town.
I’ve heard cars fly in rain here.
You hear things. Ya wonder.
You repaint the bedroom like a Vegas Versailles.
You dream big. Then smaller…until that fire opal
finally drowns.
And your sky becomes paper plate and rock candy
hanging from strings.
Photo: earthsky.org
Tree to Tree
In some way.
a blending.
tree to tree.
standing/falling.
heavy with rustle.
a pause.
my feet.
my eyes.
black the trunk.
bright yellow.
my singing.
Photo: eskipaper.com
If We Leave The Moon
If we leave the moon to its hammock
when the wind swings to and fro,
by god, we’ll lull ourselves an evening,
for cold weather is curious work
of hanging all the apples
Photo: gumeys.com
All Backdrop Woods
Against all skies, all
backdrop woods,
within the singing heat,
melancholy’s cologne –
the dark sweet air
Photo: nosleeplessnights.com
Perhaps August Doesn’t Know
The humidity drowns out flowers,
the gem birds, the jewel songs – gone,
steamed vegetables – still growing,
Perhaps August has forgotten how
we suffer – breathing in the hot rain,
our garments sticking to their battles,
Then there’s a B&B in New Hampshire
that measures the temperature in
steaming cheddar biscuits eaten in A/C,
And at night, there is a down comforter
for each guest, and the hot water bill
goes through the roof every summer.
Perhaps August doesn’t know it’s winter
at Barthe & Bramble B&B, maybe we
just might stay ’til the leaves,
‘Til the first frost, when it’s safe
to come out, maybe we move in, maybe
we make ’em all three dog nights – this
summer’s end, this bubbling peach
cobbler season.
Photo: bakingamoment.com
With Another Good Moon
Be gentle, be autumn, be young
and cinnamon, put the kettle on,
fluff the pillows by the window,
curl up with another good moon,
and write.
Photo: pixabay.com
I Got To Thinking…
I like that sun showers
don’t require shovels.
I feel better when muffins
have taken up with poppy
seeds.
Whenever possible, I
invite the moon in.
There are flowers that I
can recite from memory.
I love it when the lawn
engages in rabbits.
I mix apples and oranges
like nobody’s business.
Photo: Â Havahart
Amid The Spring Morrows
While wind swept
the marble of
winter clouds,
and trees became
a finer steel, we spoke
of dragons waiting amid
the spring morrows
Photo: Â pinterest
A Sea Falls
A sea falls
moon rocks narrow
a raindrop’s instrument –
the twine, the twine, the
moths I go ’til dawn
Photo: pinterest
around the corner, a poem
a butterfly’s errand.
over there.
somewhere around
the corner of
the house.
somewhen lovelier
than now.
perhaps an impossibly
beautiful tomorrow.
just now at 1pm.
a butterfly’s midnight
in the offing.
making promises
that you and I will
never hear.
Photo: BabaMail
Love
Perhaps love is a drop of rain filled with river.
Perhaps we are satin when love arrives as sheets.
Perhaps in droves – love.
Photo: MyPostcard
morning is slow, a poem
in thick carpets of air.
the morning is slow.
the lawn rabbits
don’t care.
about the moon.
pale blue cellophane
still whispering night.
Photo: youtube.com
with vast
the youngest.
hour unfolds.
blossoms
are left.
to their will.
to fill the
night.
with vast.
with scented.
raining
lasts of petals.
the garden
goes a roaming.
Photo: livelovefruit.com
Some Leaves Have Started
some leaves
have started.
their turn.
as I look at my
watch that has never
said autumn.
never said cold steady
rain, but
today, it said good-bye.
Photo: zmescience.com
Blossoming
blossoming.
a pie tree.
a promise.
to pie.
until bubbling.
to apple.
to fall into air.
into cinnamon.
into speechless.
Photo: maxpixel.net
sitting. out back.
sitting.
out back.
among
the meringue
gardenias.
the common
sense of a sunset.
to share this
obliging silence.
this stream of
engulf.
this valley dusk.
made canyon.
without you.
Photo: pixels.com
rich with occasion, a poem
our stillness.
rich with occasion.
ardent.
your words.
each a planted seed
of yellow.
for after this
round night.
Photo: curiosityiswoman.com
night sky
night sky.
for a moment.
a moon.
caught in trees.
and I.
and I
am one forever.
free.
Photo: chandragopal.com
Falling All About
There was the raspberry
bush that knew no other
fruit than autumn and
the lily of the valley
once garden, I thought
to send you pictures, but
they were wanting to see
what I had seen, to be
there yesterday with the
scent of coming snow
falling all about
Photo: growingtogether.areavoices.com
The Etching Hour
The etching hour
of shadows drawing
the delicate bones
of flowers
Photo: pixabay.com