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
