Drawing Dreams

Inspired by Brenda Jones' Artwork

Don't get heavy on me, Brenda
Your cake is almost done
A fish flies down from a world above
And becomes just another wrapped up thought
The table creaks under a bounty rich in abundance
A meal of kings, of queens, of a child
A child sleeps and draws dreams
While the pope, trailing white, climbs out of the picture
And leaning down, blesses her with a whisper

The Birds in Winter

We should have brought the birds
In when the winter got cold.
We should have covered the wire
With stale scented straw.
We should have fed the birds, not young Don,
Who found them still,
Frozen in ivory splendor.
We should have remembered
That a bird's life,
So small, each millisecond,
Every fluttering breath,
Is a liability on our souls.

Elements

I am a woman and damn proud of it.

I am
Passionate, pink, prismatic, predictable, prosperous.

I am
Emotional, endearing, eccentric, educated, enchanted, empathetic.

I am
Sensitive, striking, superb, sanguine, serious, silly.

I am
Delicate, deceptive, delicious, deliberate, difficult, devilish.

I am
Wonderful, wild, witchy, wry, wronged, worshipped.

I am a woman and damn proud of it.

I am
Beautiful.

An Expression

It is deliciously, suspiciously
A mystery
Of words
It's a sonnet, a haiku, an ode, a refrain
A verse, a ballad, a rhyme or a cinquain
It's the creature that creeps
Just out of sight
The shadows that cross
Your wall in the night
The thought that can't
Quite be expressed
The ugliness of the world
Prettied up in a dress
It is deliciously, suspiciously
A mystery
Of you

Letters, Words, Sentences, Life

Inspired by Billy Collins' "Books"

I don't even remember where it started.
Probably with the bright picture books
Of childhood.
First I learned to carefully pencil
My big letters and little letters
On the paper with the two bold lines
And a middle dashed line.
From there it was only a matter of time
Before I loved to read.
Anything, I would read.
Charlotte's Web was always a favorite,
And the one about the cricket,
Or maybe it was a toad
That went to the big city.
Soon I was sneaking my mom's romance novels,
To read the naughty parts
And learn how babies are really made.
When nothing was available
It was the backs of soup cans,
The toothpaste tube,
The manual to my car
(While I was driving down the road, no less).
Now I collect books,
Like some old women collect cats.
Someday I will read the books to my children
And grandchildren, and someday
They will read them to me.
And the words will keep marching
Down a line of generations,
Down the road with a traveling cap on,
Ready for the big city.

Brutus

Inspired by Billy Collins' "Dharma"

I had a discussion with my dog yesterday
On the joys of sleeping,
Belly-up, tail relaxed
In the splash of sunlight
Spilling through the sliding glass door.

He does this often, you see,
And could be considered somewhat
Of an expert on such matters.

His usual routine is to nose aside the blinds,
Adding more smears to the glass.
He eases onto his belly,
And from there he can use
The laws of physics
To kick his legs into the air.

I find him frequently
In this supine position,
Oversized paws bent at the wrist,
As a person imitating a bounding rabbit
Might look.
His eyes are unable to close all the way
In such a pose,
So I can just glimpse a hint
Of muddy eyes and pink eyelid
Through the gap.

A foot may occasionally tremble
As he follows his nose into his personal
Field of dreams.
And he intermittently lets out a transparent woof,
Which amounts to nothing more
Than a soft popping of his cheeks.

My dog told me
I should attempt such an activity.
So today I lay down,
Pushing aside the plastic blinds
So that the weak winter sunlight might flow in,
And I felt rather silly
When a friend came calling
And found me,
Lying among the dogs.

The Time That I Lost Three Days of My Life

I lie on a small, sandy hill.
Looking skyward, I raise my hands
To the leaves falling like rain
From the oak tree. I fly
Up into the vast blue
And leave this planet.

I reach a new, strange, orange planet.
It is dotted with wooden hills,
Homes of the beautiful blue
Creatures that reach out their hands
To me. I crouch down, jump and fly
To a new destination, to the rain.

I drift through a meteor rain
Shower. And discover a new planet
Of floating yellow orbs that fly
Amid this realm's great hills.
I make a V with my hands
To navigate a new way into the blue.

This shimmering celestial body of blue
Exists under endless sweet rain.
I touch and swift with my hands
The lightness of the planet.
My footprints leave two small hills,
Not indentations, as I once again fly.

Through the darkness I fly
Searching for that elusive blue.
I imagine that stardust makes small hills
On the horizon. A strong rain
Propels me to the next planet.
It is not the one. I cover my face with my hands.

I stare down at my vivid hands,
Their creases my map. I can fly
Through these storms, find my planet.
I must keep searching for the blue.
I must not get distracted by the whispering rain.
I press my eyes shut and imagine my hill.

I open my eyes to cloud-speckled blue.
But these clouds do not carry rain.
I am just an ant, on my ant hill.

Fortunate Son

I-August 17, 1969

I look around at the other men
Long greasy mops of hair
Unbathed and unslept for days
Ears dead yet drumming from the music
CCR, Jimi, Janis, The Who
Three naked girls run past
Slipping through mud, muck and garbage
I burn a little more off the joint
Pinch it between stained fingers
Love and peace taste better when they glow

II-August 17, 2009

He stands in the chill, smoking a cigarette
His breath makes vapor shapes in the air
They disappear before they are tangible
White hands as pale as nail moons
Rub his graying temples
No job waits for him tomorrow
But a handful of wars wait for him overseas
God Bless the U.S.A