Scraps Patrol Dog (and Other Haikus)

Family Traveling

A three-hour drive

watching the grey buildings melt

into the mountains.

 

Turkey Day

The hum of our voice

at the old wooden table

with plates piled high.

 

Mountain Mornings

The thin mountain air

enters my lungs like spearmint

as the sun rises.

 

Biting My Lip

I can taste the stress

as I chew hard on my tongue

and spew drops of blood.

 

Scraps Patrol Dog

His wide eyes look up

in hopes that I drop a bit

for him to munch on.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – Sunday Rains

This poem was inspired by The Escapist, the second half of the song Death and All His Friends, by Coldplay.

Sunday Rains

 

When I am in my Sunday chair

with a cup seated lazily

on the woven wicker coaster,

its steam rolling over the rim,

 

I can look out the latched windows,

through the misty streets of New York

to the dimly lit country house

hidden five miles past Bozeman.

 

The station becomes Fairy Lake;

the stairs a winding waterfall

for people in suits to go swim

in the waters of the subway.

 

I suppose that makes me the shrubbery;

a scrub far beneath the hedge funds

waiting for rain to trickle down

on the tin roof of my apartment.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #118 – After the Show

After the Show

 

If you were the whirlwind, then

I would be Marilyn Monroe—

caught with a man in mock surprise

as the subway speeds to its station,

 

but to you I am Beatrice,

waiting beyond the black wailings

atop the tallest of mountains,

bearing the weight of a white veil,

 

until at last you pull it back

like an actress after the show,

thinking you have found salvation

in the breasts of a sweetened sin.

——

 

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FIFTY WORD STORY – At the Library

I am in the eleventh hour. The piles of papers have become mountains of material for my essay, but the words just aren’t coming to me. My eyes are getting heavy, and the yellow lights of the library flicker with fatigue. Maybe a short nap will loosen this mental knot…

——

 

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Dinner for My Dog (and Other Haikus)

YouTube

The electric lull

hums from the computer screen

like a lullaby.

 

Book Shop

The scent of paper

coated by distinguished dust

lingers at the door.

 

Singing in the Car

My thumb taps the top

where the window meets the door,

my voice in the wind.

 

Tripping and Falling

I can taste the dirt

between the blood on my lips

and the dry concrete.

 

Dinner for My Dog

His skittering steps

turn into the thumping bounds

to get to his bowl.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – The Jungle

This poem was inspired by My Hero, by Foo Fighters. Also, Happy Veteran’s Day everyone. Support your Vets. ❤

 

The Jungle

 

Walking down the rainy sidewalk

with a knapsack tied to a branch,

dressed in a heavy blue jacket

and a bit of distinguished scruff,

 

is how I have come to picture

the veteran on the corner

of Fifth Street and Towne Avenue

when I see him from my car door.

 

I wonder if that’s how it felt

when he trudged through the winter mud,

wrapped with the weight of his country

like a cloak to keep back the cold

 

or if he condemns the forest

of chains fenced in to keep him out;

kept the prisoner to a war

inside the concrete jungle called home.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #117 – Our Last Supper

Our Last Supper

 

She left from the dinner table,

spilling bills for her half of the check

onto the black leather folio

as though to apologize

for her abrupt renegation.

 

Is this how quiet Virgil felt

when he watched Dante cross the Lethe,

his words written out of existence

like Dido, when Aeneas saw her

walking back to kindly Sychaeus?

 

Did he wait behind, out of sight,

drinking a last draught of ruby wine

before slipping his tender next to hers

and walking briskly out the side door,

not even bothering to grab his coat?

——

 

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FIFTY WORD STORY – Basketball Kid

Early every morning, I walk down First Street. There is a rundown park, and everyday I see a kid caked in sweat. His hands are coarse with dirt from dribbling. And everyday, without fail, he will look over at me, step behind the chalky white lines, and sink a three.

——

 

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Cat Reading (and Other Haikus)

In Translation

It’s as if their tongues

learned how to dance the tango

while mine learned to waltz.

 

Outside Chico’s

On this street corner,

I look like the mannequin

posed in the window.

 

Shuffleboard

Two boys at the board;

one calmly moves the ticker,

one bangs his proud fist.

 

Strangers

I thought I knew her,

so I called a name and waved,

but she kept walking.

 

Cat Reading

His eyes follow close

as I turn from page to page,

tensed by the bleak plot.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – The Bannerman

Hey there. This poem was inspired by Queen’s We Will Rock You. Oh, and make sure you go vote! 🙂

 

The Bannerman

 

The thunder of cavalry boots

roars along the cobblestone road

like the crack of rain from the clouds

as they rush to form their ranks

 

and spattered in cold blood, long dried

rises the ancient bannerman,

like a conductor with his wand

sending instruments off to play.

——

 

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