A Poem Written On May 17th at 3 AM

During a pop quiz

In Mr. Murphy’s

Sixth grade English class

My brother once wrote

A fine short story

In the form

Of a note

That was scribbled

And rocketed into

Outer space

Just before

The world exploded

Writ in the same vein

I might add

As Barry Maguire’s

Hit song

And the same idea

Underlies tonight’s

3 AM poem

As many lyrics

Partake of similar form

Telling the story

Of a particular moment

Before all is forever gone

Of necessity brief and
Ending on a chilling note

The Day Before Mothers' Day

Sometimes
I think my mother
Secretly wants
A Bentley
Even though
She's been
A reverse snob
Most of her life
Resolutely
Middle class
In her refusal
To succumb
To the allure
Of posher things

A life of the mind
She has pursued
Critical thinking
With zeal
Sometimes harsh
In her judgment about
This or that

And the first
To admit
She never felt
At ease
In her skin
Which goes
Quite a long way
To explain her love
For my father who
Felt nothing if not
Comfortable in his
Mottled though
It may have been

The Poet Writes a Short Note to His Wife

Dear M --

Please understand
And try to forgive me
Though I consider myself
A most happily married man

Infidelity was never
On the agenda but
To conceive of a poem
Entails fundamental risk
Not unlike
Having unprotected sex
In the hope
However strange
Of becoming
Impregnated by
The Truth

And by such means
My good health
And sanity
Have at times
Undoubtedly
Been compromised

Blogging in the Stream of Life

What Michel says
About Richard
Is very instructive as well
And something Richard
Has heard from a few
Of his intimate
Waitress friends

He never poses
Because he's on stage
All the time

I guess that's the
Very definition of
Playing a lifetime role
Which is another way
Of saying something
I said a few poems ago

It might as well have
Been a bookend
Or something
From a previous life
Though I also suppose
One poem proceeds along
To another just like
An open mike

The Inner Eye

Talk about having

A well developed

Inner eye

There’s no one

Better evidencing

The reality of that

Than Gus

The one-eye cat

Who calmly sits

On my lap

His withered eye

Averted

And sometimes

He purrs

And sometimes not

But he gives me a nuzzle

As if to say exactly

What he’s seeing

As he looks

Inside not askance
At his heart

Encounters With Spring

How many shades of spring

Can there possibly be

By now it seems

I’ve savored almost all

And drunk fully

From the cup

Of the freshest Chablis

Followed by Vino Verde

Not forgetting Rosé

It’s all there

For the taking

Spread across the Rockies

And the hillsides of Vermont

A palette so complex

And intoxicating

At least for those who 

Come of age fully

Self-permissioned

To see what

I have seen

It’s the chlorophyll

In all of us

Clamoring

For one more chance

To riot in the light

As it grows stronger

Every day

Photo by Susan Saunders

Poetry for Dummies

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Last night

Walking home

From the Hi-Line

I crossed paths

With a father scolding

His two young kids

For using the word dummy

When talking to him

Never again did he want

To hear them speak that way

At the risk of getting

An especially long time out

So it begins

Learning what

We’re not permitted to say

The abridgement of our  

Basic freedoms seems to

Make perfect sense

But takes a lifetime

Of hard work and forgetting

Before finally

It may be overcome

Because

When it comes to poetry

We are all of us dummies

Every single one

Poets and readers alike

Straining to find the words

Which long ago were

Forbidden us

By the accident of

Our membership

In the human race