Time to Fly?

Little yellow pet birds;

do they dream flight,
sing soaring songs?

Never feeling sky’s rush,
oak’s strength,
vibrating power lines,
hawk’s shadow,
tastes of blue,
crap on car windows,
catching early worms,
showering in rain,
tasting dawn,
flying in red skies just before night?

If freedom came suddenly
and wings worked air
never landing,
never stopping,
no plan or destination,
never knowing what they were doing,
experiencing undefined fear and exhilaration simultaneously;
flying, flying, flying until they died of exhaustion;

would death framed in that scene,
be crueler than death trapped in an ignored cage of empty seed shells and bird shit?

My canary conundrum.




This is for dVerse http://dversepoets.com/

Emmet Wheatfall wrote an inspiring article challenging us to write about the craft poetic expression.  Above is my feeble attempt.  Please check the site out.  There are some very outstanding poets!



In Copenhagen
on a frosty snow flurried day,
your brown eyes stole my hat away.
I was lost in your eyes
didn’t realize,
I left my heart inside.

Angel’s don’t steal a man’s hat,
especially with his heart
and blind,
when he didn’t realize,
while lost in dark brown eyes,
the hat had a heart
deep inside.

Angel, I want my love back,
from my heart in the hat
you stole
with your fine brown eyes
on that snowy day
when you had your way
in Copenhagen,
and I forgot
I left my heart

I forgot I left my heart inside.


Crying on the Inside

She’s crying on the inside

Standing lone on storm’s edge

Light fades as clouds collide

A silhouette lashed by rain sharp wind


Arms open to express soul’s pain

She’s crying on the inside

Shadows swallow anguished dark remains

Raven’s silence signals defeat again


On an island lost in hungry seas

Sorceress mutes with no spell to chant

She’s crying on the inside

Praying for one last final chance


She’s crying on the inside

She’s crying on the inside

She’s crying on the inside

As last light grabs hold her rain soaked hand


And now

    the raven stands lone

    on its water worn black smooth stone

    as light departs



    and the raven stands lone

    in its darkness

    in its darkness

    in its darkness




For Magpie


The Pleonasms

Joshua Mann

Her name, Estival,

a risible way,

each sound a paean;

woodnotes ,

encouraging micawbers.



the anti-pule.


His name, Fug,

a catchpenny way,

each sound Aeolian,


brickbatish tongue.



the picture of pule.


Estival and Fug,

an anfractuous duo,

duets of fantod,


laconic knives.


Estival and Fug,

their jeremiad rants put pule to shame.


Happy Anniversary Mr. and Mrs. Pleonasm




It’s been two days in a row without a straightjacket.

For dVerse http://dversepoets.com/2011/09/24/poetics-say-it-again-sam/


A Gentle Surprise

Gabriel Laderman (Florence)

Sono anni che ti stavo cercando

I shook a man’s hand today
not overbearing

A gentle surprise

He once tried to steal my first love
I knew he would still be near
postponed our meeting years ago
he looked much uglier then
a panzer-like nose
eyes of fire
reeked of decaying flesh

I had to see my first love once more though
it was time when time says
and I knew the price
age softens one’s point of view

A gentle surprise

She still lived in his shadow
but not as dark and foreboding
eyes of window glass
a renaissance reflection
cathedral shaped face
cheeks rolled like hills

I enjoyed a final glass of wine with my love
kissed her gently
visited old friends who sleep outside her gates
And extended my hand

A gentle surprise

Finalmente ci siamo incontrati


Taming of the Few

The Snake Charmer, Henri Rousseau, 1907

A portal to a dream,
saturated colors,
flat forms
long smooth lines.

Inspiration jarred
on the farm,
imagination charmed
in moonlit streams.

Taming of the few
who choose to unleash
the beauty of
their dreams.



I Want to be a Penny

I want to be a penny,

laying on rails,

waiting for a train.


Have you ever seen a penny after fifty grain cars flatten it into oblong coolness?


I’m tired

of worthless,

collected in topless mason jars,


just to be stolen

for some blow or a little weed.


I want to be cool,

smashed into something somebody finds,

and says,

“Wow, check this out.”

Instead of,

“Tails, bad luck,”

and cast inside some leafless bush.


A thousands tons of oblong creating coolness.


I want to be a penny,

laying on rails,

waiting for a train.


Just thinking, he might love me then.


If They Only Knew

A straight jacket hangs in my closet

An anniversary present

To myself

I painted my rubber walls

Tennis ball

Ultra yellow

Beat myself with a wooden racket

Laugh and bleed

Just to tease myself

Feeling is real

Bought wife a rose

I love her madly

She’ll see it when the pills pull away

Saved her the last two eggs

Hope she remembers to turn off the stove

I have to work

Some new health plan to help the middle class get hooked on pain killers

A bridge over sober waters

To help us through this crisis

If they only knew how beautiful pain really is

But then

I am the last con-moderate soldier

My vote is always the deciding tally

If they only knew