Melon-choly - April 30, 2022
can’t remember how I became the family’s melon-cutter the one-handed wash and dry of a cannon ball is no easy trick nor is sawing through...
can’t remember how I became the family’s melon-cutter the one-handed wash and dry of a cannon ball is no easy trick nor is sawing through...
Why the sly look Mr. Washington on your dollar bill? even the flash of a single tooth might say Yeah, man! and Abe Really? that...
who isn’t in a fight with one thing or another battling weight struggling for money in the crossfire of an argument how about those...
my brother and I two kings of why work the jigsaw puzzle of human behavior with determination and labored breath we splice and glue one...
beyond the necessities human beings remain insatiable our appetite for pleasure love possessions power wealth happiness security...
there is such a place a black coffee hideout where the living gather to add tears to milk or hope with sugar to discuss what’s passed or...
between heart and mind it’s when either the serious caring one or the busy thinking one starts a pillow fight and with feathers flying...
you sat on a bench with nothing to do under a sun that gave you no excuse to move? at last able to scan this painting you barely live in...
was to open an eye at blanket level and see something in the corn rows of fabric stretched ahead of me then watch my groggy mind run off...
poems written at dusk usually contain some goodbye to light a wish to hold on to one day’s luster among the thousands that have passed...
and wish the wind would play it on my walk along the bay so my thoughts could wander away from the trees and birds of this world to the...
mom’s fern grows in the bright sunlight of a white wicker basket how it must miss the fog and green friends the gloom of the forest floor...
the osprey never knows who it sings for who might echo its four hollow notes and the silence they ride in a plea I can’t forget that...
swift in the middle slow on the edges quiet on the bottom dying on the banks while something hidden in the branches of the tallest tree...
even as adults crying comes when our smallest selves are caught in downpours of grief or loneliness and seeing another’s tears who...
play pickleball with a fearless ten-year old and you’ll see there’s nothing he can’t reach or burn some skin with the effort he dives and...
for many people coffee is a butt kick for lazy cells that ignore the small voice that yells get up get up the ones that shrink inside a...
my writing journal baking in the sun where I left it leather more than warm like a post-race horse without the sweat that pours off me...
starts the morning leans over the rail and whinnies at the large space a wide-open field of possibilities while the click of a stopwatch...
feelings come and go flying mysteries with their shadows hot and cold pockets that shift our movements bend the forks in our roads...