X Marks the Spot (Where Do We Go?)

Under the Big Dipper, I lean back and stare at the dotted sky.
Its indigo vastness
Causing me to ponder:
Where do we go?
When we go away.

One large dot moves and travels in my direction
Takes on speed and sound…
(Red to port; green to starboard)
Roars overhead, then disappears to the south,
(A different kind of leaving, a route…
Mapped and charted).

Senders say goodbye on one end
Wishing Bon Voyage
And
See you later;
Blotting handkerchiefs to eyes and
Missing those who’ve departed
While they’re still in sight.

In some far terminal,
Eyes strain to catch the approach
Of gleaming metal hurtling through the sky,
Wait with open arms for arrival of some loved one.

One cries tears of sadness,
The other tears of joy.
Farewells compete with greetings
And sparkles in the sky.

Where do we go?
When we go away.


I sit back and mark the dotted sky,
Shaky finger following constellations
(Real or imagined)
Arm flagging, drunk on stars.

What Night Brings

In darkness I hear sounds that don’t exist in light of day.
Though my ears fail me when I need them, at night they are alert to noises I can do without.
My flesh tingles, heart races and sleep that was imminent quite suddenly escapes me.
All my thoughts are rounded into one tight corral where they battle for my attention,
Repetitive mantras in my mind rendered useless.
Numbers, green and dotted, melt into the brightest glow in a room encased in darkness
And I fumble for the switch that will illuminate the dread and take it away.
Reading words repeatedly that won’t be absorbed,
Giving up and
Making another attempt at slumber;
When dawn begins to creep through thin slats that have kept the deepest shadows out,
Exhaustion folds over me, like the thick blankets that weigh on me imitating layers of unmet dreams,
Hazy visions, near hallucinations and harsh realities I can’t be free of.
I beg my body to end this competition with my feeble mind,
Yet begin another round.

V is for Verano

Venetian blinds flutter in the
late afternoon breeze that
pushes collected heat into narrow corners as
a gray spider with long delicate legs
slowly scales its flimsy net
where a trapped fly buzzes with frantic resignation.
Birds peacefully nest, songs stilled,
waiting for dusk and
the reappearance of delectable leggy creatures
who come out to eat and be eaten.
Scents of crushed petals
and new mown hay
drift like motes as they
settle like perspiration
on the upper lip of
the gentle hair of a very blond fellow.
Somewhere down the dusty hallway
the Evening News prattles about high temperatures,
traffic,
and wars on foreign shores.
A ceiling fan clicks
clicks
clicks
against a pull chain with a faded ribbon that
twists and dances to the draft from above.
Cicadas, hidden in rushes and trees,
murmur and hum,
eager for relieving rain,
then go suddenly quiet again.
Outside a car door closes with a thud
but no one turns or cares to know
who else might protest the heat.
A screen-door groans on rusty hinges,
and the crack of a divided watermelon
is heard above the drone of a
weary refrigerator motor.
Bare feet pad on a cracked linoleum floor,
seeking the summer tonic of fresh, ripe fruit
and Gino lights the barbeque with a whoosh.

The Alphabet Continues....(almost done) This is "U"

Under the Overpass

Under the overpass
An insolent crow
Investigates a used sandwich wrapper
In the cool shade
While cars zoom overhead,
Unaware of past murders,
Stolen kisses,
Mishaps and
Multiple motorist’s fury
At being pulled over by hot cops
Who choose to tally statistics
Whilst avoiding the swelter
In the shadow of gigantic ramparts;
Hats off, cocks gunned,
Itching for a finger…
Just
One
Motive
To
Make
Their
Day.
And the crow flutters away.