M is for Mozart's Birthday

MOZART'S BIRTHDAY















Born on his day
You allowed him influence over your life
That no other was allowed,
Except maybe Jane Austen.
I missed your funeral.
No one let me know you had died
And when I was told perfect strangers were there,
It made me cry even more
That you were gone,
Unable to leash your own outrage
At such an event.
I remember you in your black morning coat
And ruffled shirt,
Long brown cigarettes
And your love for champagne
And chocolate.
In summer you dressed all in white,
Never got soiled.
Inspired, brilliant, loud, droll.
On evenings you would show at our door, late, drunk and lonely,
We stayed up with you
And listened to your recitations and wit.
It was always so cold on Mozart’s birthday;
Your humble home was warmed by adoration.
You glowed then, like a blaze.
I miss you.

Longing

Longing















Pain just out of reach
Memories fading
Like dreams forgotten upon awakening
Photos faded or lost in travels
Messages delivered unsolicited
Yet welcomed with a masochistic longing

K is for Kitchen Monday Morning Blues

Kitchen Monday Morning Blues







Coffee pot full of thick black motor starter
Milk jug empty
Rain beating on the window pane.
Cat bowl showing brown flakes, nothing more
And kitty mewing to come in, come in, come in.
Clock ticking at meteoric speed
While kids can’t find socks and pick a fight
Over whose turn to sit in the front
Before you can even get out the door
And you drop your toast
Butter side down on the floor.
The radio tells you the traffic on the interstate
Is a parking lot
Right before they play your old song
And herding kittens sounds like an easy occupation.

J is for JOHN

John




I met you with my great belly and you signed my book ‘so much love.’
Those were some days in my life that once I tried to hide but later
When I’d learned a great deal more I knew I was lucky to have all that
And you
If only for those few times
Before everything went so bad for you.
It was you who made me get my baby back.
I told you that and you put your arms around me
Like no one else ever had and you blessed him
Touched his downy little head
And told me you were glad.
I read you died in a broken down hostel
In England and it made me sad.
You deserved so much more.

Inuits on the Edge

Inuits on the Edge






Inuits on the edge of the world
Who slumber in igloos
Live in bright mornings that stretch into bright evenings
With no separation of day and night.
Generations of eyes have sensed
The shapes of ice formations to map landmarks;
Human compasses knowing the way;
From
Grandfather to grandson
Parent to child
Shapes change with warming winds and terrain
Once familiar
Can no longer be interpreted.

H is for "Hurt" May 11, 2010

HURT







A scar marks her
Like the one her mother bears
She ignores remarks about her
And pointedly returns stares
Her eyes, hooded and dark
Reveal little, only moods
Causing passersby to steer
Clear of her stony altitude
Giants of any kind
Don’t affect her
Angels behind mirrors
Reflect her
She’s waiting
And the drums may pause for warning
But don’t expect it

G is for: The Griffon in the Garden May 10, 2010

The Griffon in the Garden












The griffon in the garden
Was placed one rainy day,
To guard the house and all within
And keep them from harm’s way.
No one told the griffon
How big would be the tasks;
Sometimes the worst of enemies
Disguise themselves with masks.
How could he know a Trojan Horse
Would put him to the test?
While ruin lay before him
Though he did his very best.
Upon that day the griffon
Held up his wings and wept
While something foul and evil
Across the threshold swept.
His warnings went unheeded,
And misery did fall
How could the griffon be of blame?
What is he, after all?
But just a piece of concrete
Carved with human hands;
We must learn to open our eyes
Before making such demands.
And now the forlorn griffon
Guards the house no more;
He’s left to sit and drip with rain
A piece of backyard décor.