kitchen

tiny and narrow
like on a boat
peanut butter sandwich
vegetable chopping
excuse me

some man designed the room
efficient
microwave on the counter
can opener
recessed fridge
the bread board sits over the silver drawer
oil based paint in mint green


percolator sits on the old stove
sauce pan
frying pans
hang from the ceiling
anonymous linoleum


the pantry is small
food stacked
on the refrigerator
the bread box
unreachable shelves

on chilly nights
light pours yellow
from the doorway
scent of frying onions and bacon fat
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

kitchen

tiny and narrow
like on a boat
peanut butter sandwich
vegetable chopping
excuse me

some man designed the room
efficient
microwave on the counter
can opener
recessed fridge
the bread board sits over the silver drawer
oil based paint in mint green


percolator sits on the old stove
sauce pan
frying pans
hang from the ceiling
anonymous linoleum


the pantry is small
food stacked
on the refrigerator
the bread box
unreachable shelves

on chilly nights
light pours yellow
from the doorway
scent of frying onions and bacon fat
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Indian Summer, California

basil shoots purple
brown grass hills threaten
ashy skies. pray fresh rain soon

swings

 

push the swing a bit
child screams, arms flail. fear
then quiet face. free

Meditation on Good Friday

Meditation on Good Friday


I keep thinking of the man in the garden
I remember it was a garden
Gethsemane
probably fresh with spring
the man bled with fear
he was grown, though
and knew we all have bad days

terrified
he begged his dad for mercy
maybe you’ve seen the picture
hands clenched in petition
folded
he cast his plea to the empty garden

his father may have said something flat
you can’t have that of me
maybe his dad was on spring vacation
I’ve been there
even a god can find refreshment

the story is old
that of a god
come to save us from our natures
he faced his duty alone and took the cup

I don’t know about that
but the story had this
the man lived twisted agony alone
his soul screamed
and was really scared
the isolation is human
the pain human
the god divne

dream

mom, quiet name call
nursing, she twisted from the fire
witch mouth spouted flame

surf

have dreamed in glowing color
of absolutely silent
brutal
violation
eyes pleading in wordless agony
for help I could not give
and I was frozen

I have dreamed
of anger acidly burning
my human soul
scarring it beyon any hope whatever
of barren sterility too dry for tears

I woke sensitive
to ominous ticking and drippings
screaming animals
and strange, hateful mutterings

finally
I dreamed of the sea
desolation of the shore in march
pipers skittering from
swishing wavelets
windamp, salt scented cold

farther out
sea force shattered itself
on huge, gull covered rocks
sending up the birds
in a mass of screeching grey
slid to shore, quiet
but for the clok of pebbles
and the swish of white froth

today rains
quiet but for the occasional
plop of a puddle
and a small wind in the eucalyptus
now and then, a bird screechees
jay or mockingbird
not a gull
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