I hate trumpets.

Their blaring voices

whining

loud and assertive,

demanding that I listen,

announcing arrogant kings

and the gleeful start of wars.

Dawn lays golden light across rooftops in the city
The cool air brushes cobalt sky
The almost empty streets
Today have hardly any wrapped up sleeping people
A few bees whir to break the quiet
at the placid harbor.

Ferries plow the harbor
in the stirring city
footsteps and chatter break the quiet
brilliant sun scales the turquoise sky
people
clutter the streets

safe from the streets
mothers show their young children floating ducks in the harbor
construction workers sit on T-beams and eat lunch. other people
swamp the coffee shops and benches munching the noonday break in the city
cumulous clouds decorate the sky
cars honk, trucks rumble and there is no quiet

school children are bursting with noise, certainly not quiet
as they energize the streets
look at the royal blue sky
wander to the welcoming harbor
scatter over the city
mingling with friends and anonymous people

weary people
plod homeward in quiet
city
streets
ships come into harbor
rose and tangerine light in the sky

lampposts obscure stars in the sky
bands playing in clubs filled with people
ships moored in the harbor
artists work in contemplative quiet
laughing young people strut in streets
colored lights shine from buildings in our city

Moon reflected on harbor water from ebony sky
city people asleep in their beds
quiet streets

Black and white fur, green eyes and pink nose
At the first light he bites bare, tender toes
Pushes coins clinking from drawers to wood floor
I turn over and attempt to ignore.

He pitifully meows when he wants some food;
He’s a little lion with attitude.
If he wants to play he sits by his toy
I fling it around and he leaps for joy.

He sits on the window watching the birds
He calls to them but they only make turds.
He crouches and jumps to catch flying bugs
Tortures and tears them apart on my rugs.

Black and white fur, green eyes, and pink nose
On my computer he curls in repose.

My fierce friend

Dangerous hunter

That fly better look around the bend

Or he’ll be torn asunder.

Work is over

and day opens

even though it is dusk,

red and purple in the sky.

I return home

to light

and warmth.

I wait for my love

in silence,

the porch light on,

cat across my lap,

the night traveling through time.

Dear Laura

I thought of a poem

to write because

it’s a lovely rain

splashing off 95

making the trees

extra special green

like I could lick them

and they’d taste of spring

and wild animals

as I try to escape

this life of work and laundry.

sun rises
slowly.
at first
sky’s merely a
lighter blue,
stars fade
as lemon and pale tangerine
glow on the horizon.
camels
softly call,
sounding
like
intermittent
distant motorcycles.
dark outlines change
to
pale peach-ochre land
studded with
quartz and granite and
chocolate rocky outcrops.
stunted and uneven
grass glows
viridian tipped
with silver-gold
seed kernels
and sheath.

6/27/17, revised 9/25/18

Mist wafts,
gently kisses
the contoured banks
of Patapsco River.
Cloaks tree tops
after days
and weeks of rain
wrapped in beauty
that,
despite traffic,
licks the leaves
wet
with promise.

What is there to say?

The last time

we met on the street

you showed surprise my hair

had turned gray,

although you were kind enough

to quickly hide  it.

Our greeting was too brief;

you were still angry,

I had so many regrets.

I was 24 years old,

a topless dancer on Walker Street.

I wanted to perform with Martha Graham.

Instead of telling you I was a student,

I told you my dream.

You tipped generously

and asked for a private dance.

I wore my red coat to your loft

and fell in bed

after you rubbed my back.

I remember tripping in

kaleidoscope colors of

sea and fish and coral rocks

as we made love

still wet from the Caribbean sea.