Category: sources of inspiration

frog

Caught between a choice

of cool water

or pine scented air.

When I was six,

A suburban kid

used to neatly cut lawns,

I walked with my older sister

and an adult group

through woods on a 

civilized asphalt path.

Miraculously there was a puddle

and there

my longing for wildlife was fulfilled

by a small brown frog

enjoying his bath.

I squatted by the puddle

and watched 

for so long the group left

but my loyal sister

found our way home.

Years later

with small sons

we’d camp beside a pond.

As we strolled along

there was the plop of leaping frogs

my young sons would hunt

capture one

and then gently release it.

Frog quickly jumped

back into the water

not believing his luck.

Cusp

At the cusp of getting old

I painted

a self-portrait.

Appropriately

it was Fall. 

Crimson and gold leaves 

swirl around me

in the painting.

My face is lined,

my shoulders tense,

my eyes squint in pain.

I hold a mask 

before me

of a young woman 

with blushing cheeks.

Inferno

each of us
in our private hell.
kafka's endless paperwork
multiplies.
bureaucrats fabricate
interminable statements
we must paste.
pink space 
won't disappear
until exactly
what they want 
is done.

5/31/2020

poem

anything you can talk about 

and everything that you can’t 

is a poem.

crystal frost on your car window

that you don’t defrost

so you can look at it longer,

ignoring the road just a bit.

the hiding place you had as a child.

your cat

definitely your fluffy monster.

the girlfriend you didn’t marry,

the sky at dawn,

a coffee break,

sex at sunset,

half moon sorrow

My Sons

I left in clear dawn

when you were sleeping

curly hair

peeking out from the lair

of night blue quilts

fat cheeks

small noses

eyebrows that wink

and soft smooth lips

I kissed goodnight

in lamplight