Heat creeps,
ready to pounce,
cook us to fork done,
until night licks our bones,
gleaming in the moonlight.
(top: en.wikipedia.org; bottom: ask.com)
The night is still and round.
An ocean rises from city traffic
as my skin rejoices the fan
whirling from the ceiling.
I sit where the dog sleeps
when he’s here.
I can almost hear
his stir and stretch
as he dreams his dreams,
but he is far away,
farther than the train
blaring an intersection
on the other side of the river.
The clock ticks as it has
for two hundred fifteen years.
My clock has ticked
for sixty-five years plus
one hundred and three days.
I have a lot to learn.
I am blessed:
this warm round night will teach.
(top: eyadstudio.com; bottom: Toulouse, best dog in the history of dogs)
The brain spring goes flat,
unwinding with a sound
somewhere between a
hiss and a sigh.
The clutch goes in;
the gears slowly spin to still;
the light goes out;
the secret world chuckles:
“my turn.”
All I can do
is hope to remember.
(top: internationalsprings.com; dream: bestmusicbook.com)
The horizon is bright, high, blue and white,
features hidden in layers of cotton.
Where I live you cannot see
this blue from the ground,
the variations of it, the transition
from bright to dark and back.
I think I used to be able to see
the blue change with the arc of sun,
but I can’t be sure.
I used to pretend I was sure.
Oh yeah, I say, the blue changes
with the day, you just have to watch.
As people get younger
they seem to smirk more,
so I’ve stopped showing them the sky.
All they have to do is look.
I mean, their eyesight has to be
better than mine, doesn’t it?
(top: desktopwallpaperhd.net; bottom: mirianda.com)
Two crows with a nest
tell me they’ll peck my eyes out
if I don’t move on.
I say it’s okay
and try to talk back to them.
They do not listen.
It’s not until I
start laughing that they hear me.
My caw comforts them.
(left: o-i-see.com; right: allposters.com)
Seventy-one years:
The living men persevered.
Today, we are free.
(top: history.army.mil; bottom: nationalinfantrymuseum.org)
Lilies trumpet morning,
swaying in the ocean breeze:
the color of day.
(top: plant-care.com; bottom: wallcoo.net)
Bricks upon more bricks;
playing with mud holds them tight.
Sore: understatement.
(brick: obsidiandesign.com; circle: backdoorsurvival.com)
Old rich men sending
young people to die in war.
It’s always been so.
To preserve freedom
Americans pay the price:
illusion foisted.
Honor the people
who fight and die forever,
not the politics.
(imgyi.com)
Fishing is a joy;
knee-deep in so much liquid.
What a total gas!
(top: trout-fly-fishing.com; the beav: riversbendflyfishing.com)
The audiobook is live!
Narble Furt Lives 