For Ms. T-

As you lay dying,

I went out to mow the grass,

Knowing it a task

I’d be able to perform

With a bit of grace,

Preparing myself to try

To bid you this last good bye

With dignity and honor.

Chōka 8 May 2023

I’m done racing rats

Through a seeming endless maze

Chasing smaller chunks

Of stinking green Limburger.

I see, now, the trap

Set by those soulless fat cats

To keep us from succeeding.

Gabba’s Grove

Beside a small pond

hidden in a cedar grove,

a homely shed stands,

indifferently attended,

not for lack of love

but for aching old bodies,

children too busy,

and grandchildren far too young

or moved just too far away.

A Passing Palinopsia

A lucid moment,

skitters past and disappears

furtive as a mouse,

into the mounting clutter.

Leaving us all wondering,

“Was it, really, ever there”?

A Melancholy Spring

Songbirds bring no joy

for all their urgent chirping.

Leaves collect, unraked,

along poolside patio.

Grass leaps joyously

skyward, mower still garaged.

Winter deadfall lays

untended about, unburned.

Daffodils came; went

unseen and unphotographed.

Irises glow now

in varicolored splendor

yet scarcely noticed,

in passing, by a weary

soul, slowly, recovering.

Improbable Pachyderms

In these trying times

Let us not forget the mirth,

The unbridled joy,

Reminiscent of our youth

When humor still lived

In the great absurdity

Of footprints in the butter.

Florida Man…

A fat, bald, white guy

sporting third degree sunburn,

Speedos, and Ray-bans

and driving his Jag:

Donald Trump for President

twenty twenty four.

Savage Waters

This disease leaves wounds,

rivers both wide and deep.

Too deep for fording

and much too wide for bridges,

so we build ferries

and brave treacherous waters,

holding connections

to our loved ones long estranged

by these savage waters wide.

Simple Thanks

As I contemplate

The things for which I’m thankful,

This Thanksgiving Day,

My thought keep on returning,

Almost without fail,

To this grand experiment,

Managing somehow

To maintain its functioning

Despite ill intent

From an elected leader

Lacking heart, and soul, and thought.

From Scatter Plots to Scattershots and to Histrionics from Histograms

In a former life,

digits were significant,

windows into certain truths.

Now I hold focus

on subjects far more tangible:

Standard Deviants

who analyze variance,

then regress toward the mean!

For Scooj… In Passing.

Somewhere, below, lies

Bristol, famed for it’s street art;

An ever-changing

Desert of stone walls, stencils,

Spraycans, and wheat-paste,

Chronicled by one poet,

And honored by another.

… And This One Thing

This, I know, is true.

Between these words lie meaning,

Blatant and obscure,

Obviously camouflaged

Within white spaces

Surrounds by darkened lines;

Razor sharp yet, oddly, blurry.

Empty Quietude

Is there no respite 

From cacophonous onslaught?

Grave silence beckons

Offering some false solace; 

A dulcet Siren,

Singing softly of retreat

From all worldly suffering.

Oh, that hollow call,

Promising a warm embrace

In the frozen earth.

When Leaves Remain

When’s the time to grieve

Climatic devastation 

Sweeping all nations?

When once deciduous trees

Fail to shed their leaves?

Is that our cue for sorrow?

When there’s just no tomorrow?