You assemble; I take apart. Your little plans crumble as soon as you turn your back, And yet you imagine yourselves To be very grand indeed. Just one of your lives takes the better part of a year To create and grow. Oh, how it delights me to see it take No more than
That cool spring morning When we first took a walk Was electric, like magic To the creative soul. The early morning sun, First stretching its arms Over the nearest of the lakes, The boat houses, the docks. Mist from the water Rising around the ducks And geese, their droppings notwithstanding. Peace itself.
Shocking red blossoms, brilliant greens, Azure oceans, tourmaline seas, Endless sands beckoning for miles, Siren’s call to sailor or saint, Achingly irresistible. Earth offers up its gentle warmth , Rising to meet Apollo’s rays, Enveloping created life in blistering waves, as lush greens, Cradle the feet in cool sweetness. Groundcover of discarded sheets,
I had no cares in my tiny new world. She probably had more than she knew How to manage. I am white, Caucasian, Or however else light skin might be described. She was as dark as night. She lay me down on the washing machine To change a used-up diaper. That’s what my
They’re not all what you might think, These poems of love. You say you see only what is there. Or so you think. Two lovers’ first meeting— Or parting. Ah, it must be. No other explanation. But what sort of love Deserves a poem at all If it be not of Homer,
Little body springing along, Heedless of the ways of time. Measuring the days in friends and play, Chasing butterflies and skittish cats, Feeding cookies to greedy dogs. Bathing in warm puddled water after a summer squall, Running out to swing high into the sky Wandering down that curious road To see whom else might