Many things inspire my “daily” poems… sometimes its a quote, or a word or two heard in conversation or read, sometimes it’s a song, memory…
Things I Wrote Today
A Beatle tune kept circulating
all morning in my allergy clogged head…
Things we said today.
Melancholy wrapped its arms around me;
a gentle embrace left me wondering.
It seems to be about hearing things in my head
and heart and not being able to get them into
some sort of expression as instantaneously as possible.
Least that’s for the art as I always carry pen and paper.
I don’t lose words often; its ideas for art that slip away.
I don’t want to leave this life without experiencing more…
without disconnecting limitations, that’s the real sorrow.
Melancholy drifts to disappointment for not conquering
accepted flimsy fears that withers part of my being.
Begin again – some wise shaman said that…
someday when I’m done dreaming, I hope to remember
the things I wrote today…
5/20/2012
Someday when we’re dreaming,
Deep in love, not a lot to say.
Then we will remember
The things we said today. Last lines from Thing We Said Today – Beatles
Rainy Day Pearls
Pearls
I observe luminous rain pearls
scattered onto Lady’s Mantel.
Soft leaf hairs make water form droplets
that rest around each pleated velvety cup.
There’s this invisible line the drops cross
where they become a major burden
for this old-fashioned flower; Lady’s Mantle
tends to hug the ground… the orbs lower leaves.
Gravity’s pull streams some globules to the valley
from hair perches; other glistening drops cling
stubbornly until sun’s heat takes them back.
Wet or dry, they lean over and soften hard edges.
5/21/2012
Rain – No place to run
No place to run
Walking the Corgis
the skies opened up
dumping solid rain sheets.
Nature’s invisibility cloak
engulfed us.
Wet fur; wet fleece;
wet footprints…
no place to run
5/22/2012
She was what she was
Watching the aging process descend upon body
parts from the comfort of her observational mind,
the mirror revealed textural skin changes as pores
deepened and chin hairs appeared at odd angles.
Flowing head of hair had gone from red-brown to short
black with more straight white poking up every day.
Remembering childhood fascination as her limbs lengthened,
armpit and other body hair appeared; small conical breasts
finally descended into rotund nursing orbs now bereft of milk.
No regrets as she surrendered to normal physical changes.
She did miss the smell of baby’s breath; her empty arms
exhibited hanging waddles – total opposite of youthful strength.
Fascination hadn’t disappeared… each morning checking for
signs of default, she noted every subtle change: another crease
or wrinkle untouched by various wonder creams; more wiry
projectiles untouched by store-bought dyes; lacking skin bleach,
spattered age spots decorated crepe paper skin on her hands.
Road map blue veins added patterns to textured loose skin.
And so eventually, she got tired of all her friend’s searching.
Disregarding their quest for perennial youth, she was her own
work in progress without a fountain; for good or bad, she was
unencumbered by beauty products and age enhancing supplements.
She was what she was – captivated by aging naturally…
5/23/2012
Staring into the Distance
If you knew how many hours
you had left, would you want
to fill it with something positive?
I suppose you would want to do
something and not sit staring off.
What about romance at the dawn
of the end… I guess I’d have to say -
why waste time with that?
Being one of the last people on this
planet not to have a relationship…
well that’s how it feels,
I would more than likely be as clueless
as I am now about approaching a partner
even for short-term spin before death
takes me off the radar forever.
An observer of couple interaction,
perhaps I’m better off dying alone
staring off into the distance…
5/24/2012
Getting Along
That woman sounds psycho
and the guy is being a doormat.
It comes across as dysfunctional;
I am intrigued – people watching
better than reality television.
Whether inside or outside…
I’m not intentionally spying;
people just let it all out.
My mother used to call it airing
dirty laundry; Dad would give her
the silent treatment on occasion.
I wonder who she commiserated with…
mostly the family was together all year
long for weekday or weekend activities.
I don’t remember her having a close friend…
most of the old photographs include family
gatherings with or without us kids.
Images of them sitting around a restaurant
or kitchen table heaped with dishes fill
yellow pages of photo albums. Her neat
handwriting done with a black fountain pen
scribes fading information of date and location…
I need to scan the brittle photo paper.
Sitting on park bench, at café tables
or other gathering places, I overhear
the daily struggle relationships go through…
reminds me of lap sitting around a full
table while relatives worked at getting along
through their quirky uniqueness and odd habits.
5/25/2012
here I have paper weights hold the paper. Brushes rest in a brush stand. Mosen [black felt] is used to absorb excess ink and to add spring to the paper. 
