Afternoon Diamonds

Webbed feet grasp wet granite
And after standing taller
a series of flaps
send water,
like diamonds in the afternoon sun
from wing tips
And
bourne by Newtons theory
return to Winnipesaukee

Country Artichokes

The thought of
Baked country artichokes
or
little gingerbread sheep
or
thirty little ducks

bring moments of light
to my day

Only Baltimore

Weary travelers look down not out
At smartphones
At iPads like this one
The train stops
No station, just stops
I look out past my daughter through the smeared window
Only Baltimore I think

But before me are lines of tiny connected houses
Some kept, some not
Radiating away from my window
Like the spokes of a wheel on a forgotten wagon
Too long in a field out behind a rundown barn
Passed by time some spokes broken and jagged
Some almost new
It's only Baltimore

There are plains here before me
Waving fields of grass in irregular rows
That dart to and fro along abandoned concrete sidewalks
Growing deeply and unmolested by steel
Where workers used to walk to jobs
In factories
But that was long ago
Here in Baltimore

Other buildings here too
In the distance ivy shows against red brick
A factory, it's insides awash with light
Visible through massive unbroken windows
The light pours in through a completely open sky
To the workers below
Here in Baltimore

The workers are green and sturdy
They stand in clumps and masses on the factory floor
Their leaves and branches reach towards the light
They grow uncaring as to where they are
Seeming not to notice their place of work
They will work anywhere
Even in Baltimore






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Quiet Car

The quiet car causes one to ask questions
Like, whose definition of quiet are we riding under?
There is noise

The steady roar of the air conditioning
The muffled rumble of steel wheels on steel rails
A sneeze
A cough
The blunt tap of finger on touch screen
A rustle from a paper or magazine

It allows one to sleep
Or to think
About the Japanese man across the isle
Or his Japanese wife
I think they're Japanese
And where they are taking his parents
Or her parents

Is it a day in the city?
If so, which one?
New York?
Philly?
DC?

They are both older than I
And as I sit in the quiet car I wonder
Can they still hear the noises I do?

Can you?


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Amtrak

My Desk

My desk has spaghetti on it

It does, really

And leaves

and bricks

and two cannon which point at my face

when the spaghetti doesn’t twist them some other way

The spaghetti is sauceless

no butter or cheese either

it connects my laptop to the world

To the scanner, two printers, a hard drive, my cell phone, my iPod

Power

It lies there in a mass, woven together like marsh grass in a Gullah basket I saw in the museum on Hilton Head once

But not as pretty or expensive

The leaves are stacked nicely for leaves anyway

In piles near the edges of the desk

Poised like the ships teetering on the edge of the flat world

They tell me things

Who I need to pay, who I can put off until next month

that my daughter should consider Pratt even though she wants to be a journalist

They’ll be reshuffled and eventually filed or thrown away

Not like tree leaves

The ones that get raked up into piles

To be jumped in

The pointy pin oakey ones like the ones on a Gullah basket woven from marsh grass I saw once in a museum on Hilton Head

The bricks are smaller than real brinks

The kind towns slap all over their storefronts in the Northeast to make them look Colonial

Like Williamsburg

Virginia

Still, my bricks are smarter, not stronger mind you, just smarter
They are a cell phone, a hard drive and an iPod

They hold things more important to me than the colonial bricks could

People, places, things all stored in little tiny bits

Like rice in that Gullah basket woven from marsh grass that I saw in the museum on Hilton Head once

And don’t worry

The two cannon which sit, pointed at my head, don’t fire bullets

They're speakers which fire things far more important

Than bullets

They fire a barrage of words and music and ideas from people smarter than me

From people in places I’ve never been

Places I may never go

Places where they weave baskets out of marsh grass like the one I saw in that museum on Hilton Head once.

The Spot

As I sit on the covered terrace
Surrounded by 90 years of family
My eye is drawn, as great grandpa David had planned
To the spot where the mountains meet

Beyond that, the next mountain just sitting there
Tauntingly reflected in the pond at the bottom of the hill
As if knowing that for today
It is out of reach

As sun wakes and light comes to the hillside
Buzzards take flight, awakened by the promise of new currents
Representing the end of life
They are appropriate for today

The creek rumbles down the valley
Refreshed by evening rain
It too is drawn to the spot
At the bottom of the hill
Where the mountains meet
Where the next mountain watches
Under the black soaring wings
Where two people, separated by consequence
Return to each other's arms forever

Dangling Wanderer?

Sugar ant on bathroom floor

By the shower, near the door

You wander here, you wander there

Up and down most anywhere

You do not notice, above your head

An eight leg’d wolf hangs by a thread

And next to him suspended there

Are friends of yours dangling in mid-air

They do not move, wrapped so tight
Asleep forever, oh endless night

But as descends the hungry bug

You wander left, under the rug 

The Big Wide New

Speeches are made
Pictures are snapped
A straw bowler flies
A tear is shed
And life begins again

A new chapter
New places
New challenges
New adventures
New friends

For a woman who is
A woman
Not as tall as she'd like
Compassionate, intelligent, witty and fun
A friend

Good byes are said
Tears fall again
Old friends are left
But not really
For in this age we are all connected

But still

Virtual is not face to face
School is not camp
There is no return next season
We know this
You do too

So as you go, pack your heart
With memories of family and friends
Of the people who admire you
Who love you
Of us

Hold them close
As you walk forever forward
Down the path yet traveled
Into the big wide new
Into life

Butterflies

Butterflies are evil
Butterflies are bad

They pollinate your flowers
They swoop down at your head

They are too many colors
They're way to fragile too

I wish they'd all just fly away
I don't know what to do

My sister says I'm silly
My brother says I'm chicken

But if asked to name a scary bug
It's butterflies I'm pickin'

Boogers

Boogers can be roundish
They can be more plate-like too.

If you are real nice to me
I may pick you one or two.

We Walk

We

walk

in warm

sunshine.

Ah

Ball

Ball bounce
Ball fly
Ball land
Ball roll
Dog fetch
Ball gross

Sharp "E"

I'm dreaming

I'm sketching

I'm drawing for fun

I'm a flower

A rhino

A giraffe on the run

I'm a black line on paper

A squiggle on screen

I am things that aren't real 

I am things that are seen

I'm at peace when I draw

I'm at peace when I write

I am happiest with pen in hand 

My imagination takes flight

Water Works

I'm wetting
I'm soaping
I'm rubbing the hood
I scrub
I polish
I rinse it real well
I'm drying with towels
I'm throwing out trash
I'm vacuuming carpet
I am satisfied
I am driving away

The Chase

A ball
A firefly
A tiny little frog

A bad guy
A plane flight
A run-a-way dog

An AMTRAK to Boston
A movie uptown

The sunrise in morning
The sun going down

No matter the purpose
It's best when you match

The thrill of the chase
With success in the catch

Maurice

Today held the moment Maurice walked away
striding off cross a far distant knoll

Where is it that he's going we can only suppose
is a forest a closet or hole

He changed everyone of us before he departed
set our thoughts free to roam near and far

We sit filled with joy for we all are assured
Max still knows where the wild things are

Lucky Outdoor Learning Center

If you're lucky, you might see
an animal in the OLC

Perhaps a songbird, perhaps a duck
if you're lucky a toddler with a fire truck

They come with mom most usually
when she comes to cleanup the OLC

Chipmunks also play around
the waterfall and grassy ground

And if you're real lucky you may be
outside yourself in the OLC

Piñata

Piñata
Piñata
up on the ceiling
I play with you every night

Projector
Projector
not at all a piñata
I won't hit you, well maybe I might.

On Rye

Crunchy celery
Tuna
A little bit of pickle
Albacore
Tangy slivers of red onion
Yellow-fin
A little mayo
Mix well
On rye toast
My favorite

Spring: a three acrostic...well....acrostic

We were discussing acrostic poems in class today which lead to three using the word "SPRING".


Summer is closer
Pollen in abundance
Rainy more than clear
Inchworms now, butterflies later
No-see-ums make up for the lost time of winter
Great expectations of the summer ahead


Splash
Pollen
Rain
Inchworms
No-see-ums
Great


Splashing
Popping
Raining
Itching
Nearing
Greening

Pencil, Pencil

Pencil, Pencil
pointy thing
through you to paper
my thoughts do sing

Pencil, Pencil
is it wrong
the more I write
the faster you're gone?

Patchwork Day

Tiny green rectangles
no blue
no yellow no red
It was a great day

Indoor Stars

Above me squares with many holes
can steal my concentration
as I look, holes turn to stars
and I look for constellations

Pointy Thing

Holding tight to counter's top
a side of holes but it won't stop
with one bent arm that goes around
and spiral teeth where wood is ground

Tweeties

All 
Caw-Caw-Caw 
Birds 
whip-or-will, whip-or-will 
Sing 
whoo-wee-whoo, whoo whoo, whoo whoo 
Different 
Oooo-Eeee-aaaaa, aaaa, aaaa 
Songs. 
Aww, aww aww 
Lovely

Sad Berries

A wave of sadness
Berries for a sweet warm pie
My bright lights are on
A great heron stands near shore
A Jersey Giant's jersey

A Boy's Coral

Boys call it salmon or coral when they wear it

Girls call it by name

A MaryK Cadillac

My white t-shirt after my red one bleeds in the wash

Neither a red nor white rose but part of both

Sleepy Sun

Fire against a blue sky

A Navel or Valencia squeezed to juice

My favorite marigold

Halloween's second favorite

The sky as sun prepares to sleep.

Hope Lost?

First sadness
Transition
Loss, love, hope

Sunny End

Sunny day by sea
A long struggle is over
Forever at peace

Vacation

When we went on vacation

We traveled far and wide

We looked inside of buildings

We poked around outside

But in D.C we were saddened

While by a Washington so tall

We noticed that there were no stores

In the National Mall at all

Blustery Wind

If wind howls to long
Even the mightiest oak
May waver or fall.

Skylight

A white contrail streams
across frigid cloudless sky
somewhere else, summer