Saturday, March 20, 2010

Pumping out a Poem

Shades of colored icing
carefully mixed and
inserted into a
flexible plastic bag.
Special couplers chosen and
brass tips attached.
Burped, angled and
gently pressed like clockwork
forming hundreds of
leaves, roses and basket weaves
swirled down and
hardening over time
into full fledged morsels of sweet verse
prized by perceptive eyes
devoured in rapid measure.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Hard Lessons

One day, carefree
testing boundaries
the next, mutilated
splattered on the side of the road.
Two friends killed instantly
Ziffel 18.
and Gary 19.

Out driving and partying
the four of them
in the back seat, Ed
escaped with a broken arm
and Woody
with hardly a scratch.

I was 15
it was May
still signing my own excuses
when I got the phone call.
They’re dead!
Hit Head On
their VW bug
squashed
by a drunken black caddy.

Time blurred
spiraled and
in due course
crystallized while
hitchhiking on the interstate
600 miles away from home.
It will be alright
in the morning
whispered
in my ear and
became my mantra
on the eve

of my detention.

Rendition-acrostic

Rough shocking film
Elaborating on the torture of immigrants
Names misspelled
Demand confessions from
Innocent engineers snatched off flights
Threatened-- forced to confess to heinous crimes they did not commit
Ignored as collateral damage--another
Offering heaped on the sacrificial altar
Negotiating an evil trend.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Maneuvering Steep Ledges

Shh!!
Yesterday’s verse
is fast asleep
tucked under the cover
of Vista’s keep.
Windows 7 could not comprehend
the niggling
night
of a poet on the mend.

Secrets pop out
demand details shared
scary snapshots
a youth caught scared.
Wading through
past lives
in galoshes stand
trudging through
the muck, of skeletons damned.

Murmuring
passages
sticky
snake
through rocky
corridors
demand
decisions make.

Shh!! Asleep
for the moment
in another lair
vexing this writer
as I judge the crosshairs.
Dare we enter
into this divisive pact
or let it die
in the past
with its victims intact?

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Beating Heart

A constant
thump, thump-- thump, thump
known
to an anonymous composer.
the signature still visible
inside the dollhouse of dreams
just outside the babble
of the birth canal.

Pumping vibrant color
into a being
comprised mostly of water.
Ever faithful
vital force
broadcasting a blue spirit
through tiny narrow passageways.
Flooding a maze
of endless corridors.
Racing towards the outer limits
and returning back
to the source-- time after time.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Word Bag-Fun

Use these words to write a poem.
(Jammin’ salmon crisis early simple damaged fender accordion rose python grant clock crayon sunset rooster bell)


My damaged python Rose
endured some crushing blows.
This crisis could not predict
to time these reptiles slick
She wrapped her thick green form
around an acc-ord-ian
and that was when the clock
outside my Kitchen stopped.
Its simple arithmetic
for a python to constrict
when roosters ring the bell
for dinner time is hell
and sunsets early night
is crayoned cherry bright.
So grant this jammin rhyme
A reason to unwind
While I go mount this fender
back on the Ford tail ender.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Word Bag-Ku

(Jammin’ salmon crisis early simple damaged fender accordion rose python grant clock crayon sunset rooster bell)


Jammin’ Salmon splash
Swim into white water sweats
Pajama party.

Simple damaged fender
Suspended from garage beam
Obscure metal art.

Anaconda’s squeeze
accordion to flat tone
Python melody.

Salmon sunsets grin
As Burmese python swallows
Live alligator.

Daylight Savings Time
Local rooster validates
Mother Nature’s clock.


Thanks for the flowers-Alice, 'Ilima and Jenny!!!
Spider Mums unfold
Super white fingers poke space
Extend for poet.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Easy Come, Easy Go

I sometimes think there must
be a higher power or a
great spirit
watching over me,
just the fact
that I am still here
retired at 43 and doing
what I want living in paradise
is evidence enough.

After all, I could be a drug addict or an alcoholic
living under a bridge in New York off of Route 32
somewhere between Kingston
and New Paltz
freezing my ass off
looking through garbage cans at Mickey D's. for unfinished scraps
or begging for spare change
on the corner of Main and Broadway
outside the Trailways Bus Station just to buy a cup of Joe to keep my
fingers from turning blue turning the respectable

stomachs of the
good people who have to work and pay taxes
and who would gag from the sight and the stench
of the
likes of someone like me.

Instead I chose to have
a good life.
One that I earned
because nothing

came easy
or quick.
I had to move my own mountains.
Plow my own fields without any fancy tractors
or high tech equipment
that would have broken down
at inconvenient times and then had to fix myself, because no one else could.
Scrape and save
and then save some more.
Do without
so my child could have.

Easy come easy go
is an excuse I don’t use because none of it was easy.
Easy come, easy go is for snot nosed

spoiled brats with too much spare time and too much plastic.

Who don’t even know how to keep their nose clean

let alone have a clue about what hard or easy is

and that’s all
I've got to say
about that.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Memoir-- Ku

Memoir writer scans
back through an old volume as
history unfolds.

Memories expose
misspent youth searching for love
craving acceptance.

I find new meaning
looking back through life’s mirror
growing sharper scales.

I know who I am
other people don’t define
what my ideals are.

Cementing footprints
leaving my mark on the world
a poet lived here.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Shattered Dreams --ABCDarian

At eight, I knew everything.
Brazen and snot nosed, I came home that semester with C’s.
Carefully, I blocked out the pain of her con.
Daring my parents to reason what had happened to their bright child.
Evaluations were usually the first sign.
Fragments of memory would resurface
Giving birth to a full fledged rebel.
Hell bent on doing things my way, I had once sought refuge there.
I had been resourceful and hunted for ways to make extra cash.
Jean or Aunt Jean as she asked to be called was a neighbor.
Kind or so my parents thought, she paid me to dust her furniture.
Letting me earn extra money, slowly gaining my trust.
My new best friend gave me the combination to her shed, don’t tell, it’s our secret.
Now and then she would invite me to sleep over cementing our friendship.
Often naive to the rules of her sick game, I was a willing
Puppet performing in her show.
Quiet and trusting, I played by all her rules.
Right up to when she tricked me into telling her new best friend the secret combination.
Sly as an alley cat, she deceived both of us, the older girl still ignorant to her adult games.
Threatened and treated like dirt, she let me know she was done with me.
Unable to stop or predict the outcome, I ran home like a scared kitten.
Vile vampire seducing the blood out of my veins, wiping out whole blocks of time
Wasted--- on a wanton dyke, stolen moments exposing and fondling my childhood away.
X-rated nights, christened upon a lewd altar decorated with shame, repeatedly
Yielded at a vulnerable age that should have been better protected
Zeroing in on splintered glass, scored in sullied eyes.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

The Tillson Gang

There was Harry, Woody, Ziffel, Rider,
my cousin Ralph, Gary, Pez,
Laura, Char, Arlene
Judy and Cindy, Big Ed’s sisters,
Duh-wane my boyfriend whose name was really
Wayne, a cute blonde guy I soon dropped and
Big Ed,
they were all part of the Tillson gang
a group of kids that I hung out with.


We would meet up on Gary's porch
next to the corner store
skip school together
sign each other’s excuses
have keg parties
check out the local cemetery and
usually end up at Rider’s house.

Rider’s Mom, a savvy nurse
would buy massive amounts of wonder bread
and humongous jars
of peanut butter and jelly for us kids.
Rider’s brother Kenny--not a member
was this gross dork
who got straight A’s and
wore thick glasses with tape on the nosepiece.
Just to torment us he would
pick the buggers out of his nose
big juicy green ones and
then stick them in his mouth

Eeeewwww! KENNNYYY ugh!

We would often go there for lunch
after smoking a doobie and then go
down into Riders basement and listen to
Led Zepplin, Jethro Tull, Uriah Heep and Black Sabbath.
Stoned on some primo Mexican
lulled by the heavy metal and the black lights
we would while away the hours and
then later grab a ride in Harry’s bug
back to Rosendale, sometimes
we'd try to fit everyone in squeezing
bodies into every square inch, the all time
record was fifteen.
The award
however
went to
Char who was so small
she could fit into the
compartment behind the back seat.

Occasionally the local fuzz would catch me

walking home after 7:00 p.m. and take me
to Kallops Corner and drop me off with a warning.
Far enough down the road that the old man
couldn’t see
far enough away-- from reality.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Just Dance, cherita

Use at least two of the following words to write a poem

Lazy, torpid, effort, fake, tsunami, forest, taro, shyly, lemon, sorry,
discipline, marmoset, fandango, slope, grape




It took disciplined effort

to teach the fandango
aware of his torpid demeanor

Trapped in a cage
dodging tiny mounds of
fake grape marmoset droppings.



Monday, March 8, 2010

Lazy-cinquain

Lazy

monkey crossing

try washing your hair and

combing out that marmoset tail

you clown.


Saturday, March 6, 2010

I Have Enough

Five
should be
six, seven
eight, nine, ten- more
eleven, twelve-eh
thirteen, fourteen-gulping
umm-fifteen, ahh- sixteen- then
seventeen, eighteen and let’s see
Yes- here’s Nineteen, and TWENTY DOLLARS
GOOD ----- I have enough for today’s Workshop.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Hawaii Five O- APB, Cherita

We gonna issue one APB, so try listen up.

Missing muses seen heading towards
Kailua Beach Park. Da kine names be Moose and Mercedes.

We got one tip dat dey
stay betting on da white horses.
Approach wit one shaka brah.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Dysfunctional

Funny how family can be so different

He-- solitary
monarch brooding on yesterdays news.
She--a painted lady asleep in her cocoon- her delicate wings surviving
his brutal blast
dreaming in her closed off space.

Waiting for first light, for the siren blast warning of impending disaster
The full report unclear
He sets a plan in motion
doomed from the get go.

Their offspring--forever upsetting the cart
in the thick of things
testing
the emotional bonds.
Vexed by the uncertain nature
of the day
locked
somewhere between insanity and reason.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Transformation

Almost
nine months
along
and
no belly bump
no thumping from within
no indigestion
from weird concoctions
scarfed at midnight

Just

smiling
exposing some
new
teeth
sharpened
and
glistening
in the moonlight
howling
back at the wind.

Zeus, my brave dog
watching me,
taking it all in
waiting--
 for
my
transformation.

Ahooooooooooo!

Monday, March 1, 2010

Friday, February 26, 2010

Hemorrhoid Hilda

I'm dedicating this to my Doctor--Susan thanks for the inspiration****

She is not cancerous
just a
pain in the ass.

A stuffed vein
screaming for
an extra glass of water
that should
cut out the
ice cream
and red meat--
red wine
cut back on
the
brie--
groan,
chocolate.
Add more leafy green
assorted bits of orange
and yellow
to her day.
Allowing
her
to cool down
have fewer flare-ups.
Soothed
by another
woman
named hazel
who
comes
highly
recommended.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Weather Forecast

Stubborn
slant
across
wide
forehead
interests
curious
bystanders.

forecast
predicts
intermittent
periods
of
rain
and
shine.

Clearing
to be
followed
by a
some
growth
spurts
and a
couple
phases
of
hormonal
flux
gradually
descending
into
tolerable
and
intolerable
bouts
of
suffering
eventually
coming
full
circle
learning
then
forgetting
about
weather.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

I Came to Hear

I came to hear -- the last train whistle leaving Berlin,

escaping to the West-- the only sane noise

left in a young girls ears, blocking out the bombs,

wiping them clean from her memory.

I came to hear-- the growl of empty

stomachs churning from too many days

of gobbling raw potatoes stolen from the farmer’s field.

Bald headed mothers and children—classified undernourished C.

I came to see --the hopeful stare of a mother with five children

who vainly searched for her husband--

drafted and missing.

I came to smell the horror-- of a child

exhumed a month after he died, wrapped in nothing but a blanket,

reburied by his brothers-- tormented with lit cigarettes and cold steel.

I came to learn-- the truth of a young couple and their infant daughter

who immigrated to a new country

glistening with opportunity,

unschooled in the language,

having only their youth and wellbeing.

I came to know-- a young girl

who helped her parents learn the slang and the dialect,

who lived in the railroad apartment on the second floor,

of an old brownstone in Manhattan, where she learned to hate vegetables

and climb fire escapes.

The one with the crooked bangs

and the stubborn smile

who waited and held on tight,

and never forgot

what her Mother told her

about the horror

of war

evil men,

and shame.

A story passed down

piecing together fractured lives,

seizing-- stolen moments,

storing up-- the laughter

and the tears.

I came to hear.

Monday, February 22, 2010

In Training

At twelve
my biggest problem
was negotiating
a weekly allowance.
I earned money
babysitting
and dusting
furniture
for
fifty cents an hour
but that didn’t cut it
especially
when it came time
to get my first
training bra.

Next to getting my
“friend”
the thing that terrorized
me most
was beefy Braun’s gym class.
Man, even her breasts
had muscles.
She wore a
sports bra
under her man uniform
would often
steal a peak
from the showers.
Watching us change
into that ugly one piece
blue uniform
that was always riding
up my butt,
exposing my red pimply
goose bump legs.
Meanwhile cruel young eyes
would whisper
point and chuckle.
Look-she still wears an undershirt
hiss, hiss, meow!
So I begged the old man to have a heart
I was the oldest
had to train them
on how to raise a girl
Didn’t know how they did it
in the old country
didn’t care.

Spring came early the year
I got initiated
into the big girls club.
A club
that I dropped
in High School
diverted by
other things
until they
discovered that
I was short
on my Gym credits.
Of course
by then
I was
out of training.

Revelation

The best place
to hide
is in the open
just below the nose.
Saying out loud
what others
wouldn’t,
couldn’t.
The best secret
stares you down
dares you
to ask
is it true
or just my imagination?
It must be a coincidence
you couldn’t possibly be
telling me,
could you?

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Celtic Wedding

inspired by
Pieter Bruegel’s painting “Wedding Dance in the Open Air”
http://www.wga.hu/frames-e.html?/html/b/bruegel/pieter_e/10/index.html


Red ribbons flash, strut
in a green triangle to
an undulating
Celtic pulse. A bawdy shade
plucked out of this human chain.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Book Recipe

I've spent half of my life traveling the globe

the other half looking for my reading glasses
remarkable when creating a new recipe.

Directions are as follows:

Preheat in a humid eighty degree oven.

Grease and flour pens.

In a large saucepan melt
½ cup of sentiment
Remove from heat and add 1 cup sugar.
Substitute eggs with thirty
individual portraits and
one hundred three photos
and add one teaspoon of vanilla.

Beat in
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder,
1/2 cup flour, replace salt with
1/2 cup Watercolor Art depicting local flora and fauna
4 cups pithy verse and provocative prose
and add 1/4 teaspoon of baking powder.


Spread evenly into a prepared pan.

Bake in oven for nine months.

Do not overcook.

To serve:

Sprinkle with passion

Charm with dramatic flair

And toast with a wee dram of Scotch.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

A Look Back

Thirty three years
picking up dirty underwear
and socks
well,
actually thirty five
but who’s counting.
Countless trips
to the supermarket
preparing weekly menus
varied and colorful.
Pushing
and pulling
Rainbow vacuums
across lint filled
carpet and ceramic tile.
Bleaching the mildew from
bathroom grout, pulling
matted hair from tub drains.
Raising a precocious child.
Balancing checkbooks,
paying bills on time
weekly cutting the Hawaiian grass.
Washing the two Great Danes,
the two cars, two trucks, boat and four motorcycles
testing the pool alkalinity.
Pulling weeds
lodged between purple
and orange
potted bougainvillea
perched on top of river rock.
Climbing on top of roofs
at thirty eight
to dislodge shingles making sure to
toss them the same way into the truck
and then sweep and sweep and sweep.
Of course
there were
hundred dollar bills
tossed into the air and stuffed into B cups
while dancing to Hank Williams Jr.
after long grueling jobs of
backs bent in two.
Cruising the inside passage to Alaska.
Daring to follow
in the footsteps of the
Apostle Paul
from Civitavecchia to Egypt
Israel the Greek Isles and Athens.
Trips to the outback
combating the ferocious
sticky fly population with the in-laws.
Retired over ten years now
because I chose not to work in a smelly gym
trying to convince pudgy socialites and corporate
divas to back away from the table
and do an extra lap instead.
Releasing the poet
at fifty
to recount
the dim and not so dim memories
of a life well lived
single-mindedly disturbing the
cobwebs
from their menopause cave
sinuous strands glistening
in the tropical sun.

Pithy Proverbs

Fear
is waking up
cold
wrinkled
puffy and
all alone
with no
credits
to your name.

Faith
is
believing
in
unspoiled
fruit
floating
in
a rotten barrel.


Words
contain
power
use them wisely.


Genius
is blind
to
wisdom’s heart

A bad poem
never
shows itself.

A good poem
flits
in the breeze
of reckoning.

Be kind
introduce
yourself
to
the poet within.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Workout Lingo

Warm up for ten minutes to lubricate joints and stretch cold muscles.

Today’s workout will stress barbell exercises
Shrugs, upright rows and curls.


Curls- I only have an hour
I don’t have time
to get my hair done.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Six Word Memoirs-Valentines

Candy hearts confirm who loves who!

Chocolate roses do not need water.

Cheek to cheek spoons love’s tune.

Three little words, rub my back!

Rose petals paint a sensual autograph.

Diamond earrings kiss red paper hearts.

Unspoken words discerned below burnt bridge.

Love’s four letters, care about you.

Love’s proposal transports to seventh heaven.

Poets sing love songs on key.

Slam poets rhyme under yellow moon.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Bench Fly, Cherita

“Hug a tree”, in the gym

a sweaty language
its meaning dim.

A dumbbell fly in the hood
flexed by rats in sweats
their sneakers laced good.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Child Molesters

Edited---This subject took on special meaning to me when a friend of a friend was charged with Child Molestation and is now serving ten years in prison. This man is 70 years old and also a hoarder.
I wrote another poem about his hoarding titled the Crab Shack, had I known then, that poem would’ve been much different. His family is still trying to get rid of all the stuff he amassed.


I'm the next door neighbor
a friend of a friend as
I shop through my life
to manage this trend.
Young boys coerced
drawn to will stay,
to fan my obsession
and blow me away.
Frightened by my longings
their eyes open wide
choke dark secrets
this horror must hide.
If their Daddy finds out
they will go away
and I'll have
no more special friend
no more sick play.
I'll tell you
it’s love
that’s why
I hang around
but love shouldn’t
hurt
make you feel bad
or hide in the shadows
stalking and sad.


Mother's
caution your babies--
on new friends debate
advise your children
to always tell,
lest they become
the hunted,
lost-- inside their shell.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Dessert

Dessert
is sweet
on the tongue,
it satisfies
the taste buds,
it completes
a special meal,
and it is
time spent
with a good
friend,
sharing past history
without judgment.
It leaves you
privileged
and
content.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Persistent Noise

It persisted
throughout the day
the drip, drip, drip,
ping, ping, ping
clap, clap clap,
until I stopped hearing it.
The sounds retreating
into the background,
to a distant roar
of a thousand hands
clapping,
encouraging minds
to delve deeper
to pursue
with a vengeance
that which needed
to be drawn out.
As a bucket lowered
into a deep well
deeper and deeper
until the only sound left
was the creak of the crank.
At the bottom a splash
drifting upward
higher
louder until,
water
icy cold
and wet
guzzled down.
Clear fresh water
pulled out of the earth
returning back towards the sky
an endless cycle
of energy
redeposited
into our depleted frames
multiplying
percentages
a thousand fold
until the roar
becomes us.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Pele’s Faith

A poem about doubt and faith

Nature is never rash,
doesn’t deviate from the plan.
Day into Night
Spring
Summer
Fall and
Winter.
Perfect progress
dominates her canvas,
conserves the integrity
of her seed.
She nourishes
her offspring
that worries not
about belief.
Even now
flawless
in her beauty.
Prudently marking time
her cauldrons simmer
beneath fiery lakes
dripping molten art.
Leaving indelible
impressions
vibrant and intense,
this testimony
cloaked in
nothing
save a
crimson smile.

Word Play

Use the following VERBS to write a poem or story-
Racket, Snug, Green, Spoon, Boggle, Snake


I recently returned from a trek
climbing the Haiku Steps
popularly known as
“The Stairway to Heaven”,
seven thousand steps roundtrip
climbing a sheer rock face
exposed to the wind and rain
not for the faint of heart.
My hiking boots racketed
down the metal stairs.
Gloved hands
grasped the rusted
rickety railing as I
silently prayed my
legs would hold up
my cadence, remain constant.

My partner shushed
me, from the trail as he snaked his
way back from the banana patch
to make water, making sure
his camouflage jacket snugged
through the dense undergrowth
boggling the female boar suckling her young.
As she spooned later with her mate
safely beneath the lush fern
jungle,
greening
in the
Hawaiian sun.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Unconscious

(From a poem titled Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold
one of the writing starter’s at Saturday’s Writing Retreat, I used this sentence and crafted a poem (“Ignorant armies clash by night”)



Ignorant armies clash by night
in the darkness of their sin
blinded by the shadows,
forced to march
through the trenches
to save the soil from
a hedonistic fate.
Then reason that they were following orders
not fully understanding the why.
Never, fully understanding
the ramifications
of how, who, and why.
Many return from their tour of duty
and continue
to trudge through
the dark corners of their minds
in a maze of self doubt.
Trudging on toward some
unholy reward
where all
the cheese is
a moulded dark shade
of green.
A place where green rules
the world and the world
is decayed and remembers
little, about other colors
or about truth.

Saturday, January 30, 2010








Touring the Seaborne Odyssey

I was invited to tour this ship as it docked in Honolulu on Thursday thanks to Susan F. "a golf friend".
It began its voyage in Florida and is going around the World for 81 days and will finish its voyage in Athens Greece where it will remain to do local cruises in the Mediterranean.


Bright burnished brass and
teak decks scrubbed
fore and aft
brandish old coin,
as it rocks gently against the dock.
The hull unlovely, as it deposits
the flotsam and jetsetters onboard
salty, from the recent rough passage.
Briefly pausing on a world tour
their papers peaking from loose pockets
as they survey the area, set for local amusement.
Led by our guide through
distinguished corridors
vacuumed and polished.
Sampling the owner’s suite
as black caviar on a cracker
settling on the back of the tongue
washed down in the Sky Lounge
with Champagne and Mimosa’s
and an hors d'oeuvre
of delicate
orange salmon
zwieback.

Friday, January 29, 2010

Revision-acrostic

R ewriting I play
E arly in the day, creating
V olumes of
I nspiraton. Just
S econds to uncover
I espy another,
O ld rhyme of which I reprise,
N ew poems to elicit your smiles.

Six Words on Marriage

Husbands rule on the fourth planet.

Wives rule on all the planets!

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Six Word Memoirs-Health

Brown rice crunch, scours clogged pipes.

Water is the fountain of youth.

Alcohol in moderation, keeps Alzheimer’s waiting.

Smoke your meat, not your lungs.

Your best friend lives, inside you.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Kona Blast, Cherita

Cherita is the Malay word for story or tale. A Cherita consists of a single stanza of a one-line verse, followed by a two-line verse, and then finishing with a three-line verse. It can either be written solo or with up to three partners.


Kona winds tore across the Kitchen

upsetting the resident blue vase
decked out in peacock feathers.

Dropping for cover
she remembered a drill from
elementary school.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Microsoft Word Help-Cherita

Word could not create the work file

Check the temp environment variable
under word options, run diagnostics.

Global warming
not
the issue.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Call Me Ma'am

At 25 I ascended a new plateau
that was the first time someone called me Ma'am.
It hit me off guard and left me disturbed
because up until then I was Oh Miss,
or more appropriately, excuse me Ms.
especially since I could still balance on one foot
carry a shopping bag on one hip
and a baby on the other
while hunting for the car keys
at the bottom of my purse
after finally remembering
where I parked the damn car
that OMG
had been keyed on the back,
both sides.
Four rows,
down to bare metal.
Candy apple red, used to be the color
before some asshole decided to add this
new detail to my four month old
with the sticker glue still on it, Subaru
and here I am-Ma'am, all formal like with
that nice young cop taking down every detail
writing up his report, filed in triplicate
and lost beneath a musty pile
on the Sergeants over worked desk.
Now I have to go home and face
the Mister and show him
what some hoodlum
just did.
Oh JOY!!
Next time
I will pack my can of
hornet spray, set to fire
straight into the pupils
of the scum sucking
waste
of a human being
who has opinions
about what other people’s cars
should look like.
The personal property of people
who have earned the right
to have nice cars
without scratches and dents
and I will park
on the empty side of the mall and walk.

Friday, January 22, 2010

Winter's Chill

January’s morning
blast
sent goose bumps
down my spine
as I awaited the sun.
In the meantime women golfers
zipped up jackets and
buttoned up sweaters.
Warm ups ensued
stretching backs and limbs
limbering joints by
swinging Callaway drivers at fallen leaves.
Wedges pitched dimpled white balls
across fairways and onto putting greens
abundant with 4” holes and tiny metal flags
where we practiced putting
testing stroke, speed, and accuracy
while others gossiped and
analyzed the dark sky
gazing at the
flat gray mass for
any other
predictable
signs
of hot air.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Requiem To Sleep

The syncopated stylings of Mr. Bruno and Zeus
wake me from a place I wasn’t quite ready to leave.
Choruses of cock a doodle doo vie for attention.
A virtuoso at stage right is especially talented, the notes
ring in my ears and bring me back
to Tempurpedic
mattress and pillow
country.
Cradling my spine
in all the right places,as
twisted limp white sheets caress
my aching stiff carcass.
My journey
last night
fraught
with brutal
challenge
escaping
the agony
for a brief respite
from a road well traveled.
A road with loose
biting gravel
pitted with pot holes
and gooey black tar.
Tar so gooey and sticky that you feel like
you are cross country skiing
in Utah and several tall blonde
men decked out in ski attire all named Lars
race by intent on getting to the finish line and you tell yourself why not and you join them and pretty soon you are gaining and they start to cheer you on and at that moment you are in heaven,and heaven is where it’s at, with angels singing and they are so glad you came,
and then you hear the most exquisite music you have ever heard
and suddenly
you are awakened to
to the heart tugging melody of two Great Danes
accompanying the local ambulance on the way to picking up
some poor bastard
who just got yanked
out of
heaven too!

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Six Word Memoirs

Cheating Death
Smile more, nobody gets out alive.
Look both ways, then turn around.
Life sucks, get a rain check.
Be adventurous go climb your desire.

Man’s Best Friend
Adopt a dog, friend for life.
Most pets have their priorities straight.
Loyal pets lick away the hurt.
Dogs have some bones to pick.

Doing What I Want- Gembuns

Dancing To My Own Tune
xxxxx Ear buds inserted
xxxxx Pushing lawnmower
xxxxx over green carpeted hill.


Planting My Garden
xxxx strangled dendrobium await rescue from tight containers
xxxx bromeliads give up their seats for newcomers
xxxx orange Koi approach, splash to see new view



Lazy Day
xxxx Watching rented movies in the morning
xxxx hot tub soak, sunbathe on quiet deck
xxxx listen to Hawaiian songs, nap.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Determining GOOD

Right doesn’t have to explain itself to wrong.
Good wins over evil.
Consider this,
No one is GOOD.
We instinctively know this and then reject it
perhaps that is why we ask WHY.
We need to fit all the answers into a nice little package
and then later forget the question.
Future peoples may ask again the how and the why
and they will try to reason out good for whatever purpose
and they too will fall short of a real answer.
Brainwashed
that only GOD is good and we all fall short of that.
Educated leaders believe, how dare we not?
Daring to question the
world order
thinking for yourself is highly discouraged
in any age.
Inundated with worldwide media coverage
slanting our bias daily
presently noting even our
computers are smarter than we are.
Our brains are slow our bodies neglected
ignored as collateral damage
unable to process the complexities
of our vast universe.
Machines take us from point A to point B
cut the lawn, wash our clothes, and entertain us
automated
non thinkers
at least for the present.
The hunter gatherers
now hunt at the local
supermarket
where everything is fresh, homogenized and refrigerated for our convenience.
We are so comfortable in our bubbles
walking through frigid air conditioned aisles with glazed eyes
wondering what to cook for dinner
ignoring the neighbor’s snot nosed kid screaming bloody murder
wrapped in our safe cocoons
waiting for good to appear
to help us decide upon Brand X detergent which is ecologically friendly
or should we opt for the cheaper brand and rent a movie?
Pretty soon we won’t have to think at all
and then who will ask if
we are still alone
about global warming
about faith
about our health
or if anything like being good
still matters.

Friday, January 15, 2010

POEM A DAY

Pithy sayings
Otherwise overlooked
Engage readers with
Moving metaphors

Allotting thirty

Daily
Allegories to raise and encourage emerging
Young poets.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Successful People

Successful people
are bold.
They have an attitude
that allows them to
put themselves
into the killing fields
allowing
the vultures
to pick at their bones
as they glean
vital pieces
of information.
Undisciplined
to the casual eye
they manage to
pull off the impossible
particularly
to those who
would
mock
and ultimately
die
disillusioned.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

50's Milestone Shorts

Poem a Day
charge’s brain’s battery.

50’s boomer hikes
Diamond Head trail.

Still trying to
learn new things.

Changing with times
sparks stimulus package.

50’s best life
is staying green.

50’s quiet reflection
six word memoirs.

Golf at 50
sinks two putts.

50’s golf swing
flies the distance.

Book smart babe
writes poetry books.

50’s life story
roams evocative lane.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Time well spent

Time well spent
is a man
sowing seeds
in rich loam
watering and feeding diligently
day after day
repeating the process
until finally
he eats the reward.

is a good book
read
in pursuit
of personal growth
that gives up its seat
on the train
of popular thought.

is a belief
challenged
on the road
to
paradise
that passes
through
a
parallel
universe.

is time
spent
with family
anywhere
anytime
conversing,
their minds connected
to the same antenna.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Windy,Cherita

Kona winds

scatter lightweight objects
to four converse corners.

A tiresome
puzzle
to piece together.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Siblings-Aphorisms

The oldest child
breaks through barriers.

The middle kid
sports steel determination.

Sisters exchange secrets
friends share information.

Siblings have rivalry
friends craft alliance.

The youngest one
never grows old.

Sisters for life
family still rules.

Thursday, December 31, 2009

A Great Dane's Report on New Year’s Eve in Hawaii

I would be the first to piss on all of them
and all their explosives.
I would make sure to tinkle on all of their matches
not a single aerial or even a piece of obnoxious red paper
would remain dry.
This colossal stain would wreak a reminder that
these islands are shared by all.
Then I would jump on every marauder
and knock them down, cut their height in
half or eighths if need be.
Their point of view altered like that of an errant child
left out after dark without supervision,
forced to see from a new angle.
I would then bark a loud critique about the ramifications
of deafness inflicted on beings of a lesser god.
Crazed by their ignorance, I might resort to
property damage leaving traces of my angst as a
sign to future canine, inciting them to rethink the
outdated notion of a man’s best friend.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

New Years Eve Folly

Predawn
my favorite time of day
a time
where stillness reigns.
No firecrackers, no rockets,
or pinwheel brilliant bursts.
The party people have retreated
gone back into their caves to rest
and stock up on ammunition.
Thousands of firecrackers still silent are strung across
countless streets hanging from makeshift
welded metal and boards, haphazardly constructed
by retired policemen and accountants
who later rush to Longs to purchase last minute fire starters
and sparklers to light that first strand.
Then the smoke will come
inundating the asthmatics
forcing them to retreat into
theaters to watch the latest
release on high definition screens
with Dolby enhanced sound
drowning out the noise of the celebration.
The endless cacophony of doom forced
upon us by the revelers intent on blowing up
their small portion of the island.
An island strategically located in the
Pacific Ocean sheltering for the moment
a President and his family,
who sit on the sidelines
and pay to observe.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

New Year’s Eve-Ku

Twilight detonates,
mountainous red paper ash
congregates at curb.

Bombs pierce air space
hunting in reckless pursuit,
for a vacant sky.

Canines claw through screens
in an agitated state
howl at their owners.

New Year’s fireworks
doped up dogs circle back yard
glazed eyes reflect fear.

New Year’s rockets breach,
Hawaiian aloha spirit
discards scarred excess.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Hawaiian Snow

Wet slanted downpour
liquid snow in the tropics
Hawaiian Christmas.


Navy boat leaves dock
family goes whale watching
see mother and calf.


Cruising to Sandbar
sunshine slices sandbank on
isolated beach

Tide swiftly recedes
undercurrent traces lines
to lost horizon.


Tribe claims Sand Island
later wolfs down special pork
red sauce formula.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Hawaiian Santa

You grab the spirit
I’ll buy the lei
and we’ll wiki wiki
and meet Santa’s sleigh.
Santa’s gonna love
the warm and sunny weather
cruising in red board shorts and
aloha shirt together.

Talking
and texting
his blackberry
clicking
eating juicy
pineapple
the sweet sap
sticking
making wide trails
down past his chin
pooling on his belly
yellowing his skin.

Chubby toes sinking
into fine sand deep, amid
boogey board surfers
tanned and fast asleep.
Checking his list
for naughty and nice.
Santa’s little helpers
reeking old spice.

This jolly old elf
makes the season bright
Ho ho ho
Santa’s stylin tonight
in a shiny red sleigh with
eight dolphin on his tether
he’s cruising in the ocean
no matter what the weather.
And I heard him exclaim as he rode
out of sight
Mele Kalikimaka,
I’ll be in Fiji tonight.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Hawaii Kai Boat Parade-Cherita

Mickey escorted Minnie in the Xmas Boat Parade

cruising in a channel of overcast and rain. As diners ate
their burgers with football as their game.

Perhaps the stormy weather kept many locked home tight
but with my golf umbrellas we watched
somewhat dry that night.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Mele Kalikimaka 2009




What a Great Year!









Three poems are published in 2009 issue
of Rain Bird-W.C.C.’s literary journal- 2nd year in a row


Nine members of my family
come to Hawaii for two weeks in April-
I love you guys!!

I read my poems at a local Pen Women Luncheon in May
I have lunch with Dallas, a good friend visiting Oahu from Vancouver Island
I self publish Meadow Pause and Boogey Fever
"Toad Festival" wins second place in the IBPC - A national poetry competition
‘Ilima and I go to Volcano on the Big Isle for a Writing Workshop in September

Three more poems accepted for publication in 2010 Rain Bird- 3rd year in a row


I win third low net in “A” flight
at a Women’s 36 Hole stroke play Championship at Hickam
I win third gross in my flight at Hawaii Kai Championship
My handicap goes down from 32.0 to 27.2.
15 members of Ft. Shafter Ladies golf group come to my house for a Xmas party
As of Dec. 4th I have written a poem a day for six months straight.
I resign my position as Treasurer from two golf groups.


Jason spends Thanksgiving and Christmas at home with us
Bruno and Zeus are six years old this Christmas
Tom has been working out and running and looks amazing!!
We have a real 7 foot Christmas tree this year—love the scent of fresh pine!!
We are all healthy and happy and are looking forward to the coming year- with maybe some trips on the horizon? We’ll be sure to let you know!



Aloha from Hawaii

Monday, December 14, 2009

Christmas Aphorisms

Fresh pine scent
captures holiday spirit.

Santa’s little helpers
burn clean fuel.

Christmas cheer expires
on December 26th.

Cards and letters
rekindle old friendships.

Stores build sales
customers erect bills.

Charity brings forth
a financial statement.

Scrooge gets deported
to Christmas past.

Good spirits make
for strange bedfellows.

Bring two cups
of Christmas cheer.

Recession proof Christmas
keep old traditions.

Grandchildren grow older
cash only please.

Grandpa relates teens
with monthly installments.

Church’s for sinners
flood the Earth.

Sing Christmas carols
share diverse cultures.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Happiness

is
the mist rising
in the morning,
from green fairways
covered with fresh dew.
A flock of black Iwa birds
circling over a pond
brimming
with purple and pink lily pads,
beneath a blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds,
while gentle trade winds
provide a welcoming breeze,
fanning my skin
heated by my enthusiasm.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Pardon Me

Tom Turkey is slated
for execution at midnight.
They are heating up the oven as we speak.
His dream team was up all night.
They are trying to reach
the President, but so far
not a wishbone of luck.
The priest, Father Killjoy
was summoned
and
asked poor Tom if he
had any last words.
Apparently the people from Butterball
are evil vultures.
He is so stressed out, he couldn’t even muster a gobble.
Now his Hen is beside herself.
It seems that
his suit
is full of holes,
and she has no bread left
to stuff it with.
Trussed up like he is
I’m afraid he is
on his last leg.
At the eleventh hour
he is sweating pullets.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Thanksgiving Aphorisms

Thanksgiving roller coaster
sustains safe limits.

Tom turkey auditions
break a leg.

Holiday meals raise
cholesterol, expand waistlines.

Pumpkin pie spice
trafficking is legal.

Thankful for blessings
mindful of woe.

Pets receive calming
classical music medication.

Family happily reunites
sing karaoke songs.

Parents, children, grandparents
unite, feed village.

Holiday feast bonds
reflects tolerant trend.

Mashed potatoes ditch
surround turkey gravy.

Stuffing packed in
chubby bird satisfied.

Tom turkey debuts
on center stage.

Thanksgiving prayer,
oven hot, refrigerator cold.

A Special Ride

I was about 35 when I experienced my first Mule Ride.
Rather naive I thought that it would be uneventful,
but that is my nature.
The day began rather pleasantly
with a leisurely breakfast
of fresh island papaya,
macadamia nut pancakes
and piping hot Kona coffee at the Midnite Inn.
located in the sleepy one horse town of Kaunakakai.
Molokai, the Friendly Isle,
was a place we had reroofed a lot of the local Church’s.
We decided on this day to play tourist
along with my father in law and
mother in law; visiting from the mainland.
Today we would venture down
to Kalaupapa on a mule.
We were intent
on visiting the leper colony
on the isolated northern peninsula.
Riding down on a mule
appealed to us as an exciting way
to accomplish this goal,
spend a day learning more
about Father Damien,
now St. Damien
and all about his life
dedicated to helping the lepers.
Since I had limited experience on horses,
I informed our guide
that I was indeed a beginner.
They immediately led me
to what looked like
a docile animal named “Special”.
Special was to be my mule for the day.
At the beginning of my ordeal,
I noticed that Special was more interested in eating
than he was in my safe passage.
We Mule Skinners were instructed
at the outset
to let them have their heads
as they knew the route better than us;
so I did, much to my chagrin.
I was as green as the vegetation
and Special knew this.
Special, who I later renamed
with a colorful expletive
starting with the letter A___hole
would take me for one hell of a ride
hugging sharp ledges on one side
and sliding sideways
on the other
through mud soaked ruts,
giving me a bird’s eye view
of my treacherous surroundings.
Paralyzed by my fear of looming peril
I was a hostage
in Special’s uninhibited domain.
Forced from the start
to endure his surefooted folly
my experience was richly
enhanced by the scent of fresh droppings,
frequently stepped on by this caravan.
I was breathless
as we neared the end of the trail and thankful
that this half of the ride was almost over.
Released on a temporary reprieve
to stretch
and regain the use of my legs
I knew that I would again
have to face an uphill climb
a wary hostage
on this ornery herbivore.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Guarding the Perimeter

Another night of rockets’ red glare
and bombs exploding in the neighborhood.
Drug addicted welfare recipients live across the valley.
They are gearing up for New Year’s Eve in November.
Bruno and Zeus
need an appointment with a Psychiatrist.
They can’t understand
why they have to sit still
and have their ears be assaulted
by exploding aerials, bottle rockets
and high pitched screeching thunder.
Bruno stands up on the screen door
speaking in his
native tongue.
Bellowing
to let him in, the world has gone mad.
His sharp nails poke
into the screen mesh
inviting local insects
to buzz in and have a bite.
Broken shards of blue fish pottery
are scattered beneath a window.
Gone are the peaceful nights of yesterday,
our complacency lights up the blackest night
but the fight has reached home,
we are running out of caves.
Pretty soon we will have to stock up
on ammo and draw straws
for who gets night watch.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Give Thanks

for the lemony papaya
tangy and sweet,
fresh from the tree.
For the freshly squeezed
orange, frothy and tart.
For the Shama’s flutelike song,
rich and strong.
For the fountain pouring
into the spring fed pond,
cold and clear.
For the way that the Japanese Koi
leap out of the water,
glistening orange and white
dancing to a distant rhythm
in a foreign tongue.
For the way that the three large
South American Pacu
generate waves,
their fins
expertly carving the surface,
exposing tender chins
succulent and white.
For the rain that
cascades down
the mountain
forming streams and
quenching the thirst
of the stately palms,
satisfying their need,
and especially for the one
who cradles you
in this nest,
built with a tender love
warm and secure.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

A Day to Reason

I
prepare
today to
go and sort through
shelves of poetry
and philosophy. To
find enlightenment in a
dusty tome. Within precious pages
rests the ancient sage ready to reason
engaging me with his lecture on
thinking. Enlightening me with
the motives behind the aim
and the logic that drives
civilization
today in a
race, against
dismal
times.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Coco Chanel

born 1883 in a brothel
in France
she was raised in an orphanage
from twelve years old,
where she was trained as a seamstress,
after the death of her mother.

Fiercely determined,
she overcame the stigma of poverty,
orphanhood and illegitimacy.
Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel
never married,
but had affairs
with influential men of the time.
While living with one of these men, Etienne Balsan
who lavished her with the rich life,
she began designing hats as a hobby
for celebrated French actresses.
This soon became a deeper interest.
Her style of
simple elegance
was associated with the 1920’s Flapper,
a new breed of self confident
young woman that
challenged
the accepted status quo.
She gave women back their bodies;
bodies drenched in sweat
and freed them from their corsets
and padding.
Simple, comfortable and revealing,
the trademark of an icon.

A Love Poem

You are the
Silversword
high
on the cliff
of my longing.
I suffer when we are apart.
Aloof in your lunar terrain
your maroon cluster fascinates me.
The biting winds
challenge my desire
shield you from my furry touch.
The Hawaiians call you ‘ahinahina. (very gray)
You are succulent with your silver hair.
I pollinate you and
dream of us
swimming with the tide
in a welcoming sea.
Our progeny,
a panoramic
plethora dotting
the landscape
of Haleakala.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Plumbing the Shadows

The unnatural world lurks
beneath the plumb
of sensitivity
waiting
for us
to take notice.
It is an eerie place
of ghosts
trapped
between then and now.
In this alternate world
lie the answers
to life and death.
At times the door opens
to invite
us in, but we are wary
of the consequences
that lead us into
the other realm,
calling up things better left alone.
The undead are restless
for fresh hope,
wandering
in their sleep
with
no end.
Caught up in a web
of lies and misdeeds,
tortured by the uncertainty of right now.
Their womb offers
little comfort
and no nourishment.
It is filled with the suffering
and screams of millions,
lost
in the shadows.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Pulling Weeds

Dormant daylilies flaunt dead brown stalks.
Assorted wild plants compete for attention
baking in the noon day sun.
A super highway
of vines tunnel
beneath bromeliads
skirting salmon bougainvillea
teasing papyrus with probing tongues.
In the adjacent plot, lavender, white and yellow dendrobium
mildewed from excess moisture,
exhibit bottle green weeds
in various stages of growth.
Sheltered under the Norfolk pine
white peace lilies choke
beneath hills of pine needles
while two cherry tomato plants
thrive, their seeds planted by the Apapane.
Stooped behind the stone wall, I observe a young
couple drive up in a red camaro
to steal some dragon fruit from the neighbor’s yard.
Meanwhile a flock of doves eat
the remnants of leftover dog chow
out back, their feathers fluttering in rapid time,
perched on the rim of fortune.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Father Damien

I once rode a mule
down a path carved into steep cliffs
sliding through mud soaked ruts
thick with slime and loose stones
on top of an ornery mule,
named Hoku.
Hugging sharp ledges using my
leg as his ruler, parallel to
the treacherous ledge and rocks below.
Stopping at the beginning of every switchback
to snatch a mouthful of
grass, constantly chewing, his head
steadily pulling at the reins.
Early morning the air was heavy with mist, sheltered
by the dense foliage, not a drop of wind to cool and
fend off the stench of droppings stepped through by this caravan.
Below lay Kalaupapa, the leper colony
where endangered monk seals give birth
on the isolated northern peninsula
of Molokai. A place where the diseased
cast off’s were thrown off passing ships,
left to swim to shore or die
in the crushing surf.
A place of pristine beauty, where nature fiercely reigned.
On a pilgrimage of sorts,
I ventured into a place that only some decades
ago had been a death sentence, a prison without the possibility of parole.
Contagious and deadly
this biblical disease, would’ve meant a one way ticket
for those who dared to venture beyond its borders.
Father Damien knew this.
Committed to his
faith, risking this contagion that would eventually
eat at his flesh;
in a time of
ignorance and shame.
Now a U.S. National Historical Park
feeding the
faithful and curious onlookers
crumbs of forgotten
history in this breathtaking remote
settlement. Where a stubborn, hard working,
devoted man of the cloth
took on the armor of sainthood.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

What Color Do You Breathe

I exhale a blue language
of nouns and verbs.
My syntax
frozen in the atmosphere
hidden on a cloud high above
Mauna Kea.
In search of exclusive metaphors
while observing the nene
as it forages for food between
the cracks and crevices of black and gold
lava flows, hardened by decades of cooling
now joined by violet joy bushes
and a profusion of bright green tree ferns
still erupting into red phrases
congealing into the deep blue pacific
crimson orange tongues ablaze.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Wanted

Difficult
people pleaser
seeks
agreeable
inexpensive
graphic artist
to
collaborate
on
photography
book
deserving of
recognition.

** Written in response to what kind of a problem type are you, at a recent writing workshop I attended with my writing group---at the Volcano Art Center in Hawaii
Check out the Writing Workshops up at Volcano Hawaii by logging on to: www.tompeek.net

Saturday, September 5, 2009

September Nights in Kahaluu

**Also published Friday September 18th 2009 on http://www.7beats.com/herenow.html


Fountain water splashes
echoes
across the koi pond.
Clever
Great Danes
bark their hello,
jump into the air
to chase
after chew bones
anxious for a moment
of attention.
Sultry trades
shift
Alexander palm branches
nod their approval.
Plovers march across manicured lawns
searching for tiny morsels,
recently
back
from
Alaska.
It is late afternoon-
Pau Hana time.
Pretty soon,
the air
will be redolent with
beef stew,
fresh baked bread
grilled Mahimahi
and rice.
Voices will fill the
peaceful valley and become paler
as night falls.
Chickens will roost in invasive
octopus trees.
Bullfrogs will sing love songs
attracting mates
and life will go on.
Wrapping up
another steamy day
meditating
by the Mango tree
while gazing at
pink clouds and
orange
parrots beak
heliconia.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Hormone Flux-Get Me Some Estrogen

***Also published on Friday August 28th 2009
http://www.7beats.com/herenow.html

A pin ball machine of
metal balls
zigzagging
crashing
colliding
trying to break records
achieve recognition
win contests
plan a murder.
So much to do
meals to plan
guests to invite
classes to attend
volunteer for this
volunteer for that
There are ways
to clean a blood stain
using simple things like
peroxide.
I have to schedule
my day
but I can’t remember
where I left my notepad and pen
on the way to preparing breakfast
Did I take my medicine?
Where are the vitamins?
Don’t forget to drink lots of water
It’s time for the workout
Cut the grass
Write that poem
Coffee, where’s my coffee?
I look into the mirror.
My reflection
is altered, I don’t recognize
the old woman that stares back.
Quick—apply some makeup
before you scare the dogs.
The course re-plotted
over and over again.

My victim
reminds me of
a note that needs writing.
Tumbling forward
avoiding those flippers
up and down
back and forth
through
these days of
detours
and
uncharted
territory.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Fine Wines- Etheree

Wine
should be
savored like
a good epic
filtering through with
barely audible hints
of blackberry and currant,
joined among swirls of licorice
descending into the belly on
a creamy slice of avocado stacked
with fresh crackers heaped with wedges of
sharp cheddar cheese from Wisconsin.
Accompanied by a tall
swarthy Italian man
who writes steamy songs
to earthy girls
nightly on
a cruise
ship.

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