Money

 Money

say it:

Show me the money.

honey

where would we be

without it?

I’d like to shout it

from the rooftops

Money makes the world go round

you relentless hound.

It’s what keeps us afloat

in your boat

which is huge

what a stooge.

It’s that silly

willy nilly

Philly

at the Kentucky Derby.

It’s everything we had

before the wheel turned against us.

So it comes down to this:

money, power, and time.

We find the signs

you left behind, too late

after the horse is out the gate

and your horse always wins

again and again.

You shout down

through the air

in some satellite above humanity

in your precious throne room

filled with supercomputers

and data banks for your crypto

currency.

But shh

Don’t say it’s power.

Don’t say it’s time.

Don’t say you care, it’s money.

 

 

Chocolate As Inspiration and Art

 Chocolate As Inspiration and Art

(Inspired by Lagusta’s Luscious in New Paltz)

 

We appeared to be provisional citizens of an avoidable misunderstanding,

furious vulvas, indeed!

While the confections proceeded with unofficial diplomacy

until Hawaii entered the paragraph as an expert witness with tenure.

And to think it all started with vegan chocolate, made by women, which arrived with the self-importance of a minor prophet and excellent packaging.

Our writers group nibbled while drafting, each of us pretending this counted as research.

It was intense and sweet, like brainstorming in formalwear during a very polite emergency,

luscious and lively, as if every sentence had a train to catch and a reputation to protect,

and somehow, against all odds and several commas, it was wildly productive.

We praised the small miracles of language, especially the ones that arrived five minutes after we had given up

while rolling each confection over our tongues like a suspicious but promising thesis statement

letting the sweetness settle into us until every bad draft looked briefly like destiny in a good coat.

Feasting, Fanfare, and a Very Determined Walk

 Feasting, Fanfare, and a Very Determined Walk

 

Today is the Feast of the Ascension,

and the clock is grinning at five.

A little late for heaven’s early-bird special,

but still squarely in the rooster-approved shift

when prayer slips in like steam from a fresh cup,

bringing mental cobwebs to heel

and kicking stress out like an uninvited cousin.

I am oddly peaceful,

like a parade float before the band starts blasting.

Today’s grand quest: a lap around the lake with friends,

having already evicted a few stubborn gremlins from the attic of my mind.

I am awake,

armored in clothes,

and primed like a toaster at dawn.

The body is on board,

though the appetite has been throwing confetti for days,

so now it is time to let my Keens preach.

 

 

Bare Limbs

 Bare Limbs

Greening light,

bare limbs growing bright,

bare limbs wake and sway,

as green life finds its way.

 

Spring has sprung,

the bells have rung,

time to rise,

and greet warmer skies.

Bare limbs stir,

a soft and leafy blur,

alive with squirrel song,

while groundhogs nose along.

 

Still, we watch with care

as seedlings fill the air,

beneath the budding trees

that dance in the northern breeze.

Directing The Unruly

At present, nature’s cycle lays down its campaign—

blue forget-me-nots spread like a polite little carpet,

with purple and yellow wildflowers freelancing at the edges.

It still looks manageable out there—or at least it does from the porch—and I, their General, must command the forces.

The wild animals, aside from the chipmunks and squirrels, are currently occupied with sabotage elsewhere.

We live in the country, bordered by woods and woodchucks—voracious little heathens with excellent tunnel strategy.

Monet would paint this if only someone had the decency to install a pond.

“You over there—yes, you—stop growing.

I’d like you all to remain exactly this height and not flood the front steps this year.

We will maintain peace and harmony despite the seasonal uprising.

Sticker bushes are hereby ordered to retreat and let the front line have its moment to bloom.

Day lilies, front and center. Lilacs, this is your hour—try not to get smug about it.

I need a clear view of the field before the next skirmish.

To mulch or not to mulch: that is the question.

Whether ’tis nobler to trim and weed or to let the ivy stage its slow-motion coup along the side garden remains under review.

Your General is, alas, allergic to the insufferable poison ivy, which looks innocent now but has the soul of a criminal.

I promise to attack the flanks and tidy up soon—tomorrow, if morale improves.”

Mother's Day

 Mother’s Day

 

Over the years,

we look back

and remember the women

who helped shape our lives

and this year was no different.

Each year, I like to think

I’m growing a little wiser,

though some years the jury is still very much out.

Choices made and lessons learned

have a way of humbling us at remarkable speed,

but Mom usually knows what you’re thinking

before you do, which is honestly unsettling.

She made you, after all,

and, as the saying goes, she can still take you out—without leaving her chair.

Maybe that is the purest form of love: fierce, patient, and never fooled.

So shape up, say thank you, and try not to make her repeat herself.

And when she leaves for her next great position,

as a star in  Andromeda,

pass on what she taught you:

Love, after all, is the greatest gift we get to give.

Sometimes, The Thing That Stands Out Is Small

Sometimes, The Thing That Stands Out Is Small

 

It is the board in the fence,

shifted only slightly to the right,

opening a breach in your understanding

of the neighbor—

and making you wonder which way they lean.

Is it safe to bring a hammer and a nail,

or would that cross the line itself,

that invisible border saying, without words,

where your limits lie,

what may be carried in your hands,

or whether a weapon still counts as speech?

Because you might expose what is already

plain,

and then they would have to set it right—

straighten the board by making a hammer of you,

in their grim reckoning,

and leave you on the fence, a warning to whoever forgets where they do not belong.