red sky at night brings…
allergies, fires, candles…
and love. my love. love!
red sky at morning
sailors give warning: heart bursts
for what’s lost at night
parenting
Daykeep
eyes burning, itching
allergies taking over
lost words from far back
yet, i’m so happy
house tucked into dream pocket
i could let this go
this and my students
who deserve America
(this dream we all have)
and i’ll fight for them
and she’ll praise him, she’ll praise him
(but he wouldn’t fight)
and we all know it–
how deep my love grows. hard ass?
abso-fuck-lutely
hard ass, heart of gold.
that you can’t forget. you can’t.
and why now, why now?
cause it’s easy now?
cause you have a house, a home?
cause we’re good enough?
cause we were good then,
as golden as these lost days.
i’ll keep my days. thanks.
Anywhere but Here
with windows wide: write.
because you’ve missed my poems, love.
since yesterday’s dawn
girls in sun’s shadow
as she announces her move.
life: cycle in, out.
you know you’ve missed me
my “seven-likes” followers
’cause i didn’t write
you count me daily
amongst the regular loves
that make us a life
and i was just born.
(it was like i was just born
the day i met him)
’cause seventeen years
can’t be measured in mountains
or wildflowers
or whining children.
but in the steps we oft take
on our way back home
and in sunsets. Sun!
lighting my way across love
across city, life.
cutting down this ‘hood
into what it’s meant to be:
scraped, demolished, lost.
circular i am
because that’s how tires spin:
neverending globe
that brings us back home
wherever that home may be.
anywhere but here.
Sunny Skies Ahead
he comes home with clouds
hovering over new joy
(where we could be free)
but then i must ask:
is freedom found in money?
so hard to answer
those without know best:
lack of money’s a prison
choking month to month
those with all know best:
too much money is a trap
biting claws of greed
it was just enough
for shoes, road trips, water parks
just enough to breathe
i want that freedom–
monthly-cycle jail-cell break
so far from the clouds
Miracle Man
in thirty-eight years
he’s made me miracles
(since before we met)
miracle one: birth–
an afterthought, late-marriage,
named-after-dad fourth
miracle two: shy–
wouldn’t say more than needed
from grade school on up
miracle three: serve–
mother, father, siblings, friends,
country, lovers… wife
miracle four: kids
who can capture his essence
in smiles, sweetness
miracle five: love–
couldn’t come to broken hearts
till we met. and healed.
miracle six: hope–
’cause without him there’d be none.
happy birthday, Babes.
If the Shoe Fits…
reality hits:
plumber, groceries, shoe shopping,
clean car, room, laundry
not a moment’s rest
to really run a household
two incomes looms big
will it be worth it?
one week i’ll be back at work
he’ll have long hours
what i did today?
dispersed between homework, school,
kids’ activities
never the down time
he’s given us all these years
(but… we can buy shoes!)
Rays of Happiness
joy found in river
dipped in snowmelt for hot days
better than a beach
no hot tub lies here
just a circular rock wall
perfect for chilling
Colorado sun
mixed with friends, camping, river:
rays of happiness
Once in a…
blue moon this July
because of this rare campout?
old friends united
over the mountains
it fills sky with silver light
it guided us home
tomorrow? August
all the stress and joy it brings
to our small family
but for now? spotlight
reminding of our past
our future lit up
Stolen
she mentioned poem theft
when i went to Toronto
and i laughed and laughed
would someone steal poems
so specific to my life
day after day… kids??
would they steal this pic
formulated by daughters’
view of this bright world?
would they steal these plates
drying when hot water broke
no plumber can come?
would they steal our ride
our dip in the river, creek?
and claim it’s their poem?
would they fix plumbing?
be my man–wire phone lines?
they couldn’t be me
my poems, words, are mine
trapped here for worldwide view
no one would steal them
Nino’s Antiques
home: car cleaning bribe
so i can get my work done
and they earn their game
insurance battle
because i won’t be bullied
by corporations
i wash out bottles
and my new/old egg beater
from Nino’s Antiques
(the shop in Gorham
i went to as a child
with just two pennies
and Nino emerged
with his wax-curled mustache
and sold me his goods
and this egg beater
will remind me: he’s still there
in my timeless town
his mustache now gray
asking my girls about school
his PBS on
selling his antiques
for much too little money
and chatting with kids
he’s no CEO
no insurance scam artist
my hometown hero)
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