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Give Or Take

From my vantage it is not clear
whether she grasps at a star
or offers a petal to heaven

cc: CC '22

Country Ditty Rewrite

All of my exes
are different

cc: CC '22
Hee Haw!

The tiniest of gnats
who have shown up
lately around my sink
have no capacity to warn
one another, so I kill them 
all in rapid succession

cc: CC '22

Black and White

It is said the sun
must be 
at your back
in order to see
a rainbow

arc all of the colors,
your neck's nape
is warmed, and 
your shadow is 
there before you

cc: Chagall '22

The Tome

She opened and closed 
her book of life,
each chapter a year,
each page a season,
each paragraph a month,
each sentence a day,
each letter an hour,
each space a moment,
the unwritten - all of her 
hopes and regrets,
tucked away till forever 
on a shelf

Whither burrows the worm?

cc: Chagall 2022
So, when is the NAACP going
to change its name to 

cc: CC '22

Hue And Me

If I were an artist,
I would never wash
the color from my hands

or from my smock,
or whatever it is that
artists wear

I'd parade around,
a festival, might even
adorn myself with lights

and I'd hum, and I'd sing,
and I'd whistle, clap and dance
up a storm

say artistic things in made-up
tongues, you'd get the gist
despite the words

at night I would dream of rainbows,
and waterfalls, and time gone by,
albeit in monochrome

for dreams these days
are not what they used
to be

and in the morning, I'd rise,
choose colors for the new day, 
while coffee brewed

yesterday's colors would 
fade of their own, without
intervention on my part

my skin, my mind, my life,
is both palette and canvas,
today I create what I will

cc: CC '22

Bet You Think This Song’s About You

One-and-done She,
comments and disappears,
hit and run, casual asides,
engaged to a point, pointlessly,
a dance for two en pointe,
the sun in her eyes, the grass too tall, 
the cat has eaten her homework,
excuse the excuse pile, the detritus about,
the art you will find intermingled there is
merely a quip, single entendre at best, yet 
her breeze still blows high over the canyon,
lost aerie where an eagle once nested,
taken advantage of for the ages, 
by those who shall do no harm 
...pretty and witty and wise...
where sandpipers and New World warblers fly away 
cast in silver echelon, to seek the lost universe,
a spiral in time, now an aged lady spies
the youthful nymph amid cascades of color,
still vibrant, imbued with that day's sunlight,
its pomp and its circumstance, its radio waves
continue yet to travel outward from the planet,
watch it fade to gray, too black, but somewhere 
along the way, two moody in indigo

cc: CC '22

ABBA Blabber

Poetic rhyme forms force the words,
more a jigsaw puzzle than prose

I would rather let a rose 
and songbirds
find their own way

cc: CC '22
A chilly morning in Dijon,
I walk briskly past the 
old carousel, quiet now,
a few tables in the square,
here and there, coffee and 
daybreak, bread a few 
steps away

a door opens and 
a bell chimes

the factory in Lille is
no longer, I remember
the match that struck
the last Gitanes

the night of strong
hot smoke, laughter 
behind the fountains

a palmful of
drams of whiskey
the keeper called
baby Jameson

up the street I touch
the owl on the church
where the goers now
kneel harder, pray more 
quietly to atone

cc: CC '22


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