reverse vultures

23 Nov

This season monotonearbrecadreof wind, rain,
and crunchy leaves
when wind seems drunk and mean,
a morgue for umbrellas.
There’s one upside down
its scaffolding so exposed,
all the broken limbs,
but bat wings flapping in the breeze
not yet capsized,
a shelter for squirrels.

painting by colorsetbrushes

one way astronauts, eventually

15 Nov

it was supposed to beparisetcadre
a swan across a lake scenario,
real calm and peaceful,
a decorated casket,
but it was actually a canoe,
and not lowered into the ground,
but pushed out to river,
with an elder inside,
flat on his back
surrounded by offerings,
set free to float across water
melting into the sky stars above
bathing the beings below.

yeh,  it was supposed to be
a swan across a lake scenario,
but the last lap was curbs and a cane
ambulance sirens swirling
horns honking,
but steam floating from a sewer grate anyway,
becoming stars again.

painting by colorsetbrushes

a near death experience

8 Nov

holidaycards2105 001 (2)


he almost curled up cocoon womb in bed,
but hugged his backpack instead
and dreams oozed all over him,
electrified his toes.
he wandered west,
so help him wind.

painting by colorsetbrushes



oranges or pumpkins it matters not

1 Nov

when you rise up like barbecue smoke from the neighbors backyard,
it`s maybe perfume and not you,
but i was planning on a tv dinner and a movie
so the sudden reminder of the wind and the way
it waved your home-made dollar store curtains,
you and i a sailboating thru clouds,
our little eyelid matinee,
i wasn’t so upset over no chocolate cake on my tv tray.

the fringe benefits of amnesia

31 Oct

i’ve heard this before,
not sure where?
did i already write this?
am i repeating myself?
or is the wind a broken record?
“come on,”
it says,
“let’s play connect the dots and see it all as one big benevolent conspiracy
our lives as characters in a novel,
striking up matches with strangers
as plots unfurl
a dance in grocery store parking lots,
to praise the author we never know.”

further origins of the blues

23 Oct

high atop spruce trees dangle brown pine cones.
they look like rare jewels,
unattainable ones.
i like it when the bar is set so high.
makes a drink at the end of day
a sort of paradise to shoot for
and then it is paradise.

more down up beautifications

21 Oct

it was about a year ago today,
first frost,
i planted my first ever garlic bulbs,
down on my knees,
prostrating to mother earth
and she gave me permission,
to dig holes further down,
bury bulbs down even further
and so i did
and winter and spring passed and nothing really happened,
but heavens to betsy whistling with pig tails in the tree tops,
a few months later,
in mid-summer July,
garlic in the bean stock popped up,
not too tall,
but a half dozen bulbs just the same,
dangling like earrings
in pre-pumpkin harvest,
real bitter and garlicky to taste,
just the way i like ’em.


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