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Crack In The Stove

Listen to the pine splits
crack in the stove
clouds down our roof like
burnt pine, milk
The smell of come in the shack

A breeze on the wall
from boiling tomatoes
A baby snorts air
while it sucks a tender breast

it was time to put apricots
out in the sun,
cover them with cheesecloth

Nothing but the whine of bad mud
between the cabin logs
I hum Cold Blew The Bliss
to the cild, touch fattened dough
I wait for the sound of his truck
hoeing a splutter of thawed ditch

The Old Sweater

The morning was unapproachable,
gloomy, not promising much,
not letting the world wake up.

You'd spilled both of our coffees.
I worried you burned yourself.

But you said,
you only lost your body map
and joked something about that
asking for help.

I took downstairs
coffee soaked bedding.
You went on a conference call.

I closed the windows
not to hear the hungry cries
of newborn foxes.

Refugees and Refuters:

Babies bred not on their ancestral ground
Yet children of conflict and conflicted
Some fare well although many welfare bound
Their lives constrained and future afflicted

Those responsible for instigation
Refuting population exodus
Refusing blame for the conflagration
While decrying the refugee influx

Generations of constant outsiders
Alien to birthright and human rights
Victimized by war and by inciters
No safe vision staring at the gun sights


Over a bed of stones
river runs its course
smoothing their edges
till they stop to hurt

it doesn't happen quickly
as soon as a blink
even whiskey on the rocks
needs a time to chill

Mirror Acrostic

Perfectly molded for this fat old saP
Always painting true scenes of malitiA
Trained, competitive in studio arT
Recalled by friends always being on paR
Incredible with fired hibachI
Clams fresh from the shore steamed in a net saC
In the pot with gallons of Bud brewskI
Attentive, smart, that’s my dear PatriciA

The Best "Ism"

I think the best “ism”
Is ventriloquism

Every system needs a critic
And every puppet
A fall guy

And today’s comic
Is yesterday’s prophet,

It is a song of both
Innocence and experience

But ultimately
Kids aren’t really
The intended audience

(Though we’re all kids at heart)

It is a classroom
Most of us can enjoy

And some ventriloquists
Have really done
Their research

In Parenthesis

To the Poet (1949-2049?)

We measure the universe by light speed
And while we live there are galaxies
In each of us which seem eternal.
But the time we spend among the living
Is put in numbers between parentheses.

The dates tell only the equation of fate,
Our lives reduced to the dash between them,
Not telling how we fit in the fashion of the age
Or the forces that directed our passing.

It's All Good

a sunny day
low humidity
shadows are crisp

a zephyr leisurely strolls
through the valley
wispy clouds drift and sway

and here come the joggers
panting and sweating
ear buds implanted
goofy outfits
and a dead ahead gaze
cool shoes though

they pass quickly

birds are chirping
butterflys are fluttering
squirrls are chattering

ah! a waft of lilac
mingling with apple blossoms
quite pleasant and engaging

Lonesome but not alone

fingers on the keyboard,were tapping a song
the piano in audience said let me play along
a spider in the corner stopped knitting its web
and the clock on the wall was swinging its tail
the fan on the ceiling was stirring the air
my cat was purring on an unkempt bed
grey shadows soon started dancing on the wall
when keys on my piano started playing live

the clock on the wall moved past the midnight moon
yet my eyes were streaming lullabies for you

You make me recall (read Hayanaku below later....)

you make me recall

when i was out on my own
out of my teens
in search of someone unique
I saw her in the Plaza

We stared

none had the guts to approach the other
she was like Venus
I a lost bull in the jungle
but the look left an imprint on my mind
till today

and as a guy did say
I posted the snap
hers only
on both side of the Plaza
hoping she would do similarly
but sad
I couldn't make it

May be some day I will


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