Spring

Teasing flirt raises skirts of snow
sashays onto the dance floor sweeping
gravel and scattering robins

Foals and fawn soak in sun, watch
mountains do the same
perspiring coolness into rivers

Rising crocus surrenders
to magnetic rays, abandons
tug o’ war with earth

We rise and stretch, inhale
russet earth, moist with arousal
multiply and replenish creator offerings

A Walk in the Park

The track of the deer
call of the loon
whirr of geese
water lapping at snow
warm winter sun
silence and laughter
still slow summon of spring

Lost

There it is again
I click the URL field and forget
Why. Where am I going?

I get to the room, look around
I see nothing to enlighten me
as to how I got there
what drew me

Is this my fate  Suspended
forever on the margins
of memory
Is it starting?

Time to say my goodbyes
now while I remember
whom it is
I love

Where I'm From

I am from Ozarks, from Quaker Oats and hard work.
I am from the rough-and-tumble;

ill-fitting hand-me-down boots
unbuckled and dripping on the lino.

I am from the cicada's nighttime buzzing;
flowering mimosa and stifling humidity.

I am from singing grace and debating opinion,
from Frank and Eva and too many lives cut short.

I'm from the Show Me State, from singing and laughter,
warm cinnamon rolls and juicy watermelon.

From 8 brides for 7 brothers, the gifted grandpa,
and the dad who made an RV from a hearse.

I am from boxes of Kodak slides,
record albums piled in dusty corners,

the unpublished poem book, the praying mamma
and sticky caramel memories not yet unwrapped.

e-Thrust and iParry

A series of monologues
      from behind caged safety
Strike
      through streaming broadband
Pointed and deadly
      score hits
Withdraw
      devoid of clarity
Exercise dominance
      impale relationship

The Home Office

One label maker
    expensive refills
Pen holders, two
    one a Tupperware cup
Manilla folders (three tabs)
    almost depleted
Four-drawer filing cabinet
    newly acquired, full

Five file boxes
    stuffed and stacked
Six-Drawer Wheeled Organizer
    no wheels
Seven CD organizers
    labeled neatly
One shoebox with CDs
    unlabeled

Book on side table
    Organizing for Dummies

Mountain Biking

The impatient fingers of fall tap the trailer
disappointed droplets want to be snow
but divert into rivulets over summer
worn dust layers

Impatient fingers of son tap the table
anxious to test large limbs on small mountains
traverse rocky switchbacks
attain single-track supremacy

Heart in my throat, I pant along
trail behind, watch his back,
peddle madly, climb for hours, plant my face
in soft dirt, bike askew

Clouds collude with autumn chill
mountains partner to block cellphone signals
alarmed, I pray search parties
will find my sanity, tap an SOS

Board Meeting

I want to publish minutes
about you. a real writer
manuscript in hand
read aloud to my tears

You try not to sleep
as we journey home
converse about nerves
and a long overdue obedience

your gentle snore assures
no pretense is necessary
I drive more awake
comforted by your repose

relaxed in the construction
of friendship that keeps the faith
navigates the detours
breathes the paving of peace

Treasure

breathless words from ancient sonnets
capture Eden’s liquid jewels
drop sweet nectar light on the tongue

sweet vanilla mountain melts
over warm apple crumble
golden crisp leaves brush past

on the last whisper of summer’s breath
evening light caresses sheltering trees
waves a satisfied goodbye to the day

familiar embrace a final wrap
around cascading conversation
spilling like grain from gathering wagons
to say goodnight in the dusk

laughter sparkles in the darkness and scatters
skipping light stars into every crevice
of an upturned face, every corner
of an upturned heart

content in the echo to gaze
like a child in mother’s arms
reach upward to adoring face
touch eternity in the familiar

Believe

I would die a thousand deaths
at my own hand to know you love me
but cannot deny myself long

enough to say I love you

I would write a thousands poems
by my own hand to declare devotion
but cannot pick up your word long

enough to read love

etched in stone
written in blood
hammered in wood

traced in dust by your finger
as you point away condemnation
resurrect the body of work

you planned just for me

and I die
in your arms
live
in your plan
trace your fingerprint
on my heart

Out of Province Inspection

Here's a silly little bit I wrote while waiting for the last piece of the government puzzle to be completed before I can register our new vehicle in Alberta:



I thought performance sports
cars were icons raised
by big boys who like fast toys.
Until I bought one.

I clutch the keys tight
stomach churns as I approach
ask informed questions of the man
in overalls with wise eyes.

Smiling, he overlooks The Car
and my nerves, assures me with a list of other
high end cars he knows and in the end
I hand the keys, pay the fee.

Shiny red performance
road hugger, limit tester now
reigns in Bay 1, crowned by
the ahs of all

The air compressor whines,
turns lugnuts on polished steel
Exhaust chokes like bad wine
from the next bay

Curse the government, anyone
can see this coiled cat purring
with me in its lap
is no threat to public safety.

Do I wait? Do I go? Do I stay,
watch the undressing
of the new ride that rumbles
in my head while I sleep?

I grab a coffee and a Tums.
Write this poem while I wait.
The phone says the asphalt queen is ready
Stamp the form already.

Let me drive.