____________________________________</center>
<a name="#index">Table of Contents</a>
<a href="#001"> Cussin' Men </a>
<a href="#002"> Choices </a>
<a href="#003"> Weathering Love </a>
<a href="#004"> It Was You </a>
<a href="#005"> MORNING MIRACLE </a>
<a href="#006"> Ronnie's Tribute </a>
<a href="#007"> Reincarnation Revisited </a>
<a href="#008"> First Love </a>
<a href="#009"> Falling in Love, Again </a>
<a href="#010"> She Cries </a>
<a href="#011"> The Battle of the Wolves </a>
<a href="#012"> Love by the Numbers </a>
<a href="#013"> Where is the Romance? </a>
<a href="#014"> The Fall </a>
<a href="#015"> HEADLINES </a>
<a href="#016"> Secrets </a>
<a href="#017"> TIGHTROPE </a>
<a href="#018"> THANK GOD FOR ARETHA! </a>
<a href="#019"> MATTHEW'S SONG </a>
<a href="#020"> When Life Intrudes </a>
<a href="#021"> WAR DEJA VU </a>
<a href="#022"> The Funambulist </a>
<a href="#023"> Cold War </a>
<a href="#024"> We Are Gods </a>
<a href="#025"> My Two and Two </a>
<a href="#026"> Summer's Memory </a>
<a href="#027"> Remembering Dad </a>
<a href="#028"> BUTT OUT! </a>
<a href="#029"> Wonder Bread Years </a>
<a href="#030"> Stalemate </a>
<a href="#031"> Conversation Hearts </a>
<a href="#032"> Splashes of Joy </a>
<a href="#033"> Birth of a Poem </a>
<a href="#034"> Modified Circus Maximus </a>
<a href="#035"> Soulmates </a>
<a href="#036"> They Call Him the Cowboy President </a>
<a href="#037"> Alzheimer's Kiss </a>
<a href="#038"> SMALL JOYS </a>
<a href="#039"> Protect Us </a>
<a href="#040"> Longing </a>
<a href="#041"> All American Face </a>
<a href="#forty two"> Morning Miracle </a>
<a href="#forty three"> Effervesce </a>
<a href="#forty four"> She's Crazy </a>
<a href="#forty five"> Playing God </a>
<a href="#forty six"> Feel it </a>
<a href="#forty seven"> The Dream </a>
<a href="#forty eight"> strawberry </a>
<a href="#forty nine"> Game of Love </a>
<a href="#fifty"> Sand </a>
<a href="#fifty one"> Thank You haiku </a>
<a href="#fifty two"> Heebie-Jeebies </a>
<a href="#fifty three"> Paindrops </a>
<a href="#fifty four"> Ode to a Hag </a>
<a href="#fifty five"> RANTINGS OF A MAD WOMAN </a>
<a href="#fifty six"> God Provides </a>
<a href="#fifty seven"> Alchemy </a>
<a href="#fifty eight"> I'll Take Faith, Size 9, Please… </a>
<a href="#fifty nine"> Closure </a>
<a href="#sixty"> My Love </a>
<a href="#sixty one"> SPF </a>
<a href="#sixty two"> Redemption </a>
<a href="#sixty three"> Earthworm </a>
<a href="#sixty four"> Frenchy's Limerick </a>
<a href="#sixty five"> Five Minutes </a>
<a href="#sixty six"> An Elephant Never Forgets </a>
<a href="#sixty seven"> Cold Comfort </a>
<a href="#sixty eight"> Ode to a Summer Romance </a>
<a href="#sixty nine"> Spring </a>
<a href="#seventy"> Poor Lenore </a>
<a href="#seventy one"> Haikat </a>
<a href="#seventy two"> The Struggle </a>
<a href="#seventy three"> SOUL'S WINDOW </a>
<a href="#seventy four"> Feline Divine </a>
<a href="#seventy five"> Alone </a>
<a href="#seventy six"> Pretense </a>
<a href="#seventy seven"> What if the Devil Worked for God? </a>
<a href="#seventy eight"> Vitality </a>
<a href="#seventy nine"> Storyteller </a>
<a href="#eighty"> Bittersweet </a>
<a href="#eighty one"> My Baby. </a>
<a href="#eighty two"> Self-Survival </a>
<a href="#eighty three"> Kwanzan </a>
<a href="#eighty four"> Listen </a>
<a href="#eighty five"> String of Pearls </a>
<a href="#eighty six"> Orchestration </a>
<a href="#eighty seven"> Easy </a>
<a href="#eighty eight"> Melancholia </a>
<a href="#eighty nine"> Karaoke </a>
<a href="#ninety"> Skinny Dip </a>
<a href="#ninety one"> Respite </a>
<a href="#ninety two"> Wake Up Call </a>
<a href="#ninety three"> Transcendent </a>
<a href="#ninety four"> Addicted </a>
<a href="#ninety five"> Today </a>
<a href="#ninety six"> OK? </a>
<a href="#ninety seven"> Mid Life Crisis </a>
<a href="#ninety eight"> Shape of Love </a>
__________________________________
<a name="#001">Cussin' Men</a>
There we were, a circle of women
Discussing and cussing men.
It happens like that so easily
We one-up each other very readily.
Talking down the men in our lives
Whining like a bunch of old fishwives.
Sharing our nasty little tales of woe
About John, Doug, Steve and Joe.
Left up toilet seats and left out dirty socks,
A lack of romance and not enough talks.
Too much sex the younger women exclaim!
Not enough sex the older ones do claim.
He ignores me, he doesn’t care.
He controls me, or he’s never there.
I admit I get caught up in the flow,
Sharing my own stories, blow by blow
But on this particular day I finally heard
Just what I had been saying, each and every word.
You know, I said to all those gathered,
We need to realize what really matters.
We are each not without our own list of flaws
And we need to each take a moment of pause
And talk about the good instead of the bad
There’s surely happy mixed with the sad.
I, for one, love my husband very dearly.
He has enriched my life most sincerely.
I love his laughter, his warmth, his touch,
The way he gives of himself to others so much
But more than all this he is my soulmate and helpmeet --
And he would be perfect if he could just lower that damned toilet seat!
____________________________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#002">Choices</a>
I had been clicking through my phone’s ID calls
Expecting nothing exciting or grand.
Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
It had been over 20 years since last we spoke.
Now here was his name, bright green in my hand.
My pulse quickened and my knees went weak;
A flush covered my face as I struggled for air.
Was it mere coincidence
That my marriage was in trouble, suffering?
Did he simply call to talk, totally unaware?
All through the night I wrestled with the choice
Feeling excitement, then guilt, then excitement once more.
Should I call? Did I dare?
I was torn, conflicted, terribly unsure,
But I dialed his number, I opened that door.
His voice was the same, it took me back
To college days when young love was the fashion.
But we talked as old friends,
Catching up the years, dancing around each other,
Both afraid to discuss our former passion.
He was on his second marriage, three kids.
I was still married with two girls, two boys
Finally the words I feared were said,
“I’ve often wondered what if …”
I couldn’t reply. The phone filled with background noise.
I stood on the precipice that day
Everything important in my life on the line
Once again I couldn’t breathe
As I searched my heart for the truest response
The only answer that would my life define.
“There’s no sense in wondering what might have been.
While our love is a tender memory for me
I took a vow many years ago
To honor my husband, through good and bad
He is my life, not just now but eternally.”
We all face choices on a daily basis
Often times not appreciating their worth
Until the moment is irretrievably gone
The lesson we must learn is simply
Our choices define us during our passage on earth.
________________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#003">Weathering Love</a>
Driving to work today
I spied a rainbow
Stretching across the morning sky.
Last night’s storm is gone
Leaving behind telltale signs:
Puddles, broken limbs and
Debris-strewn ground.
I thought of you.
Our relationship was a stormy one
Thunderclouds of drama,
Lightening strikes of pain,
Amid the gusty blasts of passion.
And when I had become
Drenched from the storm,
I sought shelter
In a more temperate clime.
My life was strewn
With the debris of loving you,
But I breathed in the freshened air
And basked in the sun’s warmth.
Surviving the tempest of our love
Made me search for the
The peace of a clear day,
And gave me renewed faith
In the weatherman
Who predicts sunny skies
After the storm.
____________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#004">It Was You</a>
We had met before,
You and I.
In a gossamer vision
Part imagination, part dream.
I crafted you
From words and phrases
Hopes and desires.
It was you.
From the innocent pages
Of my girlhood journal,
You were born of my heart
As I wished
For a boy to love me,
Understand me,
Complete me.
It was you.
Like that long ago tome
My youth and its innocence
Are memories faded.
Real life men
Have taught me,
Enticed me,
Disappointed me,
In my search for you.
Meeting you
Was like welcoming
An old friend.
Like coming home.
For you complete me.
You understand me.
You love me.
It was always you.
___________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#005">MORNING MIRACLE </a>
The morning sunlight slips through the blinds,
casting lines of light across his face.
One leg lays sprawled atop the sheets while the
other hides, tucked close to his body.
I watch as he sleeps.
I feel my heart slip into the rhythm of his rising chest.
Slowly I move next to him,
breathing in his sleepy smell,
reveling in his warmth.
He shifts without waking, opening to me.
I lay my head on his shoulder once more
as I have done for uncountable mornings.
And yet I am awed again
at the wonder of this moment.
He turns to his side and pulls me close,
surrounding me with his warmth, his strength.
I close my eyes against the dawn
secure in the safety of his love.
_________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#006">Ronnie's Tribute</a>
My cousin's son died several years ago of meningitis
at the tender age of two. I wrote this as a memorial to little Ronnie.
A tiny body
Packed full of energy
Running through the house
Bouncing on walls
Rolling on the carpet
Leaving smudged
Handprints
And overturned toys
Cries of
Don’t touch, dear,
Oh you mustn’t dear,
Echoed in his wake.
He never slowed
Not for a moment.
Tiny crystals
Sparkling with energy
Adorn the small tree branches
Sending sparks of rainbows
Throughout the house
Bouncing on the walls
Rolling on the carpet
Leaving trails of light
In their wake.
They are his memorial
Singing of the brilliance
Of his short life
We’ll never forget him
Not for a moment.
__________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#007">Reincarnation Revisited</a>
There is sometimes a sense of déjà vu
Or the memory of a dream, hazy blue,
And I am momentarily transported...
Then the glimpse through eternity ends, aborted.
Or while struggling through the mire of pain
From some tragedy of life mundane
A calming presence will surround;
A feathery touch, a sense of peace, love unbound.
While looking into the stranger’s eyes
The awareness of reunion realized.
And though we have not met before
There is instant friendship, immediate rapport.
Are these the signs of life re-lived
Or coincidences, impressions contrived.
Are the answers perhaps to be found
...When we return for another go-around.
________________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#008">First Love</a>
I remember nights of passion
Sweat-soaked bodies
Writhing in youthful torment
Struggling for fulfillment.
And in the aftermath
Laying entwined unknowing
Where one body ended
And another began.
Loving with all the fervor
Of a 19-year-old heart;
With all the innocence,
All the vulnerability.
I remember nights of pain,
Tear-soaked pillows.
Writhing in youthful torment;
Struggling for release.
And in the aftermath
Broken and divided;
Tearing one heart
Back into two.
Longing with all the fervor
Of a 19-year-old heart;
With all the innocence,
All the vulnerability.
I remember first love
Its sweetness and its bitterness
A boy, and the girl who loved him;
Never completely forgotten.
_______________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#009">Falling in Love, Again</a>
I fell in love with you on the day we met.
You made me laugh;
It was just that simple.
I fell in love with you again on our wedding day.
I caught a glimpse of you waiting for me,
And you were smiling.
I fell in love with you when we brought our first baby home.
You cradled him in your arms,
And you were crying.
I fell in love with you again when my father was dying.
You cradled him in your arms,
And you were crying.
I fell in love with you all over again just yesterday.
You were painting the bedroom,
And you smiled up at me.
Through all our years together I have loved you
And fallen in love with you over and over.
It is just that simple.
_________________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#010">She Cries</a>
Do you know that she cries
When your words slap her,
Shrink her with pain?
Do you know that she cries
As you pelt her with anger,
As accusations fall like rain?
Do you know that she cries
As you dredge up the past
Recalling every misdeed?
Do you know that she cries
As you withhold your love
And the affection she needs?
Do you know that she smiles
When she talks of her future,
Of the plans she has made.
Do you know that she laughs
When surrounded by friends
Joking and playing, seemingly unafraid.
Do you know that she loves
Even though you have taught her
That love is a cruel affair.
Do you know that she cries
Trying to understand a mother
And a life that isn’t fair.
Do you know how sad you are
For not listening with your heart
When she begs for your attention.
Do you know how much you lose
By not valuing her soul --
By not seeing her entire dimension.
Do you know how precious a gift
You have been given in her --
A daughter, a friend.
Do you know that she cries?
Can you hear her private tears?
Will you please help it end?
______________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#011">The Battle of the Wolves</a>
Someone sent me a Cherokee tale a while back and
I thought it would make a neat poem -- so here's my
shot at turning it to rhyme. The odd thing is that it fits
what we're facing today quite well -- we all have to
decide which wolf we feed.
Weathered brown skin, eyes black as coal,
The old Cherokee warrior understands his role.
He must share his wisdom, the truths of his life,
With the sons of his sons, the daughters of his wife.
He looks at his grandson, a brave, young and rash
And pulls a tale from his story-telling cache.
“You must learn, my son, of the choices we make.
You must always choose well, understand what is at stake.”
The boy pounds his chest and declares with pride,
“Grandfather, I am no fool, I need no guide.”
“Prideful boy, listen well,” the old man replies,
“Let me tell you of a battle that wages inside.
There are two wolves that live in each of us, son,
And they battle for dominance, to be number one.
One wolf is evil full of anger, envy, sorrow and greed.
With regret, arrogance and self-pity he will mislead.
He has resentment, inferiority and lies
False pride, superiority, and their allies.
But the other wolf is good; he has peace, love, benevolence.
With him kindness and generosity have prevalence.
He is filled with humility, serenity, compassion and truth."
"Do you have any questions now?" the old man asks the youth.
“Which wolf wins, Grandfather, which one will succeed?”
The old Cherokee pauses, then simply says, "The one that I feed."
__________________________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#012">Love by the Numbers</a>
Like the unending circle of the twelve constellations,
Whose movements foretell a story of salvation,
With the devotion of the twelve disciples,
Whose faith became the church’s archetypal,
With the seven warm months’ heat,
Through the seven days’ that make a week,
To the four corners of the earth,
With the four season’s story of rebirth,
With the holiness of the three,
And of the two’s sanctity,
You are the one.
With your love, I am undone.
______________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#013">Where is the Romance? </a>
Where is the romance?
After years of loving, living,
Where is the romance, she asks.
As I pick up his socks,
Pull his hair out of the drain
And perform 100 other daily tasks.
Where is the romance?
He doesn’t send me flowers
Or write lovely poems.
We don’t go dancing
Or dress for dinner out.
I sleep with snoring
Not with romancing.
Where is the romance?
In the quiet moments
Before the start of the day
The answer comes to her:
The romance is in the years
He has been beside her
Loving and living together.
There is the romance.
He can finish her sentences
Because he knows her thoughts.
His poetry is in his laughter.
They dance daily through life
And he’s still beside her
The morning after.
Yes, there is romance.
There won’t be any novels
Telling their sweet, sweaty tales
Or songs written of their passion.
But she can thank her God
Every day for their enduring love
That will never go out of fashion.
It is true romance.
_________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#014">The Fall</a>
Like a fresh, crisp red delicious,
The air invites me to take a bite
As I walk upon the Joseph’s coat of
Leaves strewn across the path.
The summer’s heat has cooled
As the fruits of the laborers’ sweat
Are harvested.
Scarlet tanagers pass overhead
Flying to greener tropical sites far away
As azure butterflies search frantically
For the season’s last drop of nectar.
The golden days are clear, warm.
The black nights, cool, full of stars,
Invite open windows.
Autumn provides reflection
Of the summer’s struggles and rewards.
We dance furiously in dreadful fear
Of the coming winter months.
Hoping we have harvested
Enough to carry us through
The bitter cold ahead.
_________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#015">HEADLINES </a>
Sunny with a high in the Lower 60’s
Was the line at the bottom of the page;
Just another fall day.
Death toll in Bali bombing climbs to 187
Read the headline at the top;
Just another al-Qaida play.
Persuasion via murder is the plan
If you can’t convince ‘em
Kill ‘em,
Then blame it on the United States
Tell the world it’s our pomposity at fault
Reel ‘em.
With frightening speed the bells of war
Are beginning their death toll
Hear them ring.
Terrorists and their foes refuse
To see the irony of it all.
To their sides they cling.
Be careful what you wish for,
The age-old warning pleads,
Who will win?
It’s not worthy to be supreme commander
Of a time when all mourn
What might have been.
Sunny with a high in the lower 60’s
Would be the line at the bottom of the page.
Just another fall day.
Al-Qaida dissolves, new rule in place;
Peace reigns supreme.
For this I pray.
__________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#016">Secrets</a>
What secrets do the stars contain?
What messages veiled from the profane?
Do the celestial dramas played out above
Contain the mysteries of life and love?
What secrets do the oceans conceal
Buried ‘neath the waters’ seal?
Does Atlantis hide in this abyss
Long awaiting her awakening kiss?
What secrets hide in the Stonehenge ring?
Of what did long-dead Druids sing?
Is it the gateway to the realms
By whose mysteries mortal man is overwhelmed?
What secrets does man’s soul obscure,
Waiting for his endeavors to procure?
Is there resurrection ahead
When his shell he does shed?
____________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#017">TIGHTROPE </a>
Momma didn’t tell me
How to balance on the tightrope of marriage.
Leaning one way, then another,
Struggling to stay on course,
An acrobat on the centerline.
Most of my life I have fallen
In and out of love with you.
Suddenly I am up here
Without a net
Wondering if I’ll survive.
Or if we’ll survive.
I reach for you
And only touch air.
I am solitary on this
Precarious wire.
I am afraid.
And lonely.
Will you
catch me?
________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#018">THANK GOD FOR ARETHA! </a>
I know you’ve seen me driving --
I’m the redhead in the little Mustang
Singing her heart out under
That white convertible top.
I used to worry others
Would think I was crazy
Talking to myself at the stoplight.
But as Rhett Butler once said,
Frankly, I don’t give a damn.
I’m singing.
Loudly.
Freely.
And it feels good.
It’s how I let go of the day
Reconnect with myself
Lift my spirits.
So, if you see a crazy redhead
Talking to herself
Behind the wheel,
Roll down your window.
We’ll do a duet.
Hell, we’ll do a whole damn choir --
And we’ll all feel better.
Who needs a psychiatrist
When God gave us Aretha!
________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#019">MATTHEW'S SONG </a>
Tiny hands hide tiny surprises:
A squashed flower
A sticky lifesaver
A downy feather.
His smile holds even more:
A sweet soul
Filled with orneriness
And amazing compassion.
Precious curls crown
His little head
Atop a tiny, sturdy body.
This is Matthew
Grandson extraordinaire
He has taught us much
About the wonders
And about the cruelties
People can inspire.
He fills our hearts
And empties our bank account.
Handprints on the mirror,
Scribbles on the wall,
Blocks left on the stair,
Sloppy, wet kisses
Worth more than gold.
This is Matthew
Grandson extraordinaire
Mixed heritage:
German, Scottish, Norwegian
On his mother’s side,
African American
On his father’s side,
But 100% boy.
Pockets of rocks and cars,
Milk moustaches
And dirty fingernails.
Tumbling, sing song words
In his two-year old jargon.
This is Matthew
Grandson extraordinaire
Words alone cannot
Express the feelings
Of love, joy, amazement,
Coupled with exasperation
And exhaustion,
He brings to our lives.
No room for prejudice
In hearts filled
By this childlike sprite.
He raises the bar;
We must soar with him.
This is Matthew
Grandson extraordinaire
_______________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#020">When Life Intrudes</a>
The atrocities of the mundane
Threaten our balance.
We allow ourselves to fall victim
To their torturous weight.
You question the ability
Of love to sustain us
Under the overload
Of life’s continuing debate.
Fear of losing us
Overwhelms my senses,
Sends me reeling, falling, slipping
Into a catatonic state.
You also turn inward
Trying to find meaning,
Searching for anything
To wipe clean the slate.
At last we cry together
Finding our way back
To the beginning --
To the love we create.
The joining of flesh,
Merely symbolic,
Of the true reunion
Of a soul and her mate.
___________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#021">WAR DEJA VU </a>
Economy is in a mess.
Families face financial stress.
Businesses are collapsing.
Paychecks are lapsing.
Unemployment on the rise.
Media tends to sensationalize.
Rumors of war surround us.
Like pawns in a game of chess.
We face an evil empire expanding
As we search for understanding.
Acts of horror across the seas.
Do we listen to the victim’s pleas?
A president who hungers for battle.
The people feeling led like cattle.
Screaming we will not over-react!
And then … Pearl Harbor attacked.
__________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#022">The Funambulist</a>
Momma didn’t tell me how to balance on this tightrope of marriage.
Her homilies and recipes provided no survivor’s guide
For this struggle for equilibrium.
In a relationship often overwhelmed by the mundane,
My greatest fear is falling victim to the lions of indifference,
Waiting below in their cages of ironclad failure.
I masquerade in glittering costume, stage face aglow;
Inside I am trapped in a sideshow of confusion that offers no escape.
And while the calliope plays and the hucksters peddle their goods,
You, the ringmaster, stand silently to the side.
The crowd watches me, lusting for a misstep,
To make their own sadness pale in the spotlight of comparison.
Surrounded, I am alone in this circus. I reach for you – and only grasp air.
No net awaits. I want this rope dance to end.
Will you catch me?
___________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#023">Cold War</a>
We pass silently in the hall
Like strangers in a hotel corridor.
The exploding quiet beats against the walls,
Sending ghostly echoes through a house
That is no longer a safety zone.
An accidental touch --
We hasten to murmur apologies,
And quickly retreat to our
Respective corners.
I signed on as a lifer in this marital campaign,
Yet I have tired of the cold war.
The wounds are deep and need care.
There is no pride in the badges I have earned
Through the years' battles.
I miss you, but I cannot find the bridge to us.
I await in my bunker
For the dropping of
The final
Bomb.
______________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#024">We Are Gods</a>
The life quest to fulfill the charted plan
Leaves questions for the average man.
The purpose, the reason, the goal
For a journey undertaken by each soul
Oft takes a lifetime to understand
With guidance from an unseen hand.
Dogma or doctrine offer small relief
For a life spent enduring human grief,
But the answers that books cannot impart
Are born in the depths of each man’s heart.
Each of us contains that spark of divinity
A piece of the all-encompassing infinity.
Underneath the limited human facades
Shines the truth of “Ye are gods.”
Though the journey may seem mundane
And filled with questions arcane,
Man emanates from the great light above
The God and Goddess of unbounded love.
______________________________
<a href="#index">Return to Table of Contents
</a><a name="#025">My Two and Two</a>
Nearly grown, my two and two,
Have added gray hairs and laugh lines
To the roadmap of my visage.
Two sons, two daughters,
Four lives striving for their own paths,
Diverging from mine,
Returning, intersecting,
Sometimes running parallel,
Sometimes, perpendicular.
Sometimes, completely out of view,
But never driven out of my heart.
Oft I have ached to carry one
Over an especially rocky road.
I have danced with another
Down a corridor of joy and happiness,
And watched proudly as one
Returned from a divergent trail,
Character and soul intact.
I have wept and I have shouted halleluiah
With them as my fellow travelers.
My life's journey would not
Have been complete were it not
For my two and two.
______________________
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</a><a name="#026">Summer's Memory</a>
She inhales the sweet, green scent of crushed grass
While he tenderly eases her onto the meadow’s floor.
Her head is awash with emotions, colors and smells
As he looks into her eyes,
Cupping her chin in his calloused hand.
The warm sun glowing in the morning’s azure sky,
Among soft, pearl-touched clouds,
Disappears from view as his lips touch hers.
The taste of his mouth is like mead for her soul.
His scent, a mixture of sweat and musk,
Intoxicates her further.
Crickets chirping their recurring chorus,
And the trill of the meadowlark’s melody,
Are replaced by the musical sound of
Her sighs of bliss as their bodies join.
The summer sun cannot match the heat
Their consummation creates.
Later, as they lay side by side on the dewy ground,
Cooling their bodies and their passions,
She knows she must tuck this memory inside
For comfort in the cold of a winter’s day.
_____________________________
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</a><a name="#027">Remembering Dad</a>
The memory begins with a scent,
Spicy, woodsy fragrance of his cologne,
A sense of warmth and safety follows,
Recalling the generosity of his affection.
National Geographics and crossword puzzles,
Books and newspapers,
A cup full of rubber bands and golf tees,
Sitting beside his oversized chair,
Are bits of treasured reminiscences.
I remember with trepidation
The stern looks for misbehavior;
I remember with delight
The crossed-eyes as he mugged
For the camera, or simply for a laugh.
I remember that for a large man
He danced nimbly, gracefully,
Turning mother, the love of his life,
Into Ginger Rogers right before my eyes.
Holiday dinners were his speciality;
Aromas of delicious dishes and delicacies
Were welcome precursors to his table’s delights.
As a veteran, his love of country was strong
His sense of honor stronger still.
There were history lessons
And morality lessons,
And not a math problem he could not solve.
He was decent and humble
Caring and giving
He was my father.
His memory still floods my senses
As his love still fills my heart.
______________________
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</a><a name="#028">BUTT OUT! </a>
Waiting at the intersection for the changing
Of the long red to the short green
I glanced out my window, enjoying the day
Taking in the winter roadside scene …
But I was bewildered, taken aback …
Before my eyes … the ground was covered in white
A long line running along the access road,
Wide and deep, up the street, out of site …
Ah, but it was not snow gracing the ground
On this winter’s day -- it was your butts!
If you want the freedom of smoking
You can’t be a total putz!
Take responsibility and get in shape!
Your cigarette butts don’t belong
Littering my smoke free landscape.
_________________________
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</a><a name="#029">Wonder Bread Years</a>
Guess you could say my upbringing
Was a little on the Wonder Bread
Side of white.
White family, white neighbors, white school.
We had a maid, and a yardman named Jessie,
Who added a dimension of color
To my world --
But colorless was basically the rule.
I thought gay meant happy
And that the two retired schoolteachers
Down the street,
Were just very, very good friends.
I had a difficult time understanding
The reason folks talked so badly of
Mr. Stein
When he drove by in his Mercedes Benz.
“He’s a Jew,” I heard people whisper
On his way to the bank downtown.
I smiled,
Because Jesus was also a Jew, I had learned.
And Mr. O’Reilly, father of nine kids,
Who owned the little grocery store on the corner,
Gave gumballs
When you brought your pop bottles in for return.
I thought he was right nice,
A generous soul, full of smiles and laughter,
But Mrs. Miller from church,
With a frown, always said he was a “damned papist …”
Looking back I know I was confused for
These wonderful people were always kind to me
Yet were treated
Like scalawags, thugs and rapists.
My children’s lives are not Wonder Bread white
But truly wondrous in experience -- Thank God!
Their world
Is filled with many colors, shades and hues.
People of all backgrounds, different faiths,
Equally their friends and confidantes.
We all grow --
Hopefully still expanding our views.
____________________________
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</a><a name="#030">Stalemate</a>
If we had known of the attack on Pearl Harbor
Days before it began
Would we have been wrong to pre-empt against
The country of Japan?
Would 2,403 lives have enough value to save?
Or would you have consigned them each to a grave?
If we had known of the World Trade Center’s fall
Days before it was doomed,
Would a pre-attack on Afghanistan have been
Too much to presume?
Would 2,792 lives have enough value to save?
Or would you have consigned them each to a grave?
The senator on the TV said he would not stand
For a pre-emptive strike against Iraq.
A war in any form, measure or shape
He would firmly block.
When asked what would make his
Mind-set crack,
He calmly answered, “Saddam
Must be the first to attack.”
So we’re back at square one
Trying to decide the fate
Who lives, who dies,
In this global chess game stalemate.
_____________________________
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</a><a name="#031">Conversation Hearts</a>
A Valentine gift,
The tiny pastel hearts
Spilled from the bag,
Covering the kitchen table
With confectionary conversations of love:
“Hug Me”
“U R 4 Me”
“Lover Boy”
“Sweetheart”
We have shared many tiny
Conversations of love.
Linked together
They create a lifetime of
Loving gestures;
A habit of kindness
And respect;
A home filled
With harmony.
They are the sugar-coated minutia
That form the building blocks
Of an enduring relationship.
Hearts freely given --
Everyday.
________________
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</a><a name="#032">Splashes of Joy</a>
In quiet contemplation
At the edge of the lake
Sits the boy.
Tousled, tow head,
Atop a sun browned body.
Dirty, bare feet
Below scabby knees.
Blue eyes filled with
Joy as they view
The beauty of nature
Surrounding him.
He selects the flat stone
From the shore of shale,
Admiring the smoothness
Of its texture.
A sideways toss
And it bounces across
The rippling water
Drawing ever widening
Circles on the surface.
With a final splash
The stone
Sinks.
In quiet contemplation
The man approaches
The lake of his youth.
The gray at his temples,
The circles under eyes,
Belie the spark of
Innocence burning
Within his heart.
He selects a flat stone
Gracefully tossing it
Across the rippling water.
Like the stone, his life
Has skipped out to others.
His inner peace has
Spread in ever-widening circles.
His love has splashed
Into hearts of all
He has touched.
His choice,
To share the joy,
Has enriched him.
And as his life
Reaches the final skip
He will rise ...
Rejoicing.
___________________
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</a><a name="#033">Birth of a Poem</a>
In the stillness of the velvet dark
A thought slides silently, softly,
Embedding itself in the
Gentle pink walls of the mind.
Expanding, initially insignificantly,
Then, gaining momentum,
It turns, evolves, spins,
Gaining substance,
Feeding on experience,
Until the translucent thought
Incarnates
Into a poem.
______________________
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</a><a name="#034">Modified Circus Maximus</a>
The air is heavy with anticipation
And the smell of grease and oil,
As the crowd waits anxiously
For the battle to begin.
The preliminary ceremonies
Are nearly missed in the
Cacophony of voices raised
In support of each fan’s
Favorite warrior.
The watchers proudly wear
The colorful insignia
Proving their loyalty,
Daring others to speak ill
Of their particular hero.
Divisions are forgotten briefly
As voices unite in the anthem
Reverberating through the arena.
Silence follows as all eyes
Focus on the flagman
With the Caesar-like power contained
In his choice of colored standard.
He finally waves the emerald
And the thunderous roar
Of engines begins.
The onlookers arise as one from their seats
To cheer the drivers onward
Round and round and round.
Dirt and mud fly through the air
Sprinkling those closest to the course
Where the battle filth is worn
As a badge of honor.
A misjudged turn and the din
Of the crowd briefly overpowers
The sound of the racing engines,
Excitement soars as the first
Driver is eliminated from the contest.
Other drivers begin to fall to the side
As they prove their inability to compete;
The resulting herd members still battling
To be the leader of the pack.
One final turn and again the crowd
Rises, screaming, waving,
As the winning car rolls under
The fluttering checkered flag.
Pats on the back, handshakes
Praise for the conqueror.
A pretty girl with a golden trophy
For the fair-haired boy.
Just another Saturday night at the dirt track.
_______________________________
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</a><a name="#035">Soulmates</a>
Lost in the jade and gold lights
Of his eyes,
Seeking no rescue,
Desiring only to drown
In the warmth of
his gaze.
Intoxicated by the touch
Of her hand, her lips,
Falling to depths unknown,
Unraveled,
Lost in sensation
Only to rise, to soar,
Mended by her love.
Merged, two souls
Singing in harmonic
Balance,
Traveling spheres
Of consciousness,
Seeking lifetimes
To share …
Again.
_______________________
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</a><a name="#036">They Call Him the Cowboy President</a>
With similar smirks and arrogant airs
The wealthy Hollywood actor
And the fair-weather ally from overseas
Spit their opinions of the man they despise.
“Stupid, war-monger, saber-rattling fool”
They shout into the proffered mics
(Any press is good press, they feel)
Expressing their hatred, sans disguise.
I laugh each time I hear the phrase,
Spoken in that same deriding fashion,
As if it were a shameful moniker --
“The cowboy president …”
I’ll take no sides on this issue of impending war,
No political statement or plea,
But I’ll wager that simple phrase causes smiles
As GW sits in his White House residence.
The actor and the ally have no clue
(In so many areas -- but I digress!)
What a wonderful attribute they grant
To the man they so mistrust --
For a cowboy is a man among men.
With a work ethic unequaled
He is formed of true grit and determination,
Filled with honor for ideals that are just.
He loves the land and understands its value
Respecting the strength of Mother Nature,
He is at times a scientist, economist,
Meteorologist, builder, repairman, healer.
He treasures his friends and neighbors,
Honors his creator with prayer and praise,
Treats women and children with regard,
Casts a wary eye to the city’s wheeler dealers.
My grandfather, one of Oklahoma’s first pioneers,
Did his time on horseback, riding the range,
Tall hat on his head, dusty boots below,
A cowboy in true definition.
He was honorable and true, his word, his bond.
A helping hand for neighbors, the shirt off his back,
Loyal husband and father, salt of the earth,
A cowboy following all tradition.
Today’s cowboys still ride tall in the saddle --
Strong, yet polite, savy, yet kind,
Iron willed, tough as the leather they wear,
Proud of the heritage they carry.
So call the president any name you choose --
But if you wish to degrade him
Choose something other than “Cowboy,” you fools,
‘Cause what you say, to what you mean, is contrary!
______________________________________
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</a><a name="#037">Alzheimer's Kiss</a>
Yesterday my mother kissed me.
Her soft, dry lips
Pressed against my cheek tenderly.
I couldn’t recall her last kiss.
I must have been
A child, aged maybe five or six.
She’s now the child who needs care.
Sitting alone
In that nursing home’s big green chair.
From a strong family matriarch
She’s fallen to
Alzheimer’s, a mind in the dark.
And amid all her confusion
I hope she knew
It was me, not some illusion,
Who helped her walk, who held her hand,
Who listened while
She struggled so to understand.
Yesterday my mother kissed me.
I think she knew
The person she was kissing was me.
Leysa Robertson
8/1/2002
__________________________
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</a><a name="#038">SMALL JOYS </a>
Among soft scents of daffodils
and tulips, he sits,
legs sprawled across the concrete.
His curly head bobs
side to side, while little hands
clap in cheerful cadence.
Laughter tinkles,
a highlight to the birdsong
that glides from the boxwood hedge.
Intent on his small treasure,
the boy fails to notice the robin
who waits with greedy anticipation.
Even the fat tabby’s tease
and fuzzy leg rub
cannot tempt desertion of the prize.
Mom’s oatmeal cookie, his favorite,
gained through insistent pleas,
sits in forgotten crumbles on the step.
The boy giggles again
as the earthworm wiggles
at the touch of his tiny finger.
__________________________
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</a><a name="#039">Protect Us</a>
I remember the child
Dancing in piles of fallen leaves --
Red, gold and brown partners
Swirling around her feet.
The barking dog joining her
As she laughs, simply
For the joy of a warm, fall day.
Her parents, tucked away inside,
Coldly, quietly, watching the screen
For news from the Cuban shore.
The woman’s heart overflows
Understanding how the parents
Protected her, kept her free to laugh,
To dance among the leaves,
While they endured the fear,
Carried the weight,
Of impending catastrophe.
She makes her entreaty,
Echoing her parents’ prayer:
“Protect us, Lord.”
________________________
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</a><a name="#040">Longing</a>
Splayed across the ravaged hills and valleys
of a tormented bed,
Solitary in the night’s still hours,
I lay in fear of the advancing army of thought.
Unable to maintain the day’s protection,
Built laboriously, layer upon layer,
Or to hide in the trenches of false bravado,
I tremble in anticipation
Of the inevitable forward march.
A reach for the bedside lamp
Brings meager illumination of
Ego’s fleeting shadows.
The quilt lovingly sewn of childhood’s garments
Offers small comfort
Against the battle of voices
Raging in my head.
The volume increases incrementally
Until I am forced to hear,
I am forced to listen,
To their shouts of self-doubt.
Fear overtakes me,
A full scale attack,
As I pull the coverlet over my head
Praying for the light of dawn.
You used to keep me safe.
_________________________
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</a><a name="#041">All American Face</a>
What is the all-American face?
Some say it’s white --
Others argue it should be
The face of a Native American --
Others say it’s the faces of
Their children, sweet and innocent,
Or the svelte model
On the cover of the sports magazine --
Or maybe the smiling basketball star --
Or Norman Rockwell’s subject
In a Sunday-go-to-meeting suit.
I saw the all-American face today.
It was worn by a soldier
Dressed in desert camouflage.
He/she was white/black/brown
He/she was smiling
Waving at the camera
Telling his/her spouse/mother/child
“I love you!”
“I’m OK!”
It was a beautiful face
An all-American face.
_____________________
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