empty vagrant shout
like secondhand beans spilling out
pebbles on the flies
dubious disguise
crumpled leg shadows
on deserted dusty walls
on a sidewalk window display
on a child’s broken doll
to what fate entice her here
to cornered streets
to stinking fear
useless years
upon her breath
city sounds
play out the death
of the mendicant she was
waiting once to borrow
a fraction of today
by a bare thread of tomorrow
Silver Lining
While sorrows mount
and trials reign,
a silver lining
yet remains.
Melancholy Murmer (Madness)
In the dark of the night a child screams,
a wisp of cloud drifts on.
Mothers and others with faces so pale,
tributes to days long gone.
Clown
No one really knows
that I am here.
They only know
that they are there.
I am a clown,
a puppet without strings.
My imaginary movements
are so clumsy.
I’m a bird
without its wings.
No one sees me
when I smile,
but they applaud
when I fall down.
I taste my salty tears
as I pick myself
up off the ground.
I sometimes feel so alone.
I cannot bear the pain.
I’m dancing only
for my peers,
to see their smiles
and hear their cheers.
And I will never know
that I am here,
while they will always know
that they are there.
Oh, Texas, My Texas
Oh Texas, my Texas,
I loved you while young,
when the songs of my youth
were still fresh on your tongue.
Morning Song
Morning things
Suck my breath
In the snap of cool, shallow waters
Hummingbees bumble
In bright striped jackets.
Squirrels chip fat nuts
In puffy cheek baskets.
Sunbirds’ electric wings cross
Tripling waves of heat, sweating.
Children’s freckled, dimple-smeared faces
Grow pockets of wrinkles on the next block.
Blueboard skies
With pillows of chalk
Blend with thin blades of grass.
Inhale the
Rich and earthen moisture
As I pass.
The shadows have not yet grown long.
Sing to me my morning song.
What is a Mother?
A child’s hand stroking
a soft peach-fuzzy cheek.
Nurturing, gentle, sacrificial,
life-giver, life-bearer,
adventurous, story-teller.
Made in the image of God.
Made in the image of Eve.
Her Creator she will laud.
His hands artfully weave.
A weaker vessel to declare,
inside of her a life to bear.
Outside of her a life to care.
Bluebirds of Happiness
On a January-meadow-day,
flew swatches of cobalt blue.
Caught me by surprise!
Caught me by delight!
Brought me sunshine-smiling
in their January flight.
Cedar breasts perched
on the nut brown bark.
Bluebirds painting color
against the winter stark.
Oh, joy in my Creator!
Oh, joy in His Creation!
The Fall
Swirling new patterns
on my carpet.
I can tell
from where I fell.
Should have looked up.
Instead looked down.
Now my face is on the ground.
Wondering which device this time.
A sling, a crutch, a brace,
a bandage for my face.
Next time I’ll watch my step.
The time after that, as well.
How many times will it take?
Only time will tell.
From the last time that I fell.
If
If I were an angel
I’d sleep on a cloud
And kiss the moon goodnight.
The Scenic Route 