Happy Camper

Driving Miss  Berry to Connecticut--

I started my Christmas quest

driving east to arrive west

battling memories and the rest.

Was I was creating a Christmas test?

While shopping for winter wear

I saw smiles everywhere

in the cutest of village squares.

I found some Christmas there.

So, I sought more holiday energy--

two cathedrals full of light and liturgy

full of verses re the trilogy

but no carols, no Christmas reverie.

But I was saved by comfort food

and sharing the festive mood

with memories reviewed

and old friendships renewed.

There was a suitable chill in the air--

nonetheless, Berry panted unaware;

only bits of snow showed everywhere.

I did not care: we survived my Christmas dare.

Last night I saw a searchlight 

 

Last night I saw a searchlight

Sweeping across the dark sky

I don’t know why it made me cry

Loco Motive

Cell Phone

November 2010

HAIKU

HAIKU   3 – 2 – 3

It was good.

It’s ended--

what a waste!

HAIKU   5 – 7 – 5

being whole being,

3 years spent in the effort--

so not worth it

climbing many hills

looking for the trail markers--

instead of the trail

Winter white and cold

Spring and summer, warm and green--

Fall blows all away

Misunderstanding

or escape, either way: rude--

I know what is true.

Synonyms: abrupt,

bad-mannered and insulting.

Antonym: polite.

Furry little beast

Furry little beast

You are so funny!

What are you thinking?

Tummy up, paws extended

afloat between asleep and awake--

Are you dreaming about

a rustling breeze tickling your fur?

Supine on the bed

legs outstretched, jaws apart--

Are you greeting the day ahead

your enduring hope to be fed?

So relaxed, so languid, so tranquil;

one well-rested puppy--

Furry little beast,

what are you thinking?

Midtown Demolition Clinton Avenue

Warner Lofts & the Eastman House, October  21

FuturPointe

Walking home from the dance performance, the sky, a deep, deep blue black is heartbreakingly beautiful with black crows rustling out of the trees and streaking across the sky. There were song titles on the wall in the theater listing favorites from the past.  No need for me to add one.  Mine was already there.  Cat Stevens, Morning Has Broken—it’s actually a Presbyterian hymn.  Disappointing not to add mine.  Sort of like not lighting a candle in a catholic church because they have all already been lit.  Am I there at the wrong time?  Sort of like majoring in art--the wrong time to do that by about 200 years and a continent.

And the walk home—I will stick to the well-lit sidewalks on major streets because my daughter wants me to.  However, I am drawn to the alleys and shortcuts.  They are so mysterious and appealing.  Oh well.

The air is brisk.  There is a 10-foot snowman in Washington Square Park and we have not had a snowfall.  Zero, nada, but there he is—complete with a carrot nose, stick-arms and charcoal for  eyes.  I imagine asking the box office person at the theater,  “Why is there a snowman in Washington Square Park?”  And she will say,  “What snowman?  I don’t know.”  It is less than 75 feet from the front door of her theater and she will look at me as if to say,  "Are you picking up a ticket or not?"   So, I did not ask about the snowman.  The dance performance was abfab.  I want to take everyone I know back to see it.

I am home safe.  Coming down from two pumpkin martinis at $10 a pop.  A perfect Friday evening.

On the balcony

On the balcony

On the balcony
surrounded by warm, breezy air
I snoozed in my private lair.


On the balcony
I can hear the pool music & the traffic
and the whispery action.


With the stupidest book ever
I keep a lazy, watchful eye on the other guests,
while I pretend to rest.


High over all & halfway to the sky
yet halfway to earth,
I watch the comings & goings.


On my balcony
I am invisible...
I am a spy.

Hilton Beach Resort, Ft. Lauderdale

I looked for someone today…

2

I looked for someone today

I looked for someone today--

someone like me.

Sitting by the pool,

shaded by the palm trees

and surrounded by sea

I was on the lookout for me’s.

I saw some me’s:

much younger me’s

chatting desultorily

with boyfriends and girlfriends

in the water.

I saw some other

younger me’s--

playing with their daughters

in the pool.

Out on the beach I saw

empty nester me’s—

walking hand in hand

on the sand.

I even saw

some older me’s—

the men smoothing sun screen

on the me’s backs

But I saw no alone me’s.

I was the only alone me--

that I could see by the sea,

that I could see by the sea.

(Addendum:  Sunday, 10/10/10 Two me girlfriends

sit before me.  Sunglasses and manicured nails and

lightly dyed hair. I think they are Canadians.)

The birds are outnumbered here

1
The birds are outnumbered here

The birds are outnumbered here.
They do the best the can.

They snatch the nibblets
left behind on the grass
under the picnic tables.

They gather the remains
of McDonald leftovers
left over on the curbs.

They make their little nests
from the litter
in parking lots.

But there is more
than they can recycle,
more trash, more scraps.

A daily tidal wave of debris
discarded by the disparaged--
A deplorable circle.

The birds can’t hand it all, and…
we are outnumbered by the careless.

Beyond I can see

2
Beyond, I can see

The birds are outnumbered here.
They do the best the can.

They snatch the nibblets
left behind on the grass
under the picnic tables.

Grocery bags
are snagged by fences
or flutter in the trees

Lunch and dinner
leftovers are left over
on the curbs.

But I can see sunflowers
in the garden
across the street.

And I can see the river
twinkling day or night
in the sun or street light.

Beyond, I can see
the skyline in the sunsets
and trains moving east and west.

I gave mom a bite of cookie

I gave mom a bite of cookie.
It was an immediate disaster.
How many places can a cookie go besides the mouth?
Ask my mother. No, ask me.

As she guided it to her lips,
the precious tidbit
was crushed too tight. Faster than the speed of light,
crumbs fell upon her blouse. And pants.

And, I spied upon that shirt
dusted with crumbs,
one chocolated escapee glaring back at me.
And, on the floor, there was more.

She wiped her mouth with the
compacted remains of a tissue.
Much too small to do the job, yet undaunted, and voila:
Chocolate Chip Lipstick.

Ah, and on those fumbling fingers
in cahoots with cookie demise
uncaring and unaware, more chip smears appear.
Cookie and mom conspire against me.

And what I want to know is:
did any cookie arrive at the destination?

Nude descending a staircase
(or I love hot tub jets)

Nude wearing an aqua marine swimsuit descending a staircase
Down, down, down into the turbulent waters of heat, heat, heat
For shame Duchamp—your nude is nothing like mine.
Yours is all broken angles, mine is all soft and complete.

My nude sinks smoothly even gracefully into the depths
A veritable leviathan of lightness and being.
Jet trails above chalking the blue blue blue sky
Eyes turning upward, breath escaping, steam rising.

For shame Duchamp, your nude of fractured disks and boxy planes
Is pummeled by the stormy steam jets below, ouchy upon ouchy
Destroyed by the froth and noise of water, color and freedom
I see mares tails and jet trails above, my nude is caressed and kissed.

I woke up this morning with a clothespin in my bed

I woke up this morning
with a clothespin in my bed.
The sun was more or less up,
But I rolled over away from the light.

I stretched my legs across the mattress
seeking comfort, but my toe discovered something
tucked beneath the bottom sheet.
A clothespin.

How could this be?
Hadn’t I dried these sheets in a dryer,
not on a line?

It was nice having a clothespin from fresh clean sheets
in bed with me.

***

And when I pulled the bed apart for the night,
There was a TV remote.
How can this be?

The forsythia

The forsythia




The forsythia has busted out today
bushy spots of yellow
overnight, left and right.

A harbinger of spring

An army of tiny, yellow trumpets
shout out about the worn out
winter landscape

Heralding winter’s end

I remember wild bundles of forsythia
along the driveway
welcoming us home

With a wave of golden flowers

I remember planting forsythia
Along another driveway
Saying goodbye

With a heart full of hope

She reached for me today

She reached for me today

She reached for me today.
The soft black curls
The chubby cheeks
The sober eyes.
She paused, and
stretched her little hands for me.

Into my arms
she fell.
Soft and tubby,
Round and snugly,
Curls brushing my chin
All safely tucked in.

Alert from day one.
She has watched
So intensely.
Little observer
She gazed, and
Kept her secrets to herself.

Today I passed the bar
Met the test
And measured up
I was accepted.
Her little self
Reached out for me today.

I had a stange dream last night...

I had a strange dream last night.

We were touring or visiting or vacationing or something. T_____ was our scout. And there was a small child with us. It all seemed perfectly logical. But suddenly T_____ thought the child was in danger. I talked to a person in a bus kiosk. Her accented English was difficult to understand. We were on a busy street in someplace like Haiti or Mexico or Costa Rica. I came back and you were holding hour head in your hands and I thought, oh no it’s been so noisy, he is miserable. You were in a chair that had cage-like sides and back. I could not put my arms around you. You were not worried about the noise, but you said that you were confused.

You were confused and I rose to wakefulness.

I have a secret cell phone

I have a secret cell phone
No pics, no ring, no tone.
It only works one way--
And not very well at that.

No matter, no one calls back.

I have a secret cell phone.
I send you messages with it.
Updates of things you missed--
Things you would have known

Had you been here to share them.

I have a secret cell phone
I don’t text or call
I think you thoughts
Stuff I would have told you

Had you been here to hear.

I have a secret cell phone.

I make all the calls in my head;
You never liked talking on the phone anyway.