She spoke without preface,
as if sh knew him:
each sentence a non-sequitar
even to itself; no beginning
no end, no predicate
to bend into an open heart.
Askew to his position,
she formed a fulcrum
with no place to stand
like surf far out to sea
crashing against itself.
Until in a froth of inaction,
he drowned, swallowing his words,
as if they mattered.
(August 21, 2019)
from “Rendition of Change,” a work in progress
The old tortoise-shell cat slips
cautiously through the grass
as the storm approaches.
This-too-shall-pass provides
small comfort in the moment’s
chaos and fear. Lightning strikes
often and nearby. As rain
starts to fall, the cat watches,
motionless, from the stair.
(July 3, 2019)
from “Rendition of Change” a work in progress
A juggler balances plates
to thunderous applause;
he smiles, and they all fall.
(July 2, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
At nine I wrote a poem
to a girl in my class — a love poem.
Today fifty years later,
I still write poetry.
Like a small bird flits
between branches, poetry
and love intertwine through
my life giving shape and succor
to even the quietest moment.
(June 30, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
somewhere, nearby
vague, yet pervasive,
like these whispers
which define all
as some other than me,
some other voice–
always here
not just an echo
of myself
(June 24, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
Random borders set blurred forms
to contain apportioned bits
of chaos. He accepts these
chains, like religion, to free
himself from the infinite.
(June 10, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
Without god to save us,
a breeze slips through
the sycamore’s leaves
slightly sifting the heat away
from the shade beneath.
We must find ourselves
within ourselves, or perish.
Light dapples the grass between us
like butterflies over flowers.
(June 7, 2019)
