As Memory Would Have It

was 

she 

ever 

sweet

tongued

soul full

beloved 

her shy 

secret 

lids 

kissed 

words 

inadequate 

for the 

sighted 

lines of 

herness  

somatic 

cues

echoes

like necklaces 

tangled 

Fly Casting

the current seam

words that lure  

the strongest swimmer 
couldn't fight it

a perfected delivery 
nets so many 

of all those 
caught and released

I recognize the cast, still

For Now

she saves 

words 

her weakness

for impermanence

tenuous 

fragile as 

morning webs 

Rope

some 

days

throat 

constricts 

tied to 

the vile 

burden 

of cell 

memory 

masses 

circle jerk 

to a fallacy 

a spiritual 

non-crisis 

her life - 

irrelevant

the few 

empathize

their 

compassion 

eats rope 

like fire 

Paying Attention

My mother asks questions 

she doesn't want answers for 

are you still writing 

what are they doing 

when did that happen 

I finally learned, having spent
a lifetime listening to them

it's not recent behavior 

Her questions a prompt 

for me to ask about her 

Her short, sad answers 

laden with the pull of 

a boat, untethered

rope wrapped 

around my ankles, 

pulling me from shore 

I've learned to stand 

higher up the shore, 

away from the 

last tide's debris 

strewn in the 

damp sand 

between us

Lay Some Sugar On Me

Serve up some flattery

just a pinch will do

words delectable morsels

one more never enough

receptors lie in wait

their long fingers reaching

jonesing for syllables

manna for the love-starved

our ritual dance 

sugarcoated

a quick hit of deliverance

dissolves too quickly 

an insecure hunger

ever insatiable need

lay some sugar on me

I need another fix

You Forgot to Say Goodbye

Found Poem from “Wishing (If I Had a Photograph of You)" by Flock of Seagulls

(For Vernon, RIP 11.11.83)

on Fridays we cut through the afternoon 
like a beam shot from your ray-gun scooter
brighter than the Kansas summer sky
dry, dusty gray as old paper
stuck to the drawer back  

you'd twist to shout
I'd laugh, lean into you 
swerving for the third time 
buzzed on near-beers

headed towards big evenings
of cheap pitchers, running 
up stairs, over others to 
the dance floor or next town 
six miles up the two-lane 

you never didn't make me laugh; 
a quirky face half-smiling, 
my sides ached from
your rapid-fire wit

you, the misfit among boys 
in tooled cowboy leather belts
and a one-syllable way of talking 

humorless and hopeless,
they never didn't make me yawn;
you grew up there, but didn't belong 
I grew up everywhere and didn't either 

yours was the hand 
I reached for - in the bar, 
on the street, down the hall 

If you'd reached for me 
before you left, I'd have
tried to make you safe 

the way I felt behind you, 
racing through our galaxy 

If I had a photograph of you
It's something to remind me
I wouldn't spend my life just wishing

Time (in the style of e.e.cummings)

Another poetry prompt from my group. I love e.e.cummings.

in the hours 

(around 1)

between plenty 

& time's up! 

if I do 

no thing

am i 

waste 

(full)?!

times' some 

kinda thing

4 certain 

passin' 

bye 

unease 

gets comfort, 

able

cross-legged 

my gut 

chews

that

A Poem from Page 99

This is a poem from page 99 of a book of my choice, third paragraph, made up of the words I decided to keep, then rearranged into a poem. Poetry prompt exercises are often strangely enlightening. 

recall a slam

to the chest

an immediate hook 

all their coffee 

mornings distant 

belong to another 

he didn’t know 

had no idea

safely up there 

on his stroll

their invisible
wire just a story

a projection

she’s fallen 

like a memory

if she was 

there at all

did (s)he 

make it all up

fate 

always 

a maybe 

Swim Away

beliefs fail 

in shallow 

waters

a lifetime's 

swim 

upstream 

put to end

the passivity 

of false 

accusations 

worn, I

exit at the  

confluence

to no one's 

notice 

promised 

waters 

non-existent

reborn 

an estuary 

away 

Predators

from the dark yard

our dog barked
with deep warning

an early spring evening
the forest behind us
less sparse with
every sunlit day

we watched as he ran the rear fence
left to right, back again
his instinctual memory
entire being responding
to their unwelcome presence

the coyote's three-pronged
threat grew less cautious
I heard confidence in
the faint rustling of strategy

their reliance on other
adapting to overtake
shared goal to survive 

awe, curiosity transitioned to fear
bravado would never be enough
to overcome these predators
impersonal in their purpose

we called to him, flooded the yard
with light and our noises
mindful of a force beyond ours

howling cries and yips pierced sleep
from woods beyond ours
their persistent pursuit audible 

the coyotes kin to this virus
just another impersonal predator
unwelcome genetic saboteur 

both strands parallel
the human code;
our strategies align 

our instinctual memory
to rely on, adapt
overtake, survive
is to move from
prey to predator 

again

The Hours

at 1:32 am what I've
not made room for
arrives like a rip tide

insistent, deeper
than the hours moving
as slowly as a world
I can't feel turn

things said and not heard
carry on conversations
I'm only here to witness

in the stillness
my heart grows irregular
beats in time with
an unresolved chaos

lost in the circular,
hopeless drag of analysis,
dawn creeps towards me

I drift off to dream
of letting go, of making room
for nothing to be done

Role with It

hero enables

histrionics 

jester juggles  
folks' lore 

the lost two 
turn their backs

cyclical origins 
of organic  
dysfunction