Realizations

Appreciating paperwhites

lanky window-angling before dawn,

creeping awareness of cold.

Turn on the heat,

radiators immediately seep lavender,

inviting an old lover to visit.

Struck with desire

to lick Italian cooking-class splashes

from the crooks of her elbows,

Futility comes up with the sun.

You stretch toward its light,

remembering the cold.

Inspired by Hannah’s prompt to the Real Toads: LAVENDER FIELDS

She Wishes By the Seashore

Recitation

echoes unwise

undone alone

abalone

unknown pinkest

surges cresting

not best but most

Cowgirl, Interrupted

You can feel

the bumpy rhythm

of the carousel horse

in your teeth

her low moan

in your clavicle

Giddyap sister

let’s bust these poles

& skedaddle

Out beyond

the grassy sighs

of home

to wide open hollers

sprinkled with a few

frustrated hearts

You are

so delicious

get along, little--

50 words for Mama Zen on the subject of HUNGER

Mail Delivery in Harsh Climates

The mailman

brought

your letter

Shut the door

against

winterday blue

Contain

the inevitable grey

of your words

Wind sharpens

black ice

to cleave my breast

You say

you don’t love me

anymore

For Fireblossom Friday in the Imaginary Garden: WINTER

Oh Dammit

Thought me a haiku
committed to memory
promptly forgot it

Making Wishes

Hang on to Sunday’s

mysteries woven in the blue

of night sky and golden honey,

ablutions like specks

suspended in beams

of gauze-filtered sunlight,

just floating there.

And Monday’s workaday ache.

Hold on to every day,

because ghosts come faster

now, waving your immortality

like gauzy flags, or shrouds.

Everything could change--

today’s melody quaint and tinny,

if you remember it at all.

Late entry for Grace’s challenge to the Real Toads, inspired by the poetry of David Huerta. Thank you, Grace.

Sharing on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden!

Phantom Clutch

On the whole, heated seats

for manual transmission

seems an even trade. But my foot

still reaches for the clutch

when Charlie Chesterman sings

about that shabby dress,

when turning right on East Street,

when I drive in heels, when I feel

the heat on the back of my thighs

and allow myself

to think of you.

For Corey’s prompt to the Real Toads: ROAD TRIP

So-Called Haiku #48

My haiku's busted
scrambling after syllables
all over the floor

Post-Holiday

Wondering whether
all our tomorrows travel
fast like yesterdays

This Reason Trumps So You Can Ignore the Rest

You’d like to run off

but objectively compelling reasons

make you stay. Kids, for one thing.

They seem to need a stoop

from which you holler for them

that it’s time for dinner

so get your ass home and wash up.

They seem to need home base.

Otherwise you’d be outta here.

Also, the cat.

Flash 55 for Real Toads, in memory of the G-Man, Galen Haynes.

Daybreak Over Chicopee

Pink

line

between

    cloudy grey

& hematite grey

    constitutes earthly boundary,

aspirations too other-wordly

            for mortal hearts.

It Will Be Happier

Give up seasonal mirth

for a cheap approximation

if it’s all you have.

A parking lot brawl will do.

Reduce your lover

to a shadow of what you had

like last week’s recycling

left curbside

for someone else to pick up.

Already you’ve forgotten

nights when the bottles were full,

when you got drunk

on her,

how it felt to be seen.

She’s last week.

Tomorrow you’ll go invisible,

park your car the next street over,

walk the extra block.

Susie prompted the Real Toads with this quote by Alfred Lord Tennyson, from whence this poem sprang: "Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, It will be happier." Best wishes for the New Year!