MARCH FIRST BLUES
A blue bird carols
in the revelation
of spring that may be
dawning soon
my hand seeks
bread from the feeder
and poppy seeds
imaging summer oranges
are ready to eat
in greensward foliage
children skate
on the windy icy pond
over the Esplanade
a musician riffs
as a sax plays
on his fingertips.
PANIC ATTACKS
She calls them
small war raids
when near sundown
she loses it all
in a surviving madness
she telephones us
riddled with voices
messages, cold phantoms
lost tongues into the next
begotten moments
her life leaving
her no choice
we pray and it is
suddenly gone.
AT SOHO
As the last
of wintry wind
grabs my arm
while I carry
the love of four pears
in a straw basket
of my motorcycle
a poet still practices
his Beat
in an apex of light
by a down town club
where I play my sax
losing direction
without oil or gas
a man from Paris
offers to help me
he plays keyboard
and offers to accompany
me as snow flakes
on our window
shape our riffs.
Great poems! I especially liked "At Soho" There is
ReplyDeletea movement to it. I think the snow flakes which no two are shaped the same, provide his direction creating
riffs.