Poems

Tan in a Can

Her current phase is mayonnaise
thanks to the days of winter
but come month eight
late-summer's plate
of Worcestershire will tint her.

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Contrast and Recollection

The Ireland-like lushness of the greenery abounds
and the multitude of plushness covering the cumbered ground
and the flowers and the fauna and the lawn along the wall
and the color combinations of their clumped collective all;
contrast greatly with the grayness and the graveness of the day
of the sullen sullied dullness of the damsel in dismay,
contrast greatly with her facial state and widow-stricken stride
on this somber sunless Sunday her third bridegroom up and died.

     (previously published in Dakota House Journal)

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Nine Lines

Nine lines of finery, I'll give you these,
to fill you with the substance you require
in much the same way flowers give to bees.
And if by chance it's passion you desire,
I'll toss in titillation and wildfire --
ignite your mind with licks, flickers and blows,
so your flame will rise that much higher.
And in the subtle-silver of the close,
I'll spoon-feed moonbeams to you, heaven knows.

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December Proposal

Ice in your eyes, and the sky's delight
and the steeple that stabs the night air,
and the nuthatch that hasn't a care,
and the square look of love in the light
of the moon that is bluish and bright,
and the lake that has started to bind and bear;
                       ice.

Intertwined are the you and the I in white
shimmer, a silver affair,
you slip on my finger a ware
as fair as this wintry scene, as bright,
                        ice!

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To Summer

Summer, you're wonderful to see,
like loved ones long lost yesterday
who reappear in reverie
with gifts of glitz and gold lamé
and promises to stay.

Fair drifter with an air of ease,
your presence splendid to behold
a fold of tulips and lilies
and not a hint of cold
delivered in your breeze.

O! Day-glow yellow entity
how sumptuous your caterwaul
post-spring, sings to sun lovers all
until it's time to flee
--come fall.