Deflated Balloons
Half-filled Plastic cups…
The last one is up and drained
Long after the last guest,
Long afterwords, we rest
With our children, sugar-buzzed out and asleep.
With more to pick up and keep
our mind’s from wrestling,
but bodies rest
besting our minds
before tomorrow’s grind.
Sometimes in Letters.
If only a few words come to you,
Maybe the rest were never meant to.
The words that don’t come can do
More work than those in view.
To Hail with it
Ice pellets fell from the sky,
Which made me wonder why
On earth did God make hail.
Why did He set sail
To pinging pellets of Ice in the air
Making me stare out the window
Wondering why He had to go
And make hail.
If Necessary, Use Words
Draw me closer to you today
So that I might say
Loving words about you
In the actions that I do.
Quiet Night
Wind chimes across the street.
My feet are grinding concrete
crumbles as my sandals find their footing.
My hand slides across the page,
My pen scrapes, its tip
rolls off each lip
whispering syllables to myself.
That dog from nowhere stopped barking
as a car that was un-parking
growled away from the wind chimes across the street.
Ordering Doubt
Eating out, I stare at the menu
Then you ask me if I need some more time
And I’m lost in words but manage “yes”.
Guessing which picture accompanies the text,
I’m vexed by constant revision.
Indecision, I order doubt.
St. Joseph’s Strength
St. Joseph, I know you had it rough.
You couldn’t be blamed enough
In fact, every family feud
That you imperfectly pursued
Ended in you being wrong,
Mary and Jesus were right all along.
In arguments, you’d take a step back and say, “It’s me”
So that all the world could see
A man’s love is that strong.
Imagining the Third Day
I imagine your hands with dry crusted blood,
Post flood with hard-caked, mud-baked flakes
In fragility so that when my finger acts like a nail
Disbelieving this frail humanity
My thoughts break away
And take away your flesh.
Green Shirt
Wore a green shirt today
As if to say
I wish
I was Irish.
Truth is, I’m not.
I’m a rather proud Scot
But I’ll still wear the green to be stylish.
Pre-Dirty Plate
Dishes need the sloshing
Of soapy water washing
Away debris from rejected food bits,
Caked and baked on as it sits
Submerged and waiting
For cleanliness creating
A clean slate,
A pre-dirty plate.
BonjourPoetry 