Some bombs went off at a prominent location near my house yesterday, as I was playing the piano. In truth, I got up right away and ran to the back room of our house because it’s safest…but once I had waited for a while I did go back and keep playing, with smoke in the distance.
smoke – clears – sirens – wail
I sit – my fingers still on
the piano keys –
even after the shining
dreams continue to shine
they cast a glow over dark reality
catching hidden brilliance
I’ve been writing a lot of haikus lately, and so in this poem (as with Mild Clock) I decided to play a little with the structure of a haiku.
Capture this moment:
hold it, keep it like a jewel,
for you cannot know
how long it will last
How can this woman
pushing rudely into my
lane smile so sweetly?
This poem sounds best when read aloud.
season’s last strawberries:
but precious in their coming absence
sounds mild when it merely
Sound also follows
the law of supply and demand:
when there is little, every sound
is loud, clear, detailed, valued, expensive;
when there is much, every sound
is lost, soft, fuzzy, annoying, cheap;
a fan whirring in a storm of electronic buzz
is just another distraction, earsore,
but a fan whirring in a silent room
is a rhythmic lilt of wind.
sound of a bullet
fired makes me realize the
softness of my flesh
Muffins that would not
rise, now in the trash, fill the
room with sweet fragrance.
Light from passing cars
sparkles & reflects off trash
like sun on fresh snow