Friday, October 21, 2016

Faith And Works (the least among you)

"How many times can a man turn his head,
And pretend that he just doesn't see?"
                                             --- Bob Dylan

There's a preacher who prays
for me - sometimes
we talk about the weather.
He blesses me
when it rains,
but I still get wet.

Come Sunday, he lays
hands on me and a wafer
on my tongue.  The cracker
and wine are nice,
but I still leave hungry.

The mayor and his lovely wife
tithe their ten and wear
white tie for charity,
but pass me
on the corner.

I'm a man without a face;
the woman you can't quite place;
the grace
you failed to show
to the least among you.

This is a bit rough, but I didn't want to miss Kerry's Bob Dylan prompt at Real Toads.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016


Be careful what you say - be sure
to make yourself quite clear,
for sometimes what you say
isn't what I hear.
My heart has its way
with connotation and intent
and, ever fearful, hears a hurtful thing
where no hurt or harm was meant.

For Midweek Motif~Conversation at Poets United

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Letter To A Young Girl

There's no way to say this gently.
You'll never be the easy child.
Not at birth
or five or nine;
not at thirteen,
or any of the times between.
You are going to be need -

need, need, need, need, need.
Needs that she can't meet.
Needs that she can't bear to see unmet.
Needs that won't let her
untangle failure from love.
Needs that will get both of you feeling
that if she only loved you better and enough

you'd be more like the easy child,
the happy child,
the child she turns to to affirm herself
as a mother,
as a good mother,
as good.

Look, I know all of this is impossible to see when you're in it.
Just know that when she tells you she loves you, she means it
with all she has.
You aren't a bad kid,
but you are harder.
When you have your own daughter,
you'll understand.
You'll understand more than you want to.
You'll understand,
and you'll forgive.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, October 16, 2016

Thin Skin

Mummies shrivel
in the branches and wrinkle
like crones, a slough away
from the meat -

beneath the tree
fallen fruit and leaves rot

stench and incense
on the thin skin
of October.

For Magaly's prompt at Real Toads.  Also submitted to Poetry Pantry.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Meddling And Miracles

Nothing is impossible, the word itself says 'I'm possible'! - Audrey Hepburn

How does it feel
to be everything impossible made possible

and real -

a dream drawing breath,
the star-spun wheel
busted and bested?

What do I owe
the goddess for such a striking show

of generosity to me 
despite my animosity
toward meddling and miracles?

A (possibly dreadful) rough draft for Hannah's prompt at Real Toads

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

The Horse

Trumpets glint
in the dying sun.
The toms and bass begin to gallop.
Blood thrills
as the pace builds
to the speed of a thousand
racing hearts.
Full brass!
Trilling the high notes
then letting them collapse
into the gathering night.
The flutes flower
four beats - power
rumbles through every chest
white gloves
pull the reins
war hooves

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.

Note: I have a couple of poems up over at Sick Lit Magazine.  Drop by if you get a chance!

Sunday, October 9, 2016

Trash Day

One man's trash,
another man's treasure -
in this windy weather,
it's all on my lawn.

Tipped, tossed, and scattered
bins; it doesn't matter
to me - trash or treasure,
I just want it gone!

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United