Three Ladybugs’ Rondelet

Three Ladybugs’  Rondelet


Three Ladybugs’ in spring,
  Crawling from their winter tombs,
Three Ladybugs in Spring,
  With laughter in the new year sing,
Green flowers sprouting, new bright blooms,
  Anticipating summer soon.
    Three Ladybugs’ in Spring,

Three Ladybugs’ in summer,
  Host the season’s garden party,
Three Ladybugs’ in summer,
  Making friends with small newcomers,
Invitations for aphids, green and hearty,
  Dance with then dine on their conterparty,
    Three Ladybugs’ in summer,

Three Ladybugs’ in fall,
  Once they’ve thrown their last cotillion,
Three Ladybugs’ in fall,
  As Nature casts its autumn pall
They dig a hole, all pile in,
  Until Spring Sun returns again,
    Three Ladybugs’ in fall

Sweatshirts in October

Sweatshirts in October


Moon at quarter noon,
  Hallowed behind gray clouds

Mist rain,
  Droplets walking to the drains

There was to be a conference,
  About what’s not been referenced,
That I bet was likely some offense,
  To be made now known was in defense

Yet here,
  Love, You Bring a Surprise!

Two cups ‘a steaming ginger tea,
  Dispels all cloudy dread!
At least it’s sunny somewhere, now,
  If only in our heads

American Neighbors

American Neighbors

You are not required to like me,
  You are not obliged to thank me,
But you are encouraged, God bless the right,
  That you might, the least, requite me

I am the boy in the girls room stall,
Asking that I might be loved,
  Though I may never bear a womb

I am the latin in your school home room,
Only asking ‘me dejas aprender,’
  Not fearing deportation soon

I am the woman with my wife,
The man who’s husband bears your strife,
  Whom you lie tactfully to your kids about

I am the black who’s your new boss,
I’m the woman whom you sit across from,
  How is it you make more than me?

Perhaps I’m odd, not in your style,
Yet must you set you set my bar so high,
   To keep me broke, awaiting trial?

Your ancestors, once too were new,
Though proud, were told, need not apply,
   When were they white-washed clean for you?

We’re in the house abuts your land,
  We whom you use to fear and mock,
If should you need a neighbor’s hand, 
  Would you want my door also be locked?

The Church Yard Round Around

The Church Yard Round Around

Aggression is the easy vibe
When homeless camp on the parish lawn,
How can compassion be applied?

One keeps his bags by the drain pipe,
They come and go but they’re never gone,
Aggression is the easy vibe

The shelters wake them after five,
Quick showers then they must be gone,
How can compassion be applied?

Five vodka bottles I found hid,
Ah needle too, five inches long,
Aggression is the easy vibe

No loitering signs have arrived,
Now police can move them on,
How can compassion be applied?

My children ask when we drive by,
These people make the church their home?
Aggression is the easy vibe

I want to help but more arrive,
It torments me deep in my bones,
How can compassion be applied?

He wandered with a homeless tribe,
Who would drive off an orphaned lamb?
Aggression is the easy vibe,
How can compassion be applied?

The Onion Phase

The Onion Phase


It’s not like an onion, there’s nothing in the center,
It is like an onion, when cutting in, tears can come,
  Old ear-worms in the knots of a tangled mind,
  Soon are squirming to unwind,
Teasing a reaction, sometimes feel-good endorphins, 
  A natural high you can’t recreate tomorrow, 
Or as often, snotnose, tearful ghosts,
  Makyo in the Buddha Hall, absent of distractions

In this breath, out this breath,
  And again

I never wept for my Mother, even at her service,
Leaving, my Father looked to the clouds and burst,
  “She’s up there now …”
Brothers hugged and held him,
  I stood aloof, alone

I never cleaved to my High School girlfriend,
  My first kiss,
Whom I prommed and dry humped at parties,
Then I was immune from a lover’s remorse,
  When over terms we grew apart

I never changed my major from that hobby,
  I let my guidance counselor off too easily,
I avoided, un-acknowledging,
  This degree will lead to no career

Silent in my borrowed ash robe,
  I am sorrowful now,
Remember what they say of chopping onions?
“Don’t wipe your eyes, it only makes it worse,”
  With patience, the old fuses sparkler out

Sparrows spit in the bushes, framed in the open window,
  My humpback neighbor noses windfully,
As a drying wind blows through,
  In one ear, out the other,
    And again

Was it real? 
  Could it be there was no onion?
    Can I just sit with what comes next?

Rhymes with a Raw Red Nose

Rhymes with a Raw Red Nose


I lift our Mr. Cat,
  Warm and soft,
Pliant as a favorite plush toy,
  I scratch him on the hips,
And out comes from the lips
  His pink tongue to lick upon my nose,
Should some day his rough barbs wear
  (I not minding his cat food breath)
Through the skin, to leave me open skeleton faced,
  Nose exposed nasal cartilage,
His affectionate and kindly grace
  I could never disparage

Yet, this is a behavior to ponder

Why, only when I scratch him there,
  Does he counter with such curious care?
Is it being since he’s gotten fat,
  He has given rear end hygiene pause?
Could it be he thinks I clean his butt
  That gives his reflex habit cause?

Murmurations

Murmurations


Walking, half a block before my bus stop,
  A woman, near my age,
Head crooked looking to night-hood,
  Where by I stopped and watched

  “What d’jou see?”
  “It’s that cloud, among the sky, swirling round?”

Above us swam a spinning mass, as much
  A scribble, a pen’s crossing out,
Rolling forward, tail erasing,
  A windless tornado, a black cotton candy,
  All spun in the dusk,
Its pixels a dense winged smoke,
  They were birds

“They’re Starlings,” I said, “European, introduced,
  They come from Europe, Mozart had one,
  The bird would sing back his recitations”

They squeaked a rusty magic high above us,
  Mass chattings, their cacophony of love,
  (or perhaps “Migrate, migrate, migrate,” it coming on Fall)
Some forward, teasing others nowhere,
  Those behind, trying to cut up the arc before them,
None arriving anywhere first,
  None remaining anywhere last

After a moment she walked on up the street,
  I turned on down to catch my bus home,
She did not dart back like the birds, teasing me,
  I did not cut up into the arc before her, courting wise,
I thought she was nice, I scribbled her out,
  I whistled a song she never heard

We each went home, I’ve not seen her again

Murmurations pas de deux,
  Love flies above on Starlings' wings