Flying for Fish

We flap our wings to fly to success
pelicans
I have a fish, do you have a fish?
I have a sea full of fish
yummy, scrumptious fish
orange, yellow, green fish
by the way,
still flying.

The Palette

See, but cannot hear
soft wheat on bare feet
cold wind rushes by
like a baritone voice echoing off tiles
and then, quiet.
soft jazz rolls through the air like smoke
settling into the velvet armchair by the window
look out to the water, shut eyes and remember salt on the tongue
and wind pushing rocks to roll and tall, dry grass to quiver
like the dream of a lonely child
who shouts in despair
as he watches the last sail kiss the horizon.

Twenty-Eight

Snow fades to anger
In straight, metallic lines
adorning life with LOVE
and memories
of twelve years old
and sheer purple
and Ouija boards
"the last good thing"
whispers softly as I
creep slowly
across that narrow pass of land
promising of bright horizons
and fresh ideas.

The Taste of Iron

I'm trying out my chains
stretching, twisting, getting comfortable with them.
Hm, maybe a different color.
Hm, maybe I need more.
That's it! More!

So I let myself go, and let myself be.
And like magic, there's a new one soon.
Really it's quite neat.

Hey, a chain could be anything.
It could be ignoring a phone call.
It could be smiling with rudeness on my lips.
Or that last drag of a cigarette to
calm. me. down.

The chains are comforting.
You always know where you are when you have chains.
You know how you got them, you control IF you get them.

My chains link me up.
They connect me with my past and drag me into my future.

With cool silver links and metallic sheen
They clink together like richness.

I don't need to break my chains.
I'll just live in them.

Nature Walk Haikus

leaf waterfall
crests
hill's end

three saplings
bow to
winter

dirt, covered up
in color
shamefully

last green
crawls out from
brown bed

poets
seeking truth
natural light

silver composite
divided
mother ivy

pink petals
fight against
snowy demise

green hands
stretch and reach
sun

overcast
obscured by
brick

branches bend
parentally
over Earth.

Classes Before Sunrise

When I become a teacher
I'm gonna learn how the mind works in
Classes before sunrise
And I'm gonna teach them poetry
Plucking poems out of books like fresh flowers
And wrapping them up into bouquets.
I'm gonna show them words that feel like water
And smell like salt
And smell of long days in the sunlight
And cool summer wind
And bright red parasols
And soft volleyball sand
And the thatch-roofed buildings
Of young and old young old young souls
And I'm gonna put infants
And children and seniors and adults
And all the in between people in it
Teaching everybody with sweet words
And learning from each other flawlessly
In that first morning class when I
Become a teacher
And teach in classes
Before Sunrise.

Back Across the Rubicon

As the snow must eventually melt
As the sun must eventually drop
So too must we change

As the battle must eventually end
The soldiers will carry their swords, bloody and bent
Away from the battlefield in due time
To fight again another day
So must you know when
The battle is too tough to fight

I will pack up my heart
And my confidence, and my dreams
Turn around, looking at the river of trust
I had once crossed bravely
And begin to wade back,
Back to brighter days.