The White Flowered Dogwood Tree

There are conditions for poetry, no doubt, notably surrender,
as when a poem waylays you and your knees buckle,
and for a moment you forget you have arms.

There are circumstances to scribble verses maybe no one should read,
as when the veiled lady you are, haunts the wood and nobody sees,
except the poem that stalks you through the tangle.

There are reasons to sing the night
'cause the bird in your bonnet is squeezing your lights,
and the breath on your neck has you up tight.

Bully Me!

Thirteen unlucky 13 -
13 millions kids in America are bullied daily.
Thirteen million? You gotta be kidding!
Say, how many are doing the bullying?

Parents of the weak and sissies, time to organize right now,
if you haven't already done so. More and more support groups are needed
from the Jersey swamps lands to the Hawaiian beaches.

However, sociologists and the well intended (in general)
keep in mind, that the average bully is readily persuaded to desist
from his or her delinquent ways by a bloody nose or a poke in the eye
with the aim of the poker to blind them for good.

I Broke The Oath

This one was different,
not like the others.

I was not initially of the mind to break the pact,
of death do us part, which at last I did not take serial.

It didn't work!
Sign here, you bastard!

Dice in The Sand

Noise erupts out of no good argument.
The day is ruined, war is declared.
Peace, like a leper, has been banished.
Calamity hangs over the village of Auschwitz.
Fainting hearts, alas, submit to fate that villain.

The sky is cleansed of smoke.
Gloom will stay though flowers bloom.
Again, Israel manages to survive,
the cost - blood and ash against the odds
like yet another tax from Babylon.

And there, the Window

It looks like a door. It's an open hand.
It looks like a gate. It's a heart on hinges;
me at the threshold, U on the inside,
fullness and emptiness, sound and no sound.
Art and no art thou art.

U are the grand stand. I am a split
divided by a million, again divided by a billion
and then a trillion into operations infinite,
up the spiral staircase where "out" is a tower
and there the window.

Blessed Land Rite U Play

Simple design of highly complex plan;
of trees hanging over ledges, of bees in mid air copulation,
of perfumed breezes that seed the stiffer winds,
of spring rising into summer, of fall come down
in storms and buckets.

I am delighted, I am excited.
The freezes in my homeland make me ecstatic.
Cape May thrills me when thaws the Jersey coast.
Friend am I to every wing and paw, be they prey or predator.
Global am I with the monarchs in their migrations.

Hermes and Map

I catch a glimpse of his winged heels, escapade to escapade,
scurrying, skipping the mind scape phantoms.
Hermes knows where I reside.
He has layovers in his wizardry circuit.

By the manner of how I'm tortured,
I could be one of his least favorite pit stops.

Since I was little, I've hung on window sills,
wandering the weather, wondering
if before my presence fleshed in mother,
might rain drops have been my occupational hazard.

Will of The Scheme

Configure a plan pure and simple,
mind will tend to the myriad of details,
heart will direct you to the finish.

Contrive a plan, one convoluted-
not wll thought out,
quick sand is the first recipient.

Walker Coffee

When I television, it's like looking in on an insane asylum.
The radio's reception is shoddy maybe due to recent solar activity.

Laptop is acting up,
maybe resulting from abruptly closing it down.

I don't have a cell phone.
I have no need for instantaneous connections.

Tenuously I survive in continuity of a caveman ancestor
who couldn't care less if I live or not.

We Begin to Suspect

Like lighthouses do passing ships,
at night, sky blinks to the earth below.
Sky is an eye, we begin to suspect.

In the sky works, seasons are wrought,
bought, sold and transferred.
Sky is where children first invent.

Sky is the metaphorical womb of every woman,
the ports of call of the near and distant.
Beneath it, even the death of a beetle is precious.

As subtle as thunder isn't, the aim of rivers
is to reach an ocean. And so, the rivers above us
await release as measured and timed as calm follows storm.

Queen of March

While she's still in breathing,
she'll keep the bird-feeds full,
to curry favor with the flutes and troubadours.

Japanese black pine is a monster growing by the hour,
its index fingers declaring the things wild things dare declare:
We are here, regardless of your preferences.

Jasmine bush vines to the lamp post top,
flowery heavy from toe to heaven -
Jasmine Bush the Queen of March .

Cardinal lands on my shoulder, communes a message;
May the garden be your place of worship,
and suffer no tyrant to tell you what hymns to chant.