Thursday, 12 April 2018

Ross Bay Cemetery

Skeletal trees  
stand as sentries  
around the centuries’  
long-buried bones  

Morning fog  

wafts through, ghostlike -
a host of sailors  

searching for home        

Shadows of Memory

The shadows of faded memory 
A muted melange 
Of mauve and wintergreen 
Dangles in the periphery 
Where mothballs preserve 
My daddy's childhood scene  
I see a geometric afghan 
On the nubby davenport 
A raggedy rug beneath my slippers  
A braided mat by the back porch  
Crystal doorknobs are at eye-level  
A pack of peppermints  
In grandma's purse, I spy  
Grandfather puffs upon a pipe 
The cherry smoke curls up 
Toward the rounded light 
The house is small  
No stairs to climb 
Beyond the blinds, 
A tree outside,  
Dims the room in summertime; 
Across the street 
A field for tag and playing  
"Go, go, go, go, go, go, stop" 
And swings that almost reach into  
The scary-high treetops; 
The backyard's where  
The family tent  
Has been unrolled 
A tepee for the children  
Dusty denim in mustard gold 
My parents sleep inside, 
But I can hear my daddy snore  
We tell tales with flash and fingers  
As shadows on the wall  
Mysteriously roar                

The Detour

For decades, his disease 
Has let him linger. Last  
Summer, supposedly his last 
Found him painfully aware 
Of what we all can count on 
His body taxed, he bypassed death 
Then he entered through 
Another door, one they said 
His dear wife  
Would exit on her own 
Their diagnosis was wrong 
Upon release, he parked  
His dark gray Cadillac 
By the suspension bridge 
At Angel Falls  
And filled his lungs  
With floribunda rose    

Sunday, 8 April 2018

A Glutton for Joy

A glutton for joy, 
Her table is a feast of choices 
Exotic herbals, cinnamon, saffron, 
Crystalline carafes, 
Flagons of honey and cream; 
Her oven has been busy, bustling, 
Warming voluptuous treats; 
After we ladle strawberry delight 
Onto our octopus tongues, 
We scurry to our seats  
Where she uncorks robust poems  
She has hoarded umpteen years 
From crannies of the internet  
And toothsome books  
She has gnawed on   
Again and again and again; 
We drool as her blissful voice rings  
Truth and celebration, 
Our pens bursting to lunge  
Across the omnivorous page