Archive for the ‘Poems’ Category

Change in the Weather

Dreaming of unique snowflakes
While I sit watching
Identical raindrops


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Project Haiku #2

New schedule arrives

With magical optimism

It bends space and time


Wow! Things just got worse

Here are your new deadlines. Hah!

Welcome to Monday


Is project a dare

Or did someone lose a bet

I cannot decide

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Project Haiku #1


I must work weekend
Because the client was late
Schedule is fucked

New edits suggest
Client thinks research data
Falls from the heavens

Latest delays mean
I will work at least five weeks
For eight hundred bucks

Tonight I will dream
Of project’s cancellation
Smiling in my sleep

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If I close my eyes
I can catch a fleeting glimpse
Of bright feathers darting past

The spots they leave behind
I cannot blink away
They color every recollection
Memories slipping in and out of place and time
A broken kaleidoscope
I cannot help but turn
Looking for the stories I have lost
And the ones I will change, with and without intent

My wings beat so fast then,
One stroke, one hour, one day blurring
Into the next
Always searching
Pausing only to sip
The bittersweet nectar of daydreams and hope

My heart hammered so frantically then,
An inconstant drum,
Always seeking the rhythm
I could embrace as my own

And now
And now . . .

Such a chancy thing, eyes shut,
To snatch that bird
To hold it fluttering against the cupped palms of my worn hands,
Light as forgotten praise
Fragile as a dandelion crown

Such a delicate operation
To cut out that palpitating core,
No bigger than a summer seed
To keep it alive
Long enough to wonder

If it still has the strength
To quicken the blood in these veins
And stir the dreams
Of my slow and steady heart

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To and fro, to and fro

the lunatic tide ebbs and flows
Until, with a bow
The maestro stops
The strands are cut
The curtain falls
Standing up,
At my feet what should I see but

A story, perfect as a shell
The spiral arc of a boy
Into a man
Madly hand in hand across the span of years,
Round and round in a delirious dance with words
and the tales they tell

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Yesterday I saw the world’s largest Ponderosa pine
And read an article about the world’s tallest man.

Today I learned
They aren’t the biggest any more
If they ever were.

(Or maybe they are
I took someone else’s word for it.)

I doubt the tree was as lonely as the man.
Trees are used to being big
Every forest has its giants.

And giant trees are old trees, and probably wise.

Giant men die young.

Their hearts are not big enough
To carry the weight of the words and the stares that fall upon them.

Come to think of it,
I suspect that people cut down most giant trees as well.

And some giant men, like trees, are mounted on display,
Sliced open to show the years of their lives
for people to point to and nod, as if they understood.

A lucky giant man is buried young
And in the earth, dreams of becoming a great old tree.

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