Ocean Visions

Pirates dance in the moonlight,
planets glow like beacons in the sea and
distant stars tremble in the night.

Shivering harp strings invite
me repeating,  you are not free.
Pirates dance in the moonlight.

Elves are leaping in delight
in a pale fierce ecstasy.
Distant stars tremble in the night.

Crabs shuttle and weave in fright.
Seagulls, startled, quickly flee.
Pirates dance in the moonlight.

An old ship,  all its bones bleached white
whispers a mystery to me—
distant stars tremble in the night.

Sky and ocean—calm and bright—
as they once were meant to be.
The pirates are dancing in the moonlight
and the distant stars tremble in the night.

Travel

Travel

My hands reach out to grasp your hand.
The plane in grace escapes the ground.
We will finally understand,

flying to a distant land
to discover truth,  profound.
We will finally understand.

Oceans, rivers, desert sand—
something lost we have found.
My hands reach out to grasp your hand.

You are here at my command—
adventures you had never planned—
my hands reach out to grasp your hand.

What short lives can still demand—
freedom, all the chains unbound—
you will finally understand.

The meanings in the poem stand
in the structure, in the sound.
My hands reach out to grasp a hand.
I will finally understand.

First Signs of Spring

Spring is a young girl dancing in the park
to music only she can hear.
The air is tender.
A light breeze touches her cheek
as she spins and twirls,
her arms reaching
to the pale blue sky
and the tentative sunshine.
All around her
flowers begin to peek out
and buds open cautiously.
The sun glows stronger
as in slow motion
the planet dances
in its orbit.

Rekindle: A Variation

Too late to start over again,
to sketch the dance, to hum the tune.
The violins fall silent when
the guests have left the room.

To sketch the dance, to hum the tune
takes energy I don’t possess.
The guests have left the room—
why,  I can’t even guess.

It takes energy I don’t possess
to put away the chairs.
Why, I can’t even guess,
and noone really cares.

To put away the chairs
I can’t complain
and noone really cares
to hear the old refrain.

I can’t complain.
The violins fall silent when
we hear the old refrain.
Too late to start over again.

Rekindle

It’s too late to start over again.
The ashes are cold in the fireplace.
I can’t even remember when
I could picture your face.

The ashes are cold in the fireplace.
I remember what you told me
although I can’t picture your face.
“There is no guarantee.”

I remember what you showed me
in the embers of the wood.
You gave me no guarantee.
I’m sure I understood.

In the embers of the wood
I saw your disguise.
I’m sure I understood
all the truth, all the lies.

I saw your disguise—
I can’t even remember when.
All the truth,  all the lies.
It’s too late to start over again.

My Dream

I wrote a tiny poem.

I chiseled the delicate prepositions.

I used a razor blade to shave the adverbs. 

I took out a soft cloth

And polished the edges.

It was complete—like a nut.

Then I put the poem in its place

and it was too small!

A large gap remained.

The poem fell in a heap

to the ground

and shattered—

broken letters all over the floor.

I swept them up carefully

and placed them in the poem drawer

where all the remnants of my poems lie,

jumbled and sad.

Pre-valentine's day poem

I love you.
I love you.
I let you drive my car.
I tell you I am thinking about shooting the neighbor.
I tell you I want to run away to a small town in North Dakota
and get a job as a waitress
in a greasy spoon joint.
You don’t mind my telling you all this.
I tell you my stomach hurts
and that I’m worried about a mole.
You love me.
You love me.
You tell me you are anxious
about an email
which might as well be written in Martian.
You are going to quit your job
and we will buy an apartment in Paris.
I massage your shoulders
and tell you not to eat so many blueberries.
You go out and buy me three cartons.
I love you.
I love you.