because the story must be told
how do you teach poetry
shall you instruct
how to have a soul
in chairs, facing front
apple on the table
will you tell me how to feel
in alphabetical order
you would do well
to hold class
at the edge of the volcano
the center of the storm
again
with the birds
he says
well
they are still talking
and it is magic
every time
do not ask me
to turn down the music
or dim the sun
and its heat
your cold
breath is
turning to fog
before me
crying twice
since coffee
over questions and fears
your voice comes through
the fog of yesterday
the dog barking
the mask peeling
and your generous love
touches my heart
each time I drop to my knees
even so, Lord
even so
You drop over me
a veil that brings
more tears
with only joy
I got behind
and catching up
is something like
grape stomping
in a swamp
getting so stuck in the
sweet muck
and no one sees it
so does it really happen
the wineclaydirt slurry
bogged. left. carnival of mud.
first cuppa
with the rising sun
joyous and bright
cup two for discourage-
ment and woe
cup three for I Love Lucy
some laughs
fourth cuppa
to mute out the noise
bring on the joys
of so much good taste
and hot, steamy
give-without-taking
kind of cuppa
spring’s trumpets
are quiet
not the blasting
of July
nor the glittering
of December snow
spring
you marvelous lover
you serenade
well into the night
birds trains wind
sudden cold snap
an unexpected breeze
like when he left
only to turn around
to touch my face again
Monday
you have been called
blue
but I wave my wand
and call you gold
leaving the blues
in the can behind me
the weather report
said sunshine
sweet buds
and birdsong
but they
got it wrong
stormy and wavy
small craft warning
she’s gonna blow
at any moment
quick
get some chocolate
my world got interesting
various fowl
wandering through
crying foul
when I thought
I had
hit a grand slam
hot damn
not again
