sudden gifted breeze
the heat had melted my shoes
fluttering silk speaks peace

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Monday Random: dog days

  • It got mighty hot in the midwest of the states, and, for me, that means near Chicago
  • Oh, I am sure it was as hot in other places before and after our heat spell broke, but I guess it was smart of them, whoever ‘them’ is, to alert the public so they keep hydrated and check on loved ones who live alone in highrises
  • Does anyone remember this tragedy in 1995?
  • Still, I don’t want to be that guy, you know the one
  • The complainer.
  • Hot enough for you? Haha

Continue reading “Monday Random: dog days”

Chasing butterflies

smell pink rose

every green
nourishes me
pulling me further
from the gray
fuchsia and coral
begonia and mother-of-pearl

GE

oh what a whirl
of sight
sound
and color
after paltry days of torpor
I tend to grasp at

bee in rose

so I learn here
what it means
to fill up with joy
I’m a girl
he’s a boy
chasing butterflies
across sun-dappled foliage

GE

cattail frolic.jpg

how could I be this lucky
fortunate girl
driving past such riches
of purple and yellow, side by side
with dried husks of late summer
cattails rising from rain-soaked ditches
the cornflowers
exquisitely unconcerned
with life driving by


painted with coffee, blueberries, and acrylics

August wasn’t meant to dispense mercy
every bit of heat and glare possible
concocted by a troubled day
that some find shiny.
If I were honest, I do feel guilty
for grumbling, even silently, of
perspiration. aggravation. recalescence.
a created coolbringing option on my car
that doesn’t keep up, but
I know it wants to, panting
at every red light and train crossing
coughing for a good five minutes
after I have taken out the key

Working conditions

He said he would install a/c
in the room in which
I work in, but
I said no–I think I need
to be truly miserable to write
or the words come out anemic

He has not spoken to me
all day
since then
disgusted–or at least thrown
by my logic
which he says
has no basis outside of emotion

I wonder why he does not
go with the flow
and the reality
of living with me under a storm cloud
for 29 years
after all
I have a good umbrella.

It is cool under there
and safe from blinding suns.
He must admit
that the rain
has done an amazing job
with the impatiens


hotter than eggs on a pan

sitting in my own sweat
t-shirt sticking to the car seat
I go back years
to the scent of patchouli
and a badlyrolled joint
the backdrop for us

you and me and he
a triangle of the craziest, and
she nearly took my head off
guessing what game we were playing
the day covered in southern comfort

I was so glad mom didn’t know
what I was up to
sizzling summer days
on eagles’ wings
however we grasped at them
hands-knees-lips-neck

memories etched
in the rocks at the lake
impressions of our bodies gone
as sand shifted and water seeped
before anyone could see
that we had been there

Our summer carpet

clover

It was the dads
who wanted to be rid of the dandelions
we sat for hours tying them stem to stem
into necklaces
worthy of Cleopatra
bracelets we imagined bangled
as we held hands and danced
and then she would spin
a whirling dervish in a pink headband
the clovers hiding their four-leafed numbers
for then, we were not intended to succeed
too quickly
the grass rich, and the weeds plentiful
but they looked like blooms
from Nebuchadnezzar’s hanging gardens
to us