BITS AND PIECES©
CLOUD BURST
as the first leaves fall
let poets scramble for cover
because soon it will be a gallery
bowling pins
all stored out of sight suddenly thump down
will words topple them?
invoking cosmic justice
I declare them leaves of grass
the moving pen cuts a swath
strike! I call
they were not meant to stand
and all that cosmic juice along with them
bluster winds
trouble and toil
leaves tremble, as must their shadows
origins, endings everywhere
and not a thought to think
ALONG THE WAY
planting garlic means preparing the soil
smelling it warm
in late afternoon sun
pulling out gobs of silver maple tree roots
but now the bulbs have to contain themselves
under the best of circumstances
they do not smell like semen
impregnating mother earth
muscles are reincarnated worms
that leave thinking
to the gardener
TRICKY TREAT
Halloween is when the zombies come out
disguised as zombies
the Day of the living Dead
cobwebs and Spanish moss and mistletoe
celebrations
kids like them all, isn't it wonderful
Truth or Consequences, Hide and Seek
and ye shall find in the Cave of the Winds
a birthday present
your original face
before zombiehood
in the neighborhood
AFTER RAIN
earth dimples and pot holes
are mirrors filled with sky
making visionaries of those with eyes
though it seems somewhat frenetic
lost in perhaps a Victorian home
at a fireplace
where one nods off finally
to speak plainly
when hungry, eat
when tired, sleep
Tabitha gradually encroaches
edging over these words with a sleepy paw
and the cup of Sleepy Time Tea has been emptied
leaving no choice
FORTY ELBOWS
over the horizon, under the ivy
something runs the same
Brother, my first cat, and I
looked for it
an endless adventure just out of reach
escaping
frowned upon by older people
■ what are you doing under there?
■ get out of that bush!
the game of hide and seek was tolerated
we pretended to play that
and gradually disappeared
and gradually older people disappear
Brother keeps on reappearing
we are ageless
LOOSE TILES
a pointillist mosaic by Pissarro
in dibs and dabs of brilliant colors
each unlikely point a painting to itself
in a haze of gabbling neighbors
magically becomes a portrait or a garden
discovered only upon stepping away
then looking back
a passel of writings
when pondered
merge into something long forgotten
when forgotten
these bits and pieces
work their magic
