Dog Tired

    Dog Tired

At times the panting devotion,
the adoring gaze,
the disproportionate hurt
or happiness
become too much
to bear,
and I long for less
dependence.
But then again,
the cat seldom comes
when I call.

 

Compensation

Trying to find some consolation in old age.

     Compensation

As the hair thins,

the waist thickens.

As the brain slows,
 
the bladder quickens.

As the day shrinks,

the night lengthens.

And as the body wanes,
 
the spirit strengthens.

Birds on a Wire

                   Birds on a Wire 

                  (On hearing that most birdsongs are either
                   claiming territory
                   or calling for a mate.)           
 

            They perch on words spanning the space

            between the poles of our conversations

            and echo our familiar strains,

            our same old songs of long distance

            love and local loss, with their own

            two-toned tunes warbling of nothing

            but war then lamenting their loneliness.

Secondhand Smoke

Just a note for foreign readers (or for those too young to remember Bill Clinton's presidential campaig).  While running for President, Clinton admitted to smoking marijuana but claimed he never inhaled.    Sorry, I can't seem to get the first stanza in single spacing.

       Secondhand Smoke

My father was the Bill Clinton of tobacco,                                                                                      claiming he never inhaled what he always

lit until the doctor said it was cancer

causing his noisy morning coughing fit.

And now I somehow still love the smell
of cigars, though I hate the stores that sell
them – and live in dread of the day I’ll die
of all the things I have never done as well
as all those things I couldn’t bear to quit.   

Topography

Got thinking about a commonly used phrase.

                      Topography

            We all live on slippery slopes
            and any apparent plateaus
            are merely narrow ledges.

           So the question is do we ski
           or scream until we find
           where the final edge is.

Shake Well Before Serving

A refrigerator poem, of sorts.

                                                Shake Well Before Serving

                                                  is something I seldom do
                                                  so what starts thin and runny
                                                  finishes thick and creamy
                                                  like so many drab beginnings
                                                  rescued by their delicious ends. 

April

Here's a poem inspired by the annual cherry blossoms in the D.C. area.

      April

What is the truth
of the cherry blossoms?
That they bloom so briefly?
That they return each year?
Or that beauty and brevity
dance together
as long
as the music
lasts.