I Dreamt of Blues – A Poem

I Dreamt of Blues

I dreamt of blues, and reds, of green,
hope acquiesced in narrow stream,
reeds clawed at banks, defiled sand,
phantoms arose from rent in land.

In supple dress arrayed was she,
hair glimmered as stars on the sea.
Her bare feet gently touched the ground,
in Twilight’s grove her fate was bound.
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Belts

Belts. As a kid I don’t remember wearing them often. Maybe on special occasions, but other than that, life was pretty much belt free. My children don’t wear them all that much either. Now, I find I wear a belt all the time, even when not really required. I would probably wear one with sweat pants and maybe even pajamas if they had loops. They do have draw strings, but that is not the same in my opinion.

I cannot remember when this change took place; when I moved from a beltless world to one where a belt was both an intimate and necessary attire. Lost as it is now in the obscure past. Is this a common part of the growing up process? Are belts what really separates the boys from the men?

At the Window – A Poem

At the Window

Sunlight, yellow and stale, spills in through
the window where you rest
your forehead.
Your fluttering eyelashes stilled
as you scrutinize the piano teacher who lives across
the street (I think her name is Doris),
her crooked way of walking while
shuffling her children into a van; two boys
who are wearing robot masks and carrying sleds.

I tried to remember the conversation we had.
What you told me on the riverbank under the bridge.
But the ghouls who keep us company removed it
from my memory,
picking my brain with the finest cutlery,
the sharpest scalpels, and the most expensive
imported chop sticks.
They served it as a light snack to accompany their Chai Tea.
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Letters on the Moon – A Poem

moon

Letters on the Moon

Sorry I missed your call.

I was busy writing letters on the moon.

And other than being chased by

thirteen turkeys and a

rooster

since Mars

there has been little to talk about.

They had me confused with someone

on television.

A man who promised

to help them discover how to

live forever.

I sold them the salt off of my

shoes for five hundred dollars

and skipped

town.

The lunar landscape is wonderful.

Unobtrusive and barren.

My dark mahogany desk and

rod iron coat rack

a subdued, stark contrast.

But I can’t stay

long.

The water supply is limited,

and I am running low on

oxygen.
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The Hollow Side of the Mirror – A Poem

window

The Hollow Side of the Mirror

There are voices in the other room. A
stirring of laughter. Thin walls,
you see. I am on the
hollow side of the mirror visiting Roberto,
a ship captain who is drowning in
the fishbowl on the dresser. Diana, his
mermaid lady, spies on him from behind
his sunken vessel. A fish circles,
not paying any attention to the
tragedy, its only regret being
the blue stones at
the bottom of the bowl.

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