ALARM

you have escaped 

sound the alarm 

pass through the door

touch my arm

so I know beyond death

there is still a kind roar

nod from the afterlife

across celestial moors

wink from abroad

drag a chair over the floor

let me know that the gang

who have since crossed-over

reads books, drinks wine

contemplates lovers

touch my arm

catch my eye with

a fleet moving shadow

make me nervous at midnight

shriek a silent falsetto

argue mortality

make me sound dumb

give me the room

on my swollen tongue

to find words that match

your gracious passing

to stop and reflect

that death does the asking

we decide on ruckus

or simply respond

like a slow-moving duck

over a still life pond

sound the alarm

get me ready

for whatever it takes

while I’m here

while I’m living

the heart will break

into pieces that grow

like new limbs on a starfish 

and just when I’ve been

bereft of courtship

opaque after bloodletting 

drawn from my heart

the chair scrapes

and sits on a heavenly floor

I have a seat

when I’m done with my purpose

a slow-moving passport

with the ones who are there.

 

2.23.12

nyc

ALARM

you have escaped
sound the alarm
pass through the door
touch my arm
so I know beyond death
there is still a kind roar
nod from the afterlife
across celestial moors
wink from abroad
drag a chair over the floor
let me know that the gang
who have since crossed over
reads books, drinks wine

contemplates lovers
touch my arm
catch my eye with
a fleet moving shadow
make me nervous at midnight
shriek a silent falsetto
argue mortality
make me sound dumb
give me the room

on my swollen tongue
to find words that match
your gracious passing
to stop and reflect
that death does the asking
we decide on ruckus
or simply respond
like a slow moving duck
over a still life pond
sound the alarm
get me ready
for whatever it takes

while I’m here
while I’m living
the heart will break
into pieces that grow
like new limbs on a starfish
and just when I’ve been
bereft of courtship

opaque after bloodletting
drawn from my heart
the chair scrapes
and sits on a heavenly floor
I have a seat

when I’m done with my purpose
a slow moving passport
with the ones who are there.

 

THE QUALITY OF MERCY

a cat on its haunches
sits quiet and sweet

what are the chances
a tail curls in defeat
leaves a bird’s nest un-looted

when the hungry line up
on a street paved with patience
in the slow build up 
to ignorant resistance
great whites have been gathering
on everyman’s shore

what food there is

has a possible score
and the music plays on
while sharks 
keep on hammering

and I in my wet suit
and you in your poem
shall we leave the room empty

or dive for the song

who will break bread
on a natural farm
who will learn to defend

nature’s loss with alarm
I am old and disgusted
I am young and in place
I am ready and willing
I am drunk with disgrace
I have fallen not broken
into endless repast

this season ain’t over

this cat learns real fast.

 

7.18.14 nyc

Photo: Author NYC 5.25.25

what we forget to remember
are the flat tires fixed 
by roadside strangers
we forget when young we 
snatched the cane of an overlord
and righted the elder
with no intent
like a swan necked round a lover
feathers laid back in alarm
are you my hero
are you here to harm
this is the universe crawling begotten
this is the friendship
we are faced with uncertain
how many times have I drunk
elixir well spoken in language
I know when I’m drunk and broken
it comes back forever
this drink this reposting
beware of the bulls when they
crash through the wrong
I am drunk and unhinged
bored with bleating song
Make a video of this
you panting sad poseurs
this city ain’t dead
though it makes a great poem
this city ain’t dead’
though it makes a great poem.

THE QUALITY OF MERCY

a cat on its haunches
sits quiet and sweet

what are the chances
a tail curls in defeat
leaves a bird’s nest un-looted

when the hungry line up
on a street paved with patience
in the slow build up
to ignorant resistance
great whites have been gathering
on everyman’s shore

what food there is

has a possible score
and the music plays on
while sharks
keep on hammering

and I in my wet suit
and you in your poem
shall we leave the room empty

or dive for the song

who will break bread
on a natural farm
who will learn to defend

nature’s loss with alarm
I am old and disgusted
I am young and in place
I am ready and willing
I am drunk with disgrace
I have fallen not broken
into endless repast

this season ain’t over

this cat learns real fast.

what we forget to remember

are the flat tires fixed

by roadside strangers

we forget when young we

snatched the cane of an overlord

and righted the elder

with no intent

like a swan necked round a lover

feathers laid back in alarm

are you my hero

are you here to harm

this is the universe crawling begotten

this is the friendship

we are faced with uncertain

how many times have I drunk

elixir well spoken in language

I know when I’m drunk and broken

it comes back forever

this drink this reposting

beware of the bulls when they

crash through the wrong

I am drunk and unhinged

bored with bleating song

Make a video of this

you panting sad poseurs

this city ain’t dead

though it makes a great poem

this city ain’t dead’

though it makes a great poem.

3.3.18 nyc

PHOTO: Tim Tapling

what we forget to remember

are the flat tires fixed 

by roadside strangers

subway seats given up
softens elderly anger

we forget when young we 

snatched the cane of an overlord

and righted the protest
with no intent to defraud
like a swan necked round a lover

feathers laid back in alarm

are you my hero

are you here to do harm

this is the universe crawling begotten

this is the friendship

we are faced with uncertain

how many times have I drunk

elixir well spoken in language
I know when I’m drunk and broken
it comes back forever
this drink this reposting

welcome the bulls when they
crash through the wrong
I am drunk and unhinged

bored with bleating song
nostalgia grows like mold
on a slow-moving worm
it shutters the new
it comes dressed as harm
what we forget to remember

are small kindnesses each day

gathering the strengths

in pockets to say
make a video of this
you sad panting poseurs

this city ain’t dead

though it leaves some alone

beware of the dog that steals
all of the bones

this city ain’t dead

though it makes a great poem

this city ain’t dead

when we call it home.

VERY, VERY SHORT STORIES

SPIDER BITE

They were clearly growing much too quickly. No time anymore to move about unencumbered. There was one for every day of the week. So, on an evening drizzled with rain, a mother set out for the busiest part of the city, sure her mission would go unnoticed in the indifferent crowd. She swore she would unload, one at a time or all at once, at the first offer. Four of the quintet of boys thrilled at the man in the blue and red shiny suit. One remained skeptical. Of the two girls, one appeared aloof while the other scanned the crowd like a miniature radar tower.

Suddenly the brown-eyed girl with the searching eyes pointed directly at me, her expression one of unflappable determination. I met her mother’s gaze and saw my life change in a nitroglycerine moment.

BEDTIME STORY
“There is nothing to be frightened of,” he whispered. “All of the monsters are gone.” The girl slumped under Hello Kitty sheets. A pinkish glow bounced off hundreds of Hello Kitties stamped on the wallpaper in her pink and white room. He set her Hello Kitty Alarm Clock Radio and adjusted the night lite. He turned off the Hello Kitty musical lamp. He brushed away a tear, like a jewel awash on her wet cheek. Her eyelashes trembled with disbelief. Suffering, he drew her to him. “Darling girl, it’s gone forever. It can’t hurt you now. Do not be afraid.”

“Bring it back,” she whimpered. “Bring him back.”

TIMELINE

They wanted to defriend her, every one of them. Never mind that she told another story. Or that one of them was lying. They were loyal. She had to go. So, they withheld their likes. And waited, and waited, and waited.

REFLECTION

He crushes wild iris underfoot. More will grow back next spring. The lush undergrowth is getting to him. The vast, unkempt property is littered with mirrors; every size, shape and stage of distress. The bluebells are just the beginning. Soon he will see marsh marigolds and lupine. Wild columbine, he is sure, will take hold again. Bergamot and goldenrod will root like murder among the cracked mirrors. Black-eyed Susan. How could he?