Poem #4

It’s late in the day and
no words have lined up in a way that pleases me.
Nothing created
to speak of.
But I judge myself by my intentions.
and I’ve done no damage
to speak of.


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Poem #3

Notice. Your past comes back to you now
on a warm, moist breeze
cloaked in the smell of clematis
illuminated by the noon day sun.
Your past that you shared
with strangers who have forgotten your name.
Memory is like breath:
I can’t live without it.


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Poem #2

When memories are as transparent as dreams
and intentions as flimsy as those memories
and emotions dart here and there like spoiled children
and the right words never come,
I still begin to write without knowing
where the words will lead me
and when the words will stop


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Poem #1

20130401-114533April. Again.
Outside my window a gum ball tree
Seed of Aprils past
Reminder of brown army blankets
Flawed fathers.
Bare earth.

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Now is not forever.
Young dogs become old dogs.
Rain falls on parades.
Lies catch up with us
Memories fade
Memory fades
and the best intentions go where algebra went


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Ode to Her Nose

Ah! That pigment that blossomed even  as she followed her sister down the birth canal.

A 5 o’clock shadow darkened her blood smeared face

before Irish cleaned it with a mother’s tongue

gently with an instinct that eclipsed learning.

The nose grew. The color darkened.

Now a lump of coal.

The black so black

I fancy  I can see my face reflected there.

But it is only a nose.

A nose to point her way  from whelping to weaning.

A nose that sneaks beneath the bed skirt to worry the dust bunnies.

A nose that pushes sand before it as it tunnels past the tideline to the Bay.

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Goodbye Discovery

I didn’t see it, but all day I clicked on pictures and videos posted by my Twitter and Facebook friends. I have been fascinated by the space program since Alan Shepard became the first American in space in 1961. Ten years later I watched him hit golf balls on the moon. I must have consumed gallons of Tang after NASA used it on John Glenn’s Mercury flight. I was home sick that January day in 1986 when the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded 73 seconds into its flight. I watched the explosion over and over and wept. Listening to WTOP on the drive home from work today I heard several eyewitnesses to today’s flyover talk about how they wept as they watched the Discovery make this last flight. I feel a sense of loss – not only for the shuttle program but for the national optimism that made it possible.


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