Six Short Poems in November

1.) Perhaps, 

he does live here,

this one called god,

this place called here,

as good as any other.

 **********

2.) Zoo Animals 

After darkness descends,

zoo animals roam

behind our eyelids,

closed and fluttering,

grazing on our dreams.

 **********

3.) On a breeze, 

Leaves

      stumbling

            across

                  my yard.

 **********

4.) Insomnia 

Sleep won’t come

nor the words repeated

to put into rhyme

and lull me to sleep.

 **********

5). Lay vs. Lie

- a love poem – 

Lay your body down

     and, lying there,

          remember falling

               in love.

 **********

6.) Card Shark 

The digital sound of cards shuffling and laid out

does not beat the feel of cards fluttering against your fingers,

a slight breeze stirring, and the tapping of cards back together,

the tap-tap of the deck against the table, nor the slap of cards dealt out,

thrown out from the deck, a quick deal around the table, nor the satisfaction

of cards strewn about in the frustration of losing, raining down across the room.

One Earth, One World

The fox and now 2 deer, squirrels, still,

and the unseen wildlife roam this space

we share, call home, in the early dark

descending in autumn’s changing time;

 

we hear each other, see traces, glowing

eyes, a yip, a grunt, the rustle of leaves

and brush, the bark of my own dogs,

too domestic to give chase, alerting me

and them, no warning, just acknowledgment,

we are here, bound together, readying

ourselves, all of us, thriving, surviving,

facing the winter ahead, the cold and snow,

the dark and lean times, clear skies

and the smell of humanity near us,

hazy smoke and the roar of engines;

 

slow progress advancing, finding our way,

making our way to an unknown distant

future, as one, man and beast, one earth,

one world, nurtured, sustained, enduring.

Jasmine (from "The Princess Series")

She is but a nameless, character-less player,

a mere prop called “the princess,” the Sultan’s

daughter, like her mother, we assume, awaiting

a prince, per the custom of the day, sold to the highest

bidder, 40 basins of jewels, 80 slaves, black and white,

a conjuring by a genie in a lamp, stolen by trickery

and used to win her hand, an idle boy unworthy of her

made worthy in this story of Aladdin, a Chinese tale

told, 1001 Nights: boy gets girls, boy loses girl (and lamp),

boy gets girl (and lamp) back, and they live happily

and in peace, a replacement for the Sultan in succession.

 

Hardly the Disney tale of an Arabian night in Agrabah,

the fable told of Jasmine, princess wanting more than custom,

a stronger character, a stronger woman wanting a life

of her own, breaking tradition, century old customs,

the right to choose whom she will love, whom she

will marry, prince or street-rat, to choose the life she wants

to live, a whole new world of choices to be made,

a magic carpet to take her away, she, Jasmine,

to a dazzling place she never knew, soaring, tumbling,

freewheeling through an endless diamond sky,

happily-ever-after!

 

And the genie? Very little to do with it,

in this the story of Jasmine. 

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Standing out in the rain this morning with my coffee,

tucked as best I could under the eaves, an occasional

drip off the roof finding my mug or the top of my head,

the mist blown against my face, the playful sound of rain

splashing and bubbling in the pools now forming in my yard.

 

It is peaceful here, though, as it always is with the rain, the drip

and droplet falling into itself, puddling, that steady yet arhythmic

beat of raindrops drumming softly around me, the earthen smell

of autumn, wet leaves, musk and must, pungent and earthy, the lake,

even, rising to the moment, its mirrored surface shattered by the storm;

 

and, too, the old memory recalled of a yellow slicker and rubber

boots splashing in the puddles of my youth, in the puddles of age.