It's Still Life

That Dog And your little dog, too. Toto. Barking at wind and witches and straw and wizards. I’m not an enthusiast of fluff and noise. Terriers — they’re too small to know their place. No perspective. A constant scurry. No waiting for their own tail. My dog never barked at wind. Nor witches. Far too…

Summer Feet My feet have a shallow hold on summer. Clean as sea air. Cleaned by sea waves. Sand cool as periwinkle blue, and days sweet as pears. It waits. There on the calendar. Just a few pages away.     written for Miz Quickly’s Day 21: Summer

A Minute’s Deliberation ‘You look like a hundred year old piece of Gorgonzola,’ she says, ‘or a cabbage leaf.’ Five minutes later, she is still talking but I’ve forgotten to listen by then. There’s a lot of mileage in a nod and a smile. This is a woman who I’d introduce as my friend, but…

The Duck Down Blues Farewell, my pillow, whose duck down seeps into fringe-edged seams. Feathers, a gander up my nose, and scribes itself into poetry that reaps and sows my kind weathered dreams. This old pillow, filled with worlds of dust, dead skin and mites, and slobber spit. Sunrise parts us — farewell fair remnants…

Piano Sprites A miniture piano, she played it so well, in harmonies of D and A, bright quarter notes filled with Spite-ish joys. Phantom tones like heaven’s bells ringing folly towers. She played for hours, sunlight by halves, that musical sprite playing her toy piano.   for Miz Quickly’s Day 15: A Toy