Death

Escape from the talons
of the predator
claws tear flesh from bone
but it flees
panic stricken gait
ground like a treadmill
still pressing on
and still it gains
closer, closer
the talons will sink in again
and a body falls to the ground
Jan. 1996

After Dusk

dewdrop peace begins at dusk
still red the sky is staying
crickets with the bullfrogs sing
fireflies flash while playing
the night abuzz with crazy life
only people sleeping
animals know what time is best
the dark their secrets keeping
Dec. 1995

Thoughts

Where are you going and
how are you getting there?
My thoughts are lost in
pocket lint
Where do yours go when
you aren't paying attention?
I bet there's a lot of extra
ones floating around in the
pond out back.
That must be why the fish
I caught is so smart.
sometimes they fall into
the empty bottles in the recycling bin.
I think that's where new ideas
come from.
My only problem is the big hole
in my pocket.
Dec. 1995

Please Forgive Me

I'm sorry, I think I made a mistake
that happens sometimes.
I'm sorry, but this is too much to
take,
can you forgive me?
I'm sorry, my feelings hurt too by reply
and yours?
I'm sorry, could this be good-bye?
I know it's my fault...

and I'm sorry.
Sept. 23, 1995

Sunshine

rose petals fill the air
fresh scent of spring
flowers in the yellow field
sway to the bluebird song

sun filtering
beating warm through cloud fluff
the mushrooms under
pinetrees,
peeking up from a needle prison
staying cool and moist

whirly maple seeds
join the petals
bees are happy today
Nov. 1995

Tears

Magic fingers
swoop low over the cemetery
tears are falling
dry cheeks becoming saturated
tears becoming a salty river
and a boat can float
jump in, it can sail you away
across the lake
filled by this stream
the lake must be an ocean
it is filled with salt
and so are her cheeks
by the shore she stands
and the magic fingers
grab for her breath
she struggles for air
with a gasp
magic fingers change heart
and wipe her cheeks dry.
Nov. 1995

Sandcastles

My toes sink into the damp sand
waves splash up
to bury my feet
the sun beats down
and my hair sucks it in
imitating the golden rays

warm my pale skin
but rosy my cheeks
and I trudge back to
the umbrella masking my
beach blanket.
The calluses on foot bottoms
vaguely painful
from sandfire.

My mind changes and
instead of clean and cool
on the blanket under the
umbrella,
I choose the warm sunlit
sand
and ignore the grit in my hair
Later leaving behind only
my sand angel,
and the castle I want to
live in someday.
Sept. 1995