Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Rondo in F

The operator sits down
a piano becomes a time machine
she presses the keys
and a message
from the eighteenth century
enters the room

although buried in an unmarked grave
“Wolfie” as he was affectionately called
etched out his thoughts
into the wall of time

sitting here, in this room
listening to that message sent
over two hundred years ago
I write these words on electric paper
a message folded and stuffed
into a crevice in that same wall

Saturday, May 17, 2014


She is the Percussion
tick tock
click clack
jingle jangle

Come to rattle yer cage
Ha Ha no one is safe

Kakoosh kakoosh
swish swish
peasoup peasoup peasoup

Come to rattle yer cage

Friday, May 9, 2014

The Apron

I asked Mr. Google
if he knew her
if he remembered her
he shrugged
I’m sorry he said
maybe if she had
done something important
or she was the mother of
someone important
then I think there would
be a line around here somewhere

turning away I wanted to say
I remember her
the smell of soap and cooking
imbedded deep in her apron
as I grabbed on
to steady my feet

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Mother and Son

I'm  sorry
Its OK
I was so young
I know
How can you ever forgive me
Maybe I never will
Its OK
I'm sorry
I know

Saturday, May 3, 2014

The Stories We Tell

A group of refugees with
tired road-worn feet
gather under a shading oak tree
and after resting for a while
started exchange their precious
      stories of home
good soil, sweet water, old friends
the perfect proportion of
sunny days and gentle rain
and after taking time to
complain about their situation
closed their eyes
remembering days and places
that never existed