(for Mad Men Only)

Harry Haller had a carpet store in a part of town that you would only visit in the day-time and then only on sunny days. Kilim, Azerbaijani, Isfahan, and Dhurrie were a few of the names spoken in harsh whispers in the dark corners of the store. Little light came through the smoke grimed windows. Almost un-noticed among the hanging carpets was a dark doorway with a small sign “Harry Haller’s Records (for Mad Men Only)”. Bins of CD’s, LP’s, 45’s, 78’s and on a shelf an Edison wax cylinder all of these had the theme of wolves of the steppes.

Magic Carpet Ride

Well
Step on board and lets
take a ride.
Shall we go forward
or backward?
Maybe just sideways
and avoid the whole thing
all together?
If we go forward
you can travel over
lands you have already seen.
It will be wonderful — Or it
could be scary and you will
regret it.
Would you like to go backwards?
You can see all the lands you
have known and visited before.
You might fall into a deep depression
and never recover — or it will
be wonderful.
You choose. The choice is always yours.
Hop on up and lets begin
our Magic Carpet Ride into the known
or the unknown.

The Rug

Her name was Ima Colektah

her window sills were over-flowing

dead flies and bees

her shelves always had room

just one more kitschy statue

little Swiss children, Hummels

elbowing Ken and Barbie

her 50’s era chrome dinning table

always ready, a complete eight place setting

off-orange Melmac dishes

mom went to Safeway each week

99 cents for each piece

she was proud of everything

the only thing that she regretted

the woman from Antiques Road Show

had a heart attack right there

and ruined the Veramin rug.

On the topic of bees

It happened again. Another dead bee. "Look" he says "a bee." We only notice bees because now they visit our yard one at a time. This bee was hovering around the Jasmin Bush. "Oh" I said "how nice to see one." We admired the bee together. Suddenly the bee makes a loopy almost crash dive and then skims the table we sit at. It appeared to be drunk and flew off to another part of the yard in a wobbly fashion.
My husband moved off to the side yard to attend to some replanting. The same bee flew by him and landed on the cement patch by the back door. "Wow" he says " the bee is over here wandering around on the ground. Bees don't usually walk around like this."
I had been telling him all summer long about all the strange bee behavior and had started a collection of dead bees. I threw them all out as I did not want to become some freaky dead bee collector. And what was I saving them for anyway? Was I going to ship them off to the person in charge of all the recent bee deaths in America? Was I going to officiate at a bee funeral and have a mass grave dug for them?
We left the yard and got on with making dinner. Later I slipped out and went to the last location of the bee. She was there on the ground, dead. I gently picked her up and once again started my dead bee collection.

Barbs

The bee lifted off

from the flower

taking all the sweetness

that it had to offer

and her voice flowed

words of warm honey

a sad, sad song

as she pulled at

the barbs that he

left in her heart

Bee vs Penis

Notice

In the event of Bee vs Penis:

The Bee will always win.

Brought to you by the society to cure penis envy

An Angry Bee

The creek is called Kuskanax. It runs out of the mountains of British Columbia down into the Arrow Lakes (Columbia River) to feed the never full Pacific. Each spring the snow melt engorges the creek, carrying with it the flotsam and jetsam (wonderful words) out of the forests it passes through. When the waters recede great piles of this debris, this disorganized chaos of mountain forest, are deposited at various points along the creek. It was one of these piles that I faced on my hike up the creek from the lake to the highway bridge. Yes, I can get over this, no problem. I have to admit the stories of unhappy hikers slipping off logs and lying with a broken leg until their bones were picked clean by ravens did pass through my mind. I made it to the top, no turning back now, when I heard it, the angry buzzing of a disturbed wild bee hive. They poured out of the depths of the tangled tree trunks. Oh, My! It’s me that they are angry at. Ravens be damned, I hopped down the pile and ran up to the bridge waving my arms before they relented. It felt as though someone had hit me on the top of my head with a hammer. A bee had gotten tangled in my hair and let me have it. Boy did that hurt. I was still panting in anger and exertion when the worst happened. As I stood in front of the toilet ready to pee, the last bee reminded me to never disturb its hive again. It had crawled all the way up my pant leg and when it could get no further let me have it.

Something Sweet

Saccharine is an artificial sweetner
the taste is not to my liking
When I have tea, honey is dripped

While the honey bee
has gone on strike
with no pretense of
serving humankind
honey becomes
a rare commodity

My Lapsang Souchong will be bare
with only thoughts
of you to sweeten it

Treacle

In the forest, in the trees

stirs the early morning breeze

small animals begin to stir,

fluttering wings

and the hum of bees

the owls their calls do cease

as the sun in the sky does climb

we whisper to our selves

how can anyone write

such treacly rhyme

 

Aura

She is the Goddess of the early morning
Goddess of the cool early morning breeze
I push open the door
I stand and take it in
into my pain.

Aura Goddess of this Olympian air
runs though me
and I am transformed.

Able to ascertain my berth,
my place
laying leeward into
the exhalation of the Goddess
I sail these gracious winds.

Coming at once to rest
coming at once to me
acknowledging my need
for gentle touch
and kindly reminders
that she is there
and welcomes me home.
 

Breath

From the first yowl of outrage

at being cast onto this

bright white shore

to that last silent exhale,

we breathe, our life

In and out

In and out

So routine

It steps back from center stage.

Our life a drama

suffering and delight

mostly suffering

and all the while

air comes in, goes out

this cool breeze of our being.

Hypnotic Trance

I will count down from ten to one.
When I reach one you will be
in a state of complete relaxation
and all sensations of pain
and discomfort will disappear.

10  close your eyes
9   let your body sink deeply
8   you are getting very sleepy
7   peace slides over your body
6   starting from your toes
5   there now let all tensions float away
4   good breath deeply
3   every breath moves you closer
2   to peace and relaxation
1   now you are at complete peace 

Sleep deeply and be refreshed and in tune with the world.

Sunday in the Park

We were in the park. It was a Sunday in July. Someone had suggested a barbeque. So there we were the four of us, blankets, potato salad, bratwurst and watermelon. We had tried to find a spot with just a little shade but the park was crowded. The only decent space left was near the baseball diamond. Jim and Alice wandered off to try to find some ice cream. We were lying on our backs making stories out of puffy clouds. We were in to the third chapter of a torrid bodice ripper between a plumber and a lady lawyer who worked for the DEA. That’s when you suddenly sat up saying “I got it, I got it”, a new angle on the story. Then smack, it hit you, full on in the face. A slicing foul line drive hit by some muscular eighteen year old. It almost lifted you off the ground. You fell back stunned. The skin was split and a bruise was rapidly forming. When the EMT’s arrived they asked you, for some reason, to count to ten before they would let you go.

10 Thankful Things

1. When the baseball hit my face, it did not shatter my jaw
2. Lingerie
3. Fake fingernails
4. Seeing My Loved Ones in my dreams
5. Hair grows back even when you shave your head bald
6. The Great Spirit is my Co-Con-Spirit-or in all things Great and Small
7. The Crow hovers by my side patiently
8. On demand hot water
9. Books that I do not want to come to an end
10. The laughter my Bichi Poo brings into my life

Sweet Song

Little bird

sitting on your branch,

your song

greets each day

sweeter than any human

could devise.

You hold

my truly insane

planet together

so I rise

thankful for another day.

Dino Hummer

little bird

spin high

---  let me see

what

---  you really look like

encased in feathers

who

---  would know

a dinosaur lurks

in your heart

Allen

I almost flinch opening

a page on the computer

he stares back at me

fierce eye challenging

male to male

I’m in his territory

an Allen’s Hummingbird

descendent of dinosaurs

I step back, heart banging

and go onto my next email

The Hummingbirds Message

The iridescent green Hummingbird

has a beak stained yellow

from pollen — swooping down

from under the influential Jasmine

face to face

he gallantly informs

we humans:

Summertime is here

Hummingbird has no song

to sing — instead he

impatiently clicks his

message into our ears,

colonizing our thoughts

"it is our choice to act or not"

Summertime

Smell the sweet flower of this day

Personal Bouquet

Don't tell me you don't remember
I was a flower
An impossibly delicate
budding flower
I was such a dulcet rose
God would have plucked me
for her own personal bouquet
until you came along
with your mutton chop sideburns
and faded blue paisley shirt

Born on the Fourth of July

ratty red curtains

ratty red chair

pink patterned dress

a growing belly

camera! please go away

let me be

no guitar, no song today

un-happy birthday

twenty-one

born on the fourth of July