Light Wine

At the end of each day
when the angels are done drinking off
the sunset, Heaven’s Chardonnay,
are they tipsy with sunlight?
A little high on sky,
that rumbling now,
all ribald and bawdy
under cloud cover.

 

 

For April Poem-a-Day

Ambition

I thought I could write water
out of thin air,
wring rain from this morning’s
perfect sky
into a bucket of words –

Might come in handy
if I get lost in the desert,
or need to put out a fire
or two.

Then, in my ambition,
could my verse claw clods and stones
from the earth
and dig my own grave?
Or at least shore up
the fastness of my heart?

From the other room
you remind me, my love,
that I’m not a smart man.

A smart man would put down his pen
for the nonce,
and come back to bed.

 

 

For April Poem-a-Day

Just Checking

Out on the road after I fixed up
my old jalopy of a heart

Bandy veins and
gappy ventricles
don’t seem to hold down
my baggage too well

Just bounced out
a case of the willies
and now the ghosts of women
dead from love gone wrong*
litter the road
with their lost red shoes

Dang, and a case of the heebie jeebies
broke open too
a bunch of random legs and arms 
no one wants any part of them!

My running board of love
is hanging from the chassis
and the Blues Brothers
refuse to play on my radio

Will you love me anyway?
Will you still say, “I do?”

 

 

 

*One theory of the origin of the expression “the willies” is from “wila,” “vila” and several other variants, the “wilis” have been staples of Slavic folklore for centuries. “Wilis” are usually depicted as the spirits of young women who have died from love gone wrong in some respect and haunt the forests forever after, luring young men to their deaths

 

For April Poem-a-Day

Restart

Need to get to Home Depot
and pick up some tools:

Love screwdrivers
heartache wrenches
heartstring pullers or such

My ticker skips a beat
then stops every damn time
I see you step from the shower

I had a 20 pack of love poems
by Neruda, “Starts the coldest heart!”
but lost the instructions

Any ideas for something more reliable
than this four-valve gizmo of mine?

 

 

For April Poem-a-Day
And Twiglets

Outside the Lines

You have to stop skydiving
Into my heart.

Ok, no, don’t stop,
it’s amazing, but

Picture this:
I am a haystack,
and you are on fire

Picture this:
I am the eight ball
and you are a pool shark

Picture this:
I am the chowder,
you are the spoon

But I can’t seem to paint you
Even with words –

Your eyes have no parachute,
no ripcord, no harness

and I don’t know how to color
in freefall.

 

 

 

For April Poem-a-Day

Over-Uneasy

Scaredy-egg
begs the question –
which came first
the chicken or
the cat?
Electric jump back
6.242×1018 coulomb
crazy bitch neurons
firing begging burning
from the frying pan
onto the plate
you yes you honey
gonna cat-scratch eat you
gonna love you right up.

 

 

For dVerse Quadrille

“The White Knife” – Emily Dickinson and the Apotheosis of Certainty

20180324_133042
Poet and Philosopher Akira Dogesawa. “The Homestead” – Emily Dickinson House, Amherst MA

(Translated from the Japanese*)

 

Like you,
I have the gift
Of scent beyond the grave –

How your garden
whispers,
Just here –

The stilled wingbeats
Of the fallen thousandth daughter
Of your hummingbird.

 

 

*Akira Dogesawa (aka “The White Knife”) b. 2013.

In Japan, Shiba Inus were traditionally bred to hunt small game such as birds and rabbits, and write Haiku.

N.B. Although rigorous honesty in poetry does not demand full disclosure, Akira was in fact born and raised in the United States. We are certain however that Japanese is still her first language, as her responses to even simple English commands are inconsistent, and she exhibits a strong preference for sushi.