Monday, November 30, 2009

Brunch on a Barstool (poem)

The best moment of my life
was beside you in a bar
in broad daylight
as we chatted idly
about our lives. God,
were we hung over!
Even so, we were coherent
and in-sync and you looked
into my eyes, I into yours
as you offered up cliché –
“Eyes reveal everything.”
Yours said something about love
and mine acted as mirrors
and this is exactly what
I never knew I needed.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

It Sounds Like Bing Crosby Backed Up by Brass (poem)

This song makes me want to dance
in 1944, long-gowned and gloved,
blushed cheek rested on a dark wool suited
shoulder, feeling the sway in the syllables,
the syncopation of words sung
to swelling sounds of horn and harp
and string and piano. Transplanted,
my eyes are closed and I am warm and whole in this
period peace where a nobler war was fought
than would ever be fought again.
There is such tranquility in the swishing
of taffeta and lace, a home spun elegance
found more deeply as musical measures
amble by. I want to be in love
in this dance, this era, this chance
at being something as simple
as present in the embrace
of a slow stepped dance.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Staged. (poem)

The man and woman stand
under a stark white spot
light; they are dressed in black
and posed close enough to look
uncomfortable. This is a stage.
They are the players. This theatre
is silent so when he speaks,
his voice is a knife severing silence.
“This could be more,” he says.
The woman remains blank
and gives the audience shivers.
You could be more,” she says
and turns to leave him alone
under that light. This is life.
They are living it. This world
offers nothing as he stands stock still
and the audience mills by, into
the night where she left him.