In a room of
freshly washed windows
Quietness fills the room
waiting for the quilt to be finished
to cover the dreams as you sleep

When she walked out the door
She was wearing her toes
They were a turquoisey color
I really want some of those

She was wearing her backpack
She was traveling light
She was going to the wild
to spend the night

When she left I was having
second thoughts…….
Should she have covered those
turquoisey toes or not

You see if I thought it
the birds might think it too
and eat those toes thinking
they were berries because they
were blue.

It was a silly thought
even though it could
possibly happen and that
would make it possibly true

When she comes back the
next day I hope
she’ll still have those toes
those toes that she takes
where ever she goes

Rock in the palm of my hand

The voice of the pounding
surf against the sand

What is heard is the inside

of what we understand

swirls in the palm of my hand

I am a little birdie
perched on a shelf
sleeping
keeping
one eye open to the
cat that wants to put me in
himself

Spring leaves

green edges of
moss
rocks of the
grotto
tucked in
cove by the sea
beckoning
the hot sun of summer
fade the green

to brown tans
of swimmers
in the sea

Remember the poem that I wrote
you
The one about the half naked man
barbequing in the yard
Well he’s back with a half dead alive chicken
in a shopping cart

so when the dog came and snarffed the
chicken with legs and feathers flying about
(the man was surprised that it happened)

making this stuff would require alot more
imagination than is worth the effort
so you will just have to believe that

this really did happen

it’s because that we love you
that we bop you in the nose
It’s because that we love you
that we step on your toes
It’s because that we love you
that we bite you on the butt

We just want to to get close to you
and find out whassup.

A creatively playful misuse of the English language
perpetuated by Irish offspring

I have a poem
No, just a few words
Ummm…..oh crap
I just lost it

flew away

I shoulda written a poem about mold
and the long rainy days

but I didn’t

I shoulda written a poem about
the man downstairs barbequeing
in the early spring with the neighbour
screaming at him to put his shirt on

but I didn’t

I shoulda written a poem about
waiting in the bank for 2 hours
starting at 212 and getting to 272
and then the computer going down
(my number being what is was 303)

but I didn’t

Why?

Becuz…..no one woulda read it.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda

but I didn’t