Friday, January 24, 2014



The desk belonged to my mother
I love the hidden compartments
where she kept importance.

I have kept them too.

pencilled with abandon,
curled and draped,
 a face
a smile graced.

I see in pen
a girl with a big bow
and hair that flips up.
There’s a wooden boat,
and above it a chandelier
with bangles and crystal, 
where a winged critter
circles in circles.

Given a motor
all could fly,
little paper machines around the room,
or away on graceful silver thread of wing.

I know while she doodled
she talked on the telephone,
said how are you,
made appointments,
laughed in friendship,
all the while her crazy self-willed hand
moved unfettered and free.

I see she has named one,
horse and buggy,
but it looks more like a flower
with light bulb petals.

I fear I got my imagination from
that sweet mother of mine.

No, I hope I did.

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Catching Air

Quietly warmth tracks the floor
and stops at the closed door
then turning in circles against the glass
it fastens on the cat's paw
as in lazy winter careful
she backs away slowly
stealth a cunning part of grace
her pink tongue licking nothing.

And I think of strawberries
and the warm roads of Oxnard
delicately sweet with juice
running my chin
catching the lace of summertime.

When longing pounces on the warming air
and catches flashes of light tripping in
like a dormant mood gone to wind
as chimes open the sky
and it would seem that all can hear
the first drop fall
on the trembling measure of time.

Monday, January 20, 2014

Small Things

Each small thing plays a part
maybe sleeping in the corner
a speck of leaf come in with breeze
unchanged for hours and kept safe
by wall's corner and a large green vase

Could a sneeze be born from such 
unnoticed piece of tree traipsed in by boot
tromped on flower petal smooched
then crushed within the pattern of an oriental rug
the color of old roses mixed with dust

So many small patterns fill a life
some touching and forever changing
what they touch like a knife gone dull
sitting in a drawer where water leaked
turning silver handle to tarnished piece

Perhaps there is no bigger answer
only little pieces that one puts together 
not even a plot to move the story along
like melody to song can change or rearrange
and sometimes one small thing like a child's toy 
was lost just to be found again
so it could ignite forgotten joy

Friday, January 17, 2014


 an elephant's back
not a national forest
yes  it looked like that