God Moves

Like the opening of

A flower

Or the lifting of

A fog

His purposes advance

Like icicles on eaves

Crafted

Like a coral reef

As if

He has forever

A Thousand Times

I've walked into this

Room

And never noticed the curve

Of this chair

Or the grain on this shelf

That courses around the knot

That once was a

Dignified branch

I've never seen the pattern

In this throw

That someone painstakingly

Finessed

Or the bronze column

Of this lamp

And its steadfast shadow

The ordinary wonder

Of a carved table leg

Or a graph

Of books

Tiny voices

I've never heard

Calling me out of

Myself

Thanksgiving

The day we take

Time away

From complaining

That our computer isn't fast enough

That our closet isn't

Big enough

That the waitress failed

To notice

That our drinks were empty

That our garage isn't clean enough

That our paycheck isn't

Large enough

That our workload is

Increasing

And our boss is hard to please

That our car isn't new enough

Our waistline

Doesn't shrink enough

The days are short

The nights are shorter

And filled with too much

Stuff

Just one day

In all the year

To forget such dire needs

And pretend that we believe

Enough's enough

An Opinion

May contain a thread

Of something that's seen

Or heard

Or read

Mostly

It's shaped with

A subjective knife

Carved to conform

To what seems to be right

The more I'm respected

The greater it's weight

A scholar

Or Hollywood star

Will inflate

Credibility

But the primary substance

At best

Without solid truth

Is anyone's

Guess

If Faith Were Gold

I wouldn't have enough

To spend

I would go through mine

Quickly

With nothing much to show

There wouldn't be enough to

Gild anything

I own

This small nugget

Wouldn't impress anyone

Once refined

There would be only enough

To form a simple

Band

For me to wear

To show that I belong

To someone

Pumpkin

Walking the rows

Between pallets weathered gray

Carrying an imperfect display

Of various shapes

And sizes

Some have no stems

Some lean to the side

I'm looking for the one

That magazines

And television

Have fashioned as my ideal

(With my approval, of course)

Pumpkin perfection

Perfectly round

Perfectly orange

An enviable stem

But these

Every one

Flawed

The perfect fruit does not exist here

So I choose one with

Deep character lines

Round

With a good stem

The flat spot

Won't show against the wall

I'll give it nice teeth

And a keen sense

Of humor

Drive

The last time I traveled this road

I was a new husband

A new father

Trying to make my way in the world

By first

Making my way to a small factory

In the middle of nowhere

Anxious to take the brown Omega

In a new and different direction

But by perceived necessity

Slowly leaving a rut here

Now

The trees are older

There are a few new houses

Dropped at random in a clearing

The new blacktop

Can barely hide the chatter bumps

Asking me where I've been

And if my dreams came true

As the leaves turn golden

In the rear view mirror

Page-a-Day Calendar

Each day a new puzzle

Mensa approved

A word or math problem

For someone to solve

If you know synonyms

Antonyms

Formulas

The problem today

Will not overwhelm you

But if you are lacking

Ambition for that

You'll be much better off

With just pictures

Of cats

Street Preacher

In his striped necktie

And baseball cap

With the sewn-on crimson cross

Bouncing his convictions

Like a rubber ball

Against a wall of indifference

With the fortitude

That only comes from

A diet of locusts

And wild honey

September

September came without a pause

Like a train rushing through the station

In the wake of dust and details

We felt the weather changing

Some of us watched the last car trailing

Into the setting summer sun

Others chased their hats and papers

Or barely looked up from their reading

We all knew it wouldn't stop

The best that we could hope for

Was to peer into the window of each day

To see something worth remembering

 

Economics 101

I wish everything was free

Said my daughter

Probably

Because she didn't have much money

If everything were free

I said

Then I wouldn't have to go to work

That's right

She said

Then

I asked

Who would make the parts for the cars

We drive

She replied

Other people can make them

But

I stated

If everything is free

Other people wouldn't want to work either

     Oh

And then

If nobody made things

There would be nothing to have for free

     Oh

I think

I said

That what you really want

Is for everything to be free

Just for us

Yes

She said

That's it

Mosaic

God is a craftsman

     not a curator

Trust is incremental

Pain creates change

Hope costs me nothing

Grace is a glue the works best

     on fragments

Things look random when we are

     too close

The dark colors make the bright ones look brighter

There is no peace without surrender

No beauty without struggle

GPS Girl

Take me away

Your voice is reassuring

Patient and firm

You know right where we're going

You sound like you're tall

And a little bit older than me

Your hair must be brown

Soft – to your shoulders

I like how you say “nine-TEE four”

There's a smile in your voice

I picture you here

Pointing and laughing

Oh! I turned too soon

You're recalculating

You sound irritated

Now, don't be upset

Please! Stop for a minute!

I can't make a U-turn!

I'll turn around soon

Did I hear you sigh?

We're back on our course

I can tell you sound colder

I picture you with eyes closed

Leaning your head on the window

Now we've arrived

You'll take me home later

You'll speak to the side window

And I'll drive in silence

Butterfly Bush

The botanists say

It's not supposed to survive

The harsh winters

But every summer

Out of the dead thicket

It races the forsythia

To the sky

For its August grand opening

Each pale flower cluster

A linen covered table

Set to feed an international clientele

That come in their

Saris and sarapes

And bright kimonos

Their boubous and kaftans

And tailored white suits

All are welcome

All are fed

An Exercise in Surplus Redundancy

Searching for a precious treasure

I found an old antique

Uniquely original

My buckling knees went weak

The little midget shopkeeper

Whispered softly in my ear

“It's in our discount sale” he said

“If I may be crystal clear”

“It's on sale!” I shouted loud

“I'll buy it now, today!”

And that is how, by lucky chance

This round globe came my way

Would you like to hear it over again?

Veil

Slender as life

Covering secret things

We knew were there

We heard movement

Saw shadows

Felt the glory

Pressing upon you

Stretching you along

The wide wooden hanger

Until

With a cry

You tore

From the top down

And fresh air

Filled the tomb

Hello, Neighbor

Seeing you there in the driveway reminds me

I have a letter of yours

Delivered to me by mistake

It looked quite important

So I thought I would bring it to your house in person

You've been expecting it for over two weeks?

Well, I guess it could have been two weeks ago

As soon as I saw it among bills and flyers

I set it aside to bring to you later

But it became shuffled among notes and papers

Out of sight, out of mind, I guess you could say

(That phone number there on the back I'll be needing)

When I found it again, it needed to dry

(Yes, that is the coffee stain there)

Would a good neighbor deliver it wet?

While drying, somehow, it was knocked off the counter

But Lucky, our dog, found it just three days later

(Yes, those are his teeth marks there)

And seeing you here through the window

I remembered it still in the freezer (don't ask!)

And like the good neighbor I so try to be

I brought it directly (Oh, by the way

I cut out the stamp for my daughter's collection-

I hope you don't mind)

Conformity

The cold glass

Plucks droplets from

The air

Down the glossy crystal

They tumble like

Expectations

Joining others in the

Expanding ring-shaped

Pool

Childish dew pretending

To be rain

To the Reader

You've opened this

Pantry door

For whatever curious reason

Inspecting each package

Of simile

Lyric

And rhythm

Hungry

For a taste

A snack

A greater satisfaction

Or just to view what's kept

Inside

How each row is arranged

This writer hopes he's stocked it

Well

Always glad

You came

Attraction

 

Magnet and steel

Hook and eye

Desire

And emotion

The most powerful

Force

In the universe

Is that

Which holds the

Fragile

Attention

Backyards

Laced together with

Driveways

Eyelets

Of detached garages

Built for anything

But cars

In Brian's yard

We are major league-ers

Aiming for

The fence

Behind the dog pen

In Patty's yard

The playhouse rises

On four wooden stilts

We are spacemen

Or spies

In my yard

We eat pea-pods

From the garden

And trade

Ball cards

On the porch

At dusk

We are roaches

Scattering

When the streetlights

Turn on

Fireflies

Lining the sidewalk

Snapping

My picture

As I walk by

The neighbors

Must wonder

Why

I turn

And pose

Prayer

Is me

Needing

To do something

About something

I can do

Nothing about

And it is you

Needing me

To know

That

Mayne Street

Did they know that

When they spelled it this way

The confusion it would cause

For someone looking for

Main

Or did they secretly smile

Wink

Tip their top hats

In a furtive salute

To their cleverness

A dormant joke

In an era of newsprint

And telegraph

Reawakened with

The telephone

And television

Fading now with

Text re-emerging

It's vestiges

For taxi drivers

And poems that can't be read

Aloud

Paper Cup

I try to keep it from you

But you're like a schoolyard bully

Provoking

Trying to make me spill this

I am angry

Misanthropic

Guarded

I run

Hunched like a halfback

Crying like a killdeer

With this great burden

So small

You strike

Relentlessly

I fumble

It is finished

Emptied

Dangles from my fingers like hopelessness

The dry earth drinks

I rise

No longer consumed

I see you've pushed me to this

Well

Street Musician

Beating dusty notes

From your guitar

Like an old rug

Your rhythmic plaints

Push against the wind and

The street noise

Until a few trees are shaken

And green leaves fall

Into your basket

Fresh Water

 

Rushes

Excitedly

Toward the ocean

Anxious to be

Part of something

Vast

Forcible

Turbulent

Never realizing

How much

It will be

Forever changed

Loss

I've explored the edges

Like a tongue

Constantly checking the gap of

A missing tooth

I know it's width

But not it's depth

When I sleep

I dream of nothing

And when I wake

I stare into it

This gaping hole

That once was

You

Science of Romance

What would love be without friction

If life didn't have this restriction

Our kisses would slide off our chins

Our sweet words would lack any diction

If gravity didn't posses us

Dinner for two would be messes

I would be stuck wearing bow ties

And you could wear none of your dresses

Grandmother

Let the younger ones

Remember

The important things

Like which way is left

How to sew on

A button

Or which day of the week it is

Today

She is too busy

Straining

To see the boats

That are drifting

Farther and farther

Away

From the shore

Ant

You've been spying on

David Copperfield

You've been crawling the pages of

The Great Blackstone's secret books

For, like Houdini

You appear

Seemingly out of nowhere

In the middle of the tile and grout sealed room

To claim the smallest morsel

Left on the floor

And me

With my superior intellect

Can't find

My car keys

Three Wishes

To be handcuffed to the

Truth

To wear love like a pair of

Glasses

To redeem this coupon called

Hope

Gershwin's Ghost

(Note: The Aeolean Duo-Art Weber reproducing piano was built in 1925. Through an intricate system of pneumatic controls, it eerily produced the expression of an actual performance by famous keyboard artists as recorded on perforated paper rolls.)

The arcs and swirls

Cap each leg

Walnut framed islands of relief

With flourishes covered in gold leaf foil

To draw attention away from

The instrument's secrets

By some hidden network

Of muscle and tendon

The black and white keys begin to move

Finger-like

He is here

Presenting his most famous

Rhapsody

It is his touch

That carves and gilds notes

From the walnut air

It is his pedal

That builds reverberant bridges

Between musical relief

And for a few moments

Even the skeptic finds it impossible

Not to believe

Boundaries

You color outside of the lines

But there's still the edge of the page

You color over the edge

Onto the floor

But there's still the wall

You color out onto the sidewalk

The driveway

The road

But there's still the curb

The grass line

You color into the field

But there's still

The horizon

You color the sky

The clouds

There's still the atmosphere

You fly into space

And color the earth

The planets

The stars

And all that's in between

There's still

You

You color

Yourself

There's still

The crayon

It's already colored, you say?

Yes

But

Not

By you

Early Spring

The melting snow

Has uncovered

Fallen twigs

And branches

Still clawing the air

In what must have been

A last

Desperate attempt to

Hold on

A faded paper flier

That had escaped the clutches of

The screen door

Has been captured by the bush

Standing sentry

At the edge of the walkway

Bits of Styrofoam appear

Bright against the tufts of

Brown grass

And I am reminded

In my own winter

That certain things will never

Be revealed

Until there is

A thaw

Lunch Box

Routine:

The half-pint carton of milk

Always

Goes in first

Next

The fruit cup and yogurt

Nest together

Carrots

Apple

Then sandwich

On top

Ritual:

There is leftover pizza

And I still

Only

Take a sandwich

Valentine

These lines

Have traveled other places

Before landing here

This metaphor

Like the breath at the end

Of a run-on sentence

I'm sure

Wasn't held here first

But this moment

You

Me

These borrowed words

Are

Just

Ours

3 a.m.

The single floodlight

Blinking away the falling snow

Stands guard over

The intersection

The coffee shop

The church

The grocery

Poke their heads out

Of the shadows

To listen

There are no arguments

At the cafe tables

No gossip

Under the bus stop sign

The tracks left by

Urgent appointments

Are covered now

Anger is spent

Worry is locked away

For a little while

All is holy

Pursuit

You try the switch

In the stifling dark hall

Nothing

The audience leans

Forward

The only soundtrack

Is your heartbeat

Your hands

Like scouts

Move along the wall

Feeling the shape of a door

The audience holds its breath

A woman whispers

“Don't go in there.”

The young men

Want to see you

Skewered

The old brass knob

Is cold

You are either very courageous

Or a fool

On this side

You'll never know which