Coffee Cup Poem no.71

As much as I would love every single one of my poems to be deeply thoughtful, I simply cant crank them out like that. So this is just a little something I jotted down while sipping tea on my apartment porch this morning.

Musings Upon Waking Up 

The sweet smell of freshly mowed grass
raises up through the summer air
and tickles my nose as it passess
along on the warm summer breeze.

I take a long sip of tea
letting the chill sooth the heat
and trickle down into my soul
as I open stale pages and wait

to hear the early morning swallows
to peak their hesitant heads out
and begin to sing, to bellow
the mourning songs of spring.

They too were taking note of the heat
wishing there were still a chill
to help ease the 85 degrees
that makes us al sweat until

we’re forced inside for refuge,
the sweet blow of air conditioning
and the calm circle of the fan.
This year will be a hot one.

Coffee Cup Poem no.70

I Live Life By the King of Words (Jorge Luis Borges Was Right)

I chose to see the world through my eyes
and through blank pages
letters scrawled across empty spaces
and connected by seas of ink.

I seek to go many places
see them, The Word, experience…
life sometimes forces it into dreams
and out onto the pages, my pages.

The pages of history & romance,
the pages of drama & violence,
Fables collected by time’s scribes
to be retold over and over
and find a resting place
in the ears of childhood
and in the dormant consciousness
of adulthood.

Sun blankets the midnight seas
of the penned words of lives
that glare in the peak of days
and dim in evening’s goodbyes.

There is one word I look for,
always, The Word,
that attatches to memory
vividly evading a lifespan.

(Can you guess it?)

Coffee Cup Poem no.69

Theories On the Nature of Tragedy: A Working Mule

The devil likes to keep a mule,
And nudge it with a stick
Or lash it with a whip.

When it stumbles, this mule,
Loses its balance, and trips
It becomes the devil’s trick

For it does not strike, but runs into
And that is how tragedy begins,
The sneaky little thing it is.

This mule, tragedy, has no life of its own,
A devil’s slave with poor falling aim
Moving when a red beast yanks its chain

With no real motivation to harm
It unsuspectingly causes pain,
A sad creature with tight reins.

But when god uses it as his muscle
The mule becomes a weapon, carefully aimed–
Two sides of the very same coin.

Coffee Cup Poem no.67

Something Wicked This Way Comes

The leaves dance in anticipation,
Letting loose a sea of green
That travels in waves over the wind
Landing in swirls of verdant

This is only the beginning

Clouds presume over sinister waltzes
Performed for a gallery of crying of swallows
As they loom, watching, waiting
Threatening to pour over souls restless.

And now, the rising action

Ominous drums quicken their step,
While spotlights flash in the dark
And illuminate the tempest dancers
Twirling faster, faster to keep up.

Time for the denouement

A strike across the sky, chaos
And confusion of light, no one
Can see the play as gleams fall heavy
Across the stage, a menacing act.

The Shadow Show has come to town to stay.

Coffee Cup Poem no.66

Tornado Season

The sky’s swirl of ashen yellow is deceiving
as it tumbles between errie and beauty
and rain, once downpour, suddenly
fades to a drizzle–everything goes calm.

One can even hear the swallows
peaking out of shelter, only for a moment
to whistle a song of warning
right before sirens break tranquility

The sky inhales yellow panic
and exhales silver disaster
as Oklahoma takes shelter
today tornado season begins.

Coffee Cup Poem no.65

This Morning’s Thoughts

This morning I woke up
lesson in hand
armed with coffee
and ready to teach.
I look out on a morning
perfectly dreary
thinking of my warm classroom–
my second home.

On the drive my mind wanders
to students arriving
umbrellas and raincoats
wishing for a power outage–
today’s planned poetry lesson
may be a hard sell–
my mind is anticipation
and curiosity and hunger.
My classroom calms me
as I set down my things
and wait…

Coffee Cup Poem no.64

Definitely a work in progress, but for now:

Reading Musings of Childhood Nostalgia

My hands linger on these pages
as if trying to take back
my childhood
even if just one word, one word
of something I know is gone.
I want these words to look as they did,
promise the same enchantment,
as I stay longing on this page
am I looking for answers?

Could I still make friends
with a Black Stallion,
when shipwrecked after raiding
a hooked captain’s ship
deep in the Wonderland
I found hidden in a wardrobe
or was it Platform nine and three quarters?
 As I take a magic carpet into the sunset
not with a prince,
but with a friendly giant,
will animals guide me anywhere, anymore?

Magic, I miss
magic is what leaps into my mind
from these words, childhood’s words
but I no longer believe it
the way I did ten years ago or five.
Nostalgia is the word I find,

for the places this story
used to transport me
the first time,the second time,
the times I believed.

No, no.
I don’t think so,
My imagination has grown up
and these are no longer beliefs
but wistful musings.
Still, I’d rather let them take me
far away to lands un-inhibited
by thoughts of politics, economics…
Wendy returned from Neverland.

A smile returns to my face
hoping to travel away
as I turn the final page.

Coffee Cup Poem no.63

Happy Easter! I decided to write a poem about a rabbit, but it’s not exactly cheery. It’sreally just the retelling of a Grimms’ fairy tale “The Rabbit’s Bride.”

A Rabbit’s Tail for Good Luck

Sit on my tail and go with me,
Go with me to the Rabbit hutch, he said
Gathering cabbage, waiting patiently
As the girl, young and clever, looked suspiciously
At what the Rabbit had said.

Sit on my tail and go with me,
Go with me to the Rabbit hutch, he said
Twitching now, impatiently,
Jerking his ears, leaning back on his haunches,
You will be my wife the Rabbit said.

Sit on my tail and go with me,
Go with me to the Rabbit hutch, he said
And she gathered a boquet and accepted his plea
Thinking what a beautiful bride she would be
I will go with you to the Rabbit hutch, she said.

So the went together to the Rabbit hutch
To be married happily, as he said
But the girl, very clever indeed
Snared the Rabbit, her groom to be
And carried him home, so it is said.

She took the Rabbit to her mother
And they cooked him in a stew as they said
Never again will he steal our cabbage
Or tempt this young clever girl to marriage
And mother and daughter kept his tail, so it is said.

Coffee Cup Poem no.62

Jolly Holiday

We rode our dreams
on a carousel
and let it carry us into dusk
where our eyes fluttered
with the blurring colours
of kaleidoscope horses
until dew tipped the panes
and pryed open our hearts
letting in the grey light
of dawn.

My mind goes to the darby though
with dusk’s spinning horses
across now distant thoughts
I close the shutters
and welcome the night’s races.