A sign

A sign


I reside in this in-between

With you on the other side

Our deal not to be shared

With anyone living


I wait with patience to

Know that you are there

Somehow still connected

To me and us


Take only a moment

My last request as

You have joined the others

While I must open this door



TobeTT  # 18

Yarn hoarder’s confession

Yarn hoarder’s confession


Street vendor by trade

Crocheting hats with a

Madame Defarge intensity

Seven years I sold them


Now laden with too much

Yarn purchased on sale

I appear a hoarder unwilling

To part with smart purchases


Hats of my own design

Unable to follow formal

Instructions lost on me

I had made up my own


Now Granny squares

Has become my therapy

The same square in

Infinite colors now hundreds


As yet not unified the

Squares are mounting up

In bags hidden from view

Until one day


Perhaps to circumnavigate

This failing planet to

Cozy it up with comfort

That only Granny can offer


TobeTT  # 17




my aching behind

causing a big distraction

a poet’s nightmare



TobeTT  # 16

Sober Friend

Sober Friend


Grieving without wine

I became the sober friend

Without intention I hear

The ice in their glasses

When I answer the phone


It is almost all of them

And I am surprised

Belonging to this club

For years knowing

The phone was a trigger


Thinking I am missing

I try to imbibe only

To find my glass half

Full in the morning

Virtually untouched


I will not go back

As it is a slippery slope

I am only too familiar

Confusing drink with

Sadness I stay clear


TobeTT  # 15

Mixed Up

Mixed Up


Yellow ran away from home

Causing great distress for

Blue and red while

Green and orange wept


Of little consequence to

Black and brown they

Offered support to bring the

Thoughtless youngster back


Purple obviously concerned

About blue and red

Showed his true colors

And went to the movies


People let this be a lesson

It’s not who you are that

Matters in this world

But who you are mixed up with


TobeTT  # 14

Working Hands

Working Hands


You can tell a man’s worth

Not by the change in his pocket

But by the skin on his hands

And the lines in his face


Men who can save for the future

Hire hard-handed men

To do their labor as they

Move numbers across a desk


Men with leathery worn fingers

Broad and hard at the edges

From digging and pounding have

Hands immune to the world


These hands of working men

Work for money to

Buy the blue sailboat

Pay the lumberyard debt


For a man’s worth must be

Gathered and displayed

Shown off to each other

To be acknowledged


TobeTT  # 13




I became cleaner after he died

Allowing forever paint chips

To loosen and be swept

Human smells creeping out

Through windows, doors ajar

Leaving constellations of dust

Autonomous universes

Home to beings who do no harm

Recycling even bad thoughts

Into tulips


TobeTT  #12

Boom Done

Boom Done


Dropping dead is not that easy

It’s all in the timing

Circumstances being just so

You can’t be sitting and drop dead

Lingering on the floor doesn’t count

It’s all in the landing

Arriving to the ground dead

I’ve seen it done and trust me

It’s not for the faint of heart


TobeTT  #11

Silents Nights

Silent Nights


Spring has aged into summer

New greens fading now solstice hues

Dark holes between layers of leaves

Remain and stare back

Evening sun lightens the mood

As the inevitable is coming

With each visit the sun wanes

Creatures shift their watch while

Sounds soften as birds are mute

Once filling the air

Now crickets seem silent

Bats have gone with fireflies

Remember back to summer evenings

When life relayed itself with audible surety

Listen to what has been lost.


TobeTT  # 10

Saving Boots

Saving Boots


They’re still in the barn

His dozens of worn boots

Waffle stompers they’re called

Look it up


When in Alaska

I discovered old boots

Would become planters

Boots still working


While saving his boots

He was feeling

Both honored and

Thinking me crazy


This one style boot family

Size 10 Field & Stream

Allowed for that broken toe

On his left foot


Having earned their keep

I will haul them to the yard

Spray inside and out

With the garden hose


Planting each with flowers

I’m tempted to lay them

At random graves in the cemetery

Where he had dug for fifty years


TobeTT  # 9