Dreams do come true
Dreams come true if you want them to. Never stop believing in what you can’t see.
Hour Five
Haunted by a 20-Year-Old Dance
The pump in the espresso maker
pounds a heartbeat, like dancing feet
like the pulse I felt through the ground
when we danced together, okay not together
but nearby, barefoot on the dusty ground
and the crema in my hand is the color of your skin
the bitters are your eyes
drums in the machine
I am not here, no more am I here, I am there,
and you are Raven, your wings spread
poised to steal the sun.
#4 Butterfly Garden
A sunhat on her head and flip-flops on her feet
A hunter with a bottle for caterpillars
Treks to the field at the end of the street
A field with an apple tree and full of milkweed
Right for a seven years old scientist and caterpillars, too
Jen has a well-thought plan and a question
Is the field filled with wings or caterpillars black and gold?
The field sits warm in the morning sun
Are there caterpillars or butterflies?
There are buzy bees, ants in hills, and grasshoppers by the dozen
But the bushes are empty of caterpillars and of butterflies, too.
“It is too soon, you just can’t be gone,”
Jen checks her book and sees a picture
“Ah Ha!” she cries and looks so close at the milkweed plants she sees.
“This isn’t a flower bud hanging here, but a chrysalis, for sure!
I’ll take some home to hang them in the garden
I’ll watch the butterflies come out
I’ll give them a bouquet of milkweed flowers
It’s perfect!” she says with a shout.
Cellphone love affair
It consumes
every moment
of your life.
You can’t put it down for
one hour
one minute
one second
of the day.
A real human being is sitting in front of you
and you prefer to Snapchat someone
who’s miles away.
You have to put
All your opinions
(right or wrong)
on Facebook for all the world to see.
Not understanding
That once you post
It’s out there
Forever
And an employer could fire you
or you could miss out on a scholarship
all because of your obsession with
your cellphone.
Technology
How I’ve seen you grow,
almost four decades now.
Most of it, I care not
to understand
For it’s our undivided attention,
you demand.
Fading out, the human connection
yet
intertwining us, like never before
if you’ll look
you’ll find it all
Love and Hate
Laid out in your web
tracing the lives
we live
The Way to My Heart…
Takeaway for two – both me
Me-now, and me-at-midnight
With two poems due and food
My last defence against fatigue
Ordered online, between edits.
Delivered within the hour, hot
And fresh. Sometimes I love the internet.
Hour Five: Scythe
Scythe
Before she opens her eyes mama knows
It will be today
Her eyes open to greet the sun
She raises her hands in a yawning stretch
Pulling herself from under the heavy warmth of the quilt
Mama stands leaning on the bed, breathes in, breathes out
Daddy wakes and smiles at the news
They dress in silence, remembering a small bag before opening the door
The drive to the hospital is quick, charged with electric expectancy.
Inside the sliding doors, Daddy is detained at a desk
Mama is ushered into a cold wheelchair
Upstairs she must change from her warm clothes into a starchy gown
Lying in a bed adorned only with a threadbare sheet
Mama’s arm is inserted needles, Mama’s belly is tightly wrapped
In the bed there is no freedom, and there is no freedom from the bed
She’s not to sit up, not to stand
All eyes on the ticking machine
When the doctor decides the baby should come
All voices are rough, tense
It’s time for the baby. He’s not here so you must
push more, breathe less, lie flat, hush now
The baby does come, because that’s what babies do
and is wiped, poked, tightly wrapped, monitored
While the mother waits until tomorrow
To wrap baby in heavy warmth at home
unhindered
When Grandpa’s Gone
My time is not my own.
I am on call from dusk till dawn.
I feel like a circus jugglar,
Trying to meet each of his needs.
Banker, Chauffeur, Housekeeper, Teacher,
Yes. I do it all.
But I will miss Grandpa when he’s gone.
No more Saturday fishing trips.
Or Sunday mornnigs at the corner store.
He was going to teach me to whittle.
Yet, he never had the time.
I loved hearing all the family stories,
Of times with Grandma and his cousins.
I will miss Grandpa when her is gone.
Will he miss me?
It’s hard to tell.
I work to keep him clothed and fed.
All the while he sits and stares,
Out the large picture window,
At the birds and tall trees.
Maybe, Grandpa will miss me when he’s gone.
He is waiting patiently for a journey,
In which I cannot travel along.
But, I will miss Grandpa when he’s gone.
He has served his time here,
With nothing more to do.
He is going home to the Master.
I will miss Grandpa when he’s gone.
Double-Edged Sword
If it were
Not for Technology
People from all 7 continents
Would not be here right now.
Likewise,
if it were not for Technology
7 in 10 youths
Would not be victims of cyber bullying.