hello ~ a poem


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I waved
somewhere she was there
in the red roses we’d placed on the ground
as they brightened in the sun
in the blue-eyed gaze of my grey-eyed sister
taking in the sweep of green hills
in the sudden passing of a single crow
the dark rush of wings
the angelic sound
I waved
somewhere she was there


i need an oil change ~ a poem


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i need to get an oil change
he said
and she thought
he said
i came back and the world changed

she said
i did the dishes they’re all clean and
he heard
why didn’t you do them

he said
didn’t i tell you i’m working late and
she heard
it’s all up to fate

these are the miscommunications
that make the heart sink
the spoken unspoken words
that make you think and think


thoughts of revolution ~ a poem


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america take a hard look at yourself
do recent events reveal the hidden face of you

it’s too easy to blame pure evil when so much
derives from the very marks of achievement
we hold so dear like fame and weath and winning
when we applaud violence and brutality
on playing field and screen
when bearing arms is just a game of one upmanship
when a puerile hate-mongering president
plays the most deadly game of all

america the great experiment
is yours the face of failure

is it time to try something new

star / звезда ~ a poem


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once again once again
i am a star for you

that’s from a russian poem
isn’t it? yes but it comes back

to me over and over again
as my own composition

for somewhere deep within
i see myself as that distant star

appearing in your heaven
always out of reach

yet somehow near
shining just for you

on seeing an old frenemy ~ a poem


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you leave me
feeling like there was something
i was supposed to do,
something i was supposed to say.

these memories, they live in my cells
like a virus, ready to rage at the
slightest distress.

they’ve overtaken my body now,
my every thought.
no sleep is possible,
no sense of rest,
in the face of this invasion.

what did i do to you?
or what did i fail to do?
why is it me that you blame?

my defenses are weakened
and your hatred is a disease
that has no cure

at a starbucks near you ~ a poem (and observation)


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he stood in front of me as we waited in line.
taped to the back of his white t-shirt was
a slip of paper, also white, on which
was hand printed in faint letters:
out of order.

who hasn’t felt out of order from time to time?

he was a thin rail of a young man
with eyes hidden behind ray-bans,
while about his neck floated streams
of white surgical gauze giving him the allure
of a wounded French aviator (à mon avis, at least).
his purpose there, however, was prosaic enough:
he wanted a cup of ice water, which made perfect sense
on this hellishly hot day in la la land.

another man sitting nearby, not understanding,
said to him, yo, someone has taped a sign on your back,
but the young man said nothing in reply.
instead, after getting his drink, he moved on
to the side counter, where he dumped out half
the ice water and filled the cup with cream
all the way to the brim.

Perhaps only then did he have the proper mixture,
the magic elixir, to put the self back in order.

and yet once out the door, rather than continue
on his way, he stopped and turned to face
the glass door as it slowly closed in front of him.
how this added to his starbucks experience
i’ll never know.