The Blissful Seat

THE BLISSFUL SEAT

daylight

holds its breath

darkness

keep its secrets

still as death

creation blinks

the chuff of angel’s wing

plucks strings of song

from streaming ink

on chords of wind

glory dances in

the dying turn their faces

from the wall

they hear the call

of harp and timbrel

flute and pen

What We Carry

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What we carried in our pockets

Was the business of those days

While our mothers, locked in closets

Of our making, hid away.

Our daughters fill their pockets

With their business, none of ours;

Their mothers, locked in closets,

Count the leaden, ticking hours.

We care too much for pockets --

What they carry, what they hold.

And we spend our store of living

Getting even, getting old.

Rock Band Love

My valentine is shirtless

In the basement,

Electric guitar slung

From his narrow shoulder,

His jeans riding low on his hips.

He’s Paul McCartney,

And much as I ask,

He won’t let me be Linda.

No, today, I’m some ex-Beatle,

Who was in Hamburg

Thought to be the sweetest

And most beautiful

Boy in the band.

Yoko in her crib kicks

In time to the music

And sucks her fist with glee.

Just happy to be

Even an extra player

Back in the U.S.S.R,

I grab my microphone

And sing along.

Painting Again

I’m painting

In the bathroom again,

Applying a clean

Thin skin to cover

Drops of dye and scratches

Where my tools, hanging

By their looped brown cords

Make arcs like pencil marks

Against the beaded board.

I’m choosing

High gloss this time;

It’s what I should

Have used before -

A shine that covers

Flaws with ease,

Fills cracks, snow white

And guaranteed with just

One coat to cloak my

Sins and more.

Simple Pleasures

The things that matter most are always free,

Like pleasures that we take in those we love,

Or mists that fall upon the hills of green,

Or simple, gentle soundings of a dove,

The whisper of a baby’s milky breath

As we our faces in that warmth do sink,

The company of friends once lost, returned

To fill our lives with possibilities.

The treasures that we gain from gems and gold

Are fleeting like the falling of a star

That streaks across the night proclaiming bold;

These riches are not steadfast as we are

When you in trust with me stand hand to hand

And find our grace in love of earth and man.

I am very pleased to report that Enchanted Oak's efforts to raise funds for Haiti through her "Simple Things" challenge resulted in 108 people around the globe participating! Chris's challenge spurred me to write this sonnet, and I thank her for the opportunity to be part of this worthwhile cause.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Google says,

“No Appointments.”

My cowlick springs to life.

It’s just brown curls

And me.

We swing in time

With the beat

Of no appointments.

Tomorrow, Google chides,

“The Boss.”

My freedom starts to droop;

It’s back to straight

And narrow --

Just the boss,

The flat iron,

And me.