Tsundoku,
I tell you!
‘s what I do
you know who
runs this zoo
not too few
‘s nothing new
my books were
overdue
A tribe is a poem with three stanzas, each with three lines, each with three syllables
Tsundoku Tricube
Dreamland B&B
his wife has auburn curls
and never enough
cookbooks
he owns a farmland B&B
with steps down
into the kitchen
where he’s made cinnamon
rolls early
strong coffee
leading the way
kitchenward
where we ponder
all the possibilities
of the day
without
deadlines
we sip on
our own
schedule
Holding Presence
she’s there
but I can’t
hear her
I can only see her
she comes to me
in dreams
we travel
climb stairs
sit at tables
drinking coffee
in B&Bs
holding presence
Death Scream
outside at 10 pm
with the dogs
a death cry fight
came from the
woods 50
yards out
we all froze
stood motionless
paralyzed with fear
already mourning
something
something fought
something died
in the woods
we think it was
an owl attacking
another feral cat
the terror of the
forest at night
is every fairy tale
illustration of the
dark side that
traumatized childhood
into needing
another glass of water
our woods are
where we live
and sleep
stuck in the pages
of no happily
ever after for
our wildlife
after YouTube
church we’ll take
the tractor to
the crime scene
we, the detectives
of the dark forest
Circus Peanut Shoes
circus peanut shoes
with razzle-dazzle sparklies
outside the school gym
waiting by the mailbox
maybe tomorrow
maybe tomorrow is the day
the day the letter will come
come in the mail to me
to me, letting me know
know that everything
everything will be okay
Piddling
we piddled together through the mart
antiques, novelties, glove sizers
didn’t buy a single thing
except lunch — (we bought that)
fly in her water
didn’t keep it
sent it back
ordered
wine
Morning Games
I see his figure
peeking around the sage chair
looking right at me
acting non-chalant
resting briefly to lick paws
he stretches out, yawns
as if he does not
have a burning agenda
playing me a fool
his ball rests nearby
then a thump of his black tail
and a sudden pounce
an invitation
to an early-morning game
that I can’t resist
Fitz and the Vent
Fitz
Fitz and the Vent
’twas a mystery
that the floor vent was missing
gone; vanished; not there
I asked who stole it
Who would steal a vent? he quipped
I thought we had ghosts
our dog naps on it
in the summer to stay cool
but a Schnoodle thief?
how would he take it?
it’s heavy ~ and he has no
fingers to raise it
why would he want it?
still, my husband checked the bed
it was underneath
we both scratched our heads
he retrieved the vent, replaced
it in his closet
and then we heard it
bumping against the wood floors
when we checked, we saw
Fitz’s collar tag
was caught in the metal slats
as he dragged it out
one mystery solved:
we removed his collar tags
unchained his anchor
An I Miss You Dodoitsu
the day after Open Writes
when we go back to writing
without the company of
friends makes me miss them
Common Threads 