One That Got Away

Thanks to Rat’s Ass Review, an online literary collective, for publishing the following poem in their Love & Ensuing Madness collection.

A Girl in Venice

                                                               —April 1980

Flocks of pigeons, people in a plaza

..camera shutters snapping souvenirs

.

You step into my long-lens view

..focused face, heap of hair

..

Then Ciao, Arrivederci…

..gone before I lift my eyes

.

Back home, I pin your sudden grin

..to boarded cork above my bed

.

Tell friends the story of your glance

..watch them bend with envy at your smile

.

Today, on streets in San Francisco

..I searched for eyes to dance with mine

.

Tonight, alone, our momentary spring

..blossoms on my tablet screen

 

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Poem for Mary Beth Moore

Again, thanks to Rat’s Ass Review, an online literary collective, for including the following poem in their Love & Ensuing Madness collection.

Red Bandana

                                             —Ionian Sea, 1980

Starts at a stoop, a souvenir stand

..red bandana falls to the floor

….one lost part of me reaches for another

……an ancient ferry crossing mythic seas

.

I sleep out on deck, me and the rain

..cuddled up with Mary Beth—more, more, more

….icy pellets nip us as we dream

……we hold on tight to a red bandana

.

A photo of her fingers journal jotting

..sun-white pages, jeans and flip-flop feet

….that red bandana at the postcard rack

……her Texas Sally sidekick stamping beats

.

I should have left them alone to graze

..to follow their maps to convents, cathedrals

….that red bandana could’ve fallen all night

……cuddled up with Mary Beth—more, more, more

Breakfast by Myself

Many thanks to the editors of Gyroscope, an online literary review, for including the following poem in their January 2016 issue:

                                                             —Pattaya, Thailand 2013

To start, I spark a cigarette

..remove my frames so I can’t see

….the stares of strangers passing by

……their kind, misguided sympathy

 .

They must presume I must be sad

..sitting solo at a table set for two

….no hand to squeeze, no one to thank

……for sparing me their sorry stares

.

But I’m not blind:  I stare, too

..couples leaning back in wicker chairs

….some laconic, poking at porridge

……each alone devising their escape

.

Others gab, chatting up the rain

..jabber rolls like rice across the floor

….bored companions act amused

……grateful to be spared my sorry state

.

Yet I am not alone, not with paper

..not with more than fifty years of ink

….not with you a world or life away

……you now nodding—yes, yes, yes

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