Poem of the Week

Alone In Miami, Surrounded By Palms At Night
* i wrote this in miami on january 15th, 2001, from 'the miami papers' *

The trees that are
explosions or party hats or
fireworks during the day
whisper sadness at night-

softly like healing children
or graveyard ghosts.
They murmur quiet symphonies about
the din of the promenade,

the whir of the sea,
the zoom of jets.
They rock regally,
to and fro,

shrouded in clouds
and peeking stars,
their fruit the weeping eyes
of the unborn,

their hushed breath the
secrets of their roots,
the powerhouse of
their mystery.

- Tuesday, November 30, 2004

You, Watching The Poets
* i wrote this poem in 2000 when a fellow poet, joni, died. *

Who are you?
I see you chestnut, siphoned, totem poled,
Brandished fire in your eyes-
Almond eyes I imagine.
Sensual- no, trampy
And long.
You're long.

So long, poet.
Watching silent students from the stars
That taunt boys with pens
And push girls to cut dresses down
And spin in circles,
Conjuring your feathers,
Your fire,
Brandished in your eyes
I see on lavender paper.

You made yourself famous, didn't you?
Famous now,
Famous here.
You were famous in the dark,
Famous in words jigsawed together so perfectly
That we would never take them apart again.
You kept them company
When your whereabouts were unknown,
Somewhere between Houston and New Orleans,
Somewhere between blue and white pills,
Somewhere between words.

So long, poet.
You see from the watchtower, don't you?
Somewhere between Leo and Cancer,
Flying through zodiac circles.
Maybe they aligned just so-
So long as you're back in Berkeley
Telling everyone where to go
But not how to do it.

- Monday, November 08, 2004

The Rhythm Of Things
* this poem is about four years old and was intended for 'indiana the island', but
sadly was not included. so here you are my friends. *

I like the rhythm of things...
The drop of apples, the thud of boxing,
the click of street lights at 3:00 am,
the slowest like glaciers,
the fastest like the zapping, whirling electrons
that push my blood into your soul.
I like the rhythm of things...
The bouncing beans in maracas,
the aged, weathered hands shaking them,
the popping of corn, the spinning friction of tires after
the rain at 75 miles per hour on a full moon night.
I like the rhythm of things...
Your heart at bedtime, your breathing in the morning,
the pulling rhythm of tractor engines,
the pushing rhythm of sewing machines.
The drone of the refrigerator, the magic of castanets,
the percussion of grease in pans,
the lull of Atlantic Ocean waves,
the turning of pepper grinders.

I love the pulse of blood against my ears when my feet
crunch into the sand reminding me of the strange plastic noise
of walking in deep, cold snow.
I love the pulse of my blood against my ears when your thumb
covers mine by the lake at sundown.

When the turn signal demands its click click
and doesn't keep time with the car stereo-
A blatant rebellion of natural and man-made order,
I must concentrate my thoughts on the right rhythm,

mothers hands kneading dough,
the Leonids in the fall sky,
the frogs' nightly song at the cottage
and the snores of Granddad dreaming of speedboats,
these rhythms are correct
and sadly, unrecognized as anything but noise or

- Monday, November 01, 2004

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