once entertainment lived outside
the box tent revivals silk-hat
parades theaters Roxy Grand
Broadway State all scrambling for eyes
Four Lines
gap-toothed blocks dream of yesterdays
trolley cars and their criss-cross wires
saloons niggling haughty church spires
false fronts gas lights and horse-drawn drays
Four Lines
pink petunias color our streets
but few pedestrians travel
where stores once shoulder to shoulder
fell fired
Four Lines
what is the color of the haze
where horizon ceases to be
an edge, waves permeating sky
until neither is the other
Four Lines
when my bawdy poet recites
I meet his silliness with groans
comment with a prolonged moan
to disguise my delight
Four Lines
I live in a triangle made
by the merging of two rivers
each day I watch to think wider
thoughts while the water sweeps away
Four Lines
blizzard sun blizzard sun hail rains
on the green grass but spring has sprung
lawn mowers and dandelions among
our snowman’s remains
Dawn Chorus
when I wake to see the sunrise
I hear birds sing their dawn chorus
still clinging to old tradition
house finches sparrows and robins
together make the morning din
as light pierces the horizon
each bird labors to raise the sun
sashaying in bright new feathers
alone but also together
stretched from beaks to toes they’ve begun
if birds didn’t sing would light dim
morning never begin or day
cease to exist fading away
dawn become just notes on the wind
Four Lines
back from pestilence and famine
two scourges then drought I began
to doubt I’d have you back again
my bawdy poet
Four Lines
if birds didn’t sing would light dim
morning never begin or day
cease to exist fading away
dawn become just notes on the wind
the crafty sisters 