Every night the cat comes and roosts next to me. Even if she has been attending to another member of the family, there is always the moment of her padding lightly and with purpose across the comforter like so much thick snow and settling herself, back turned, tail flicking, nonchalant and without obvious expectation unlessContinue reading “Patience”
Tag Archives: prose poem
Affogato
Somewhere the hens who laid the eggs whose yolks became custard at our stove are clucking around in free range happiness, considering their next morsel. Farther away, the wind is blowing through the coffee plants, a thunderstorm approaching over the mountains to shake and rattle every bean on the plantation when it rolls through. TheContinue reading “Affogato”
Missing
He sits in his usual place, a sturdy ocean of calm waiting. Heavy repose rests, stoic, in his lap, unperturbed by the silence humming in his drums. Gone is the beat that fanned the fire, the flames from his mouth; someone turned off the gas that combusted in his internal engine. A stroke of badContinue reading “Missing”
Prose Pose
Baudelaire said to be drunk, always, so this morning I am choosing tea and sunshine. . . .
Wild Horses
In the glitter of the mountain morning, dew heavy enough on the ground to make a thirst content, they wandered with peaceful silence into the bowl of the meadow. Hushed hooves made no sound in the padded pine straw. A whole family, coats slick and rich as burnished mahogany, a proud patriarch and his ladies, plus youngsters. He watched us as we watched them, blinking Queen Mab out of our eyes, dream-checking. His displeasure at my approach came heavy and quick from the velvet of his muzzle.
Tarantula
ng-legged hairy creepy crawly minding its own business on the dry ground. Long-legged hairy creepy crawly held up on a stick to be examined closely. Long-legged hairy creepy crawly interrupted! ….
Monarch
This summer we planted a butterfly garden, lining the patio with bright signal fires to attract soft, shy visitors.
Mountain Lion
Her castle is a canyon; her feather bed is a rocky crevice, sweet and hidden as the truth she keeps in feet that pad upon the earth, ears that know the smallest sounds, life that accumulates beneath the nails of her lethal, inscrutable claws.
The Poetry Patio 