Dances For Who?

That night Luna

wore a cloud like a robe

I exposed my grandiosity,

believing at first

the dance was for me.

No silly!

Clearly for Sol only

this performance.

As if I had stumbled

into my parent’s bedroom

at the worst moment,

blushing, I turned

and rushed back inside.

The Woods

Foliage by Richard Reeve

Out back, behind the house,

the woods,

where all the children

of the neighborhood gathered.

There was one stately pine

we’d boys climb until

cowardness set in

and we would turn back

around and lie

to each other

that we had touched the top.

There were benefits to these lies,

as our “sisters” would take us

over to the stream

and lay us down

on a bed of moss,

pull down our pants

and demand

a hero’s welcome.

Unfortunately, men continue

to lie this way,

on Wall Street and in DC,

failing to reach the needed heights

demanded by true leadership

because they are a bit too eager

to find yet another bed of moss.

Only women will lead

the world out

of the current mess.

Men, I’m afraid,

no longer have the capacity.


(Thank you to Michael for reminding me never to mention these things.)

Mum

ma ma–

I envy those that had a mum,

it rhymes with um,

a perfect sounding

to proceed every child’s request.

So mom, mum, ma ma–

Your provision is life itself,

and yes, that we are here,

that we suck oxygen

from this thin air every second,

the sky truly

your nourishing breast.

I guess I see how

that must make us all,

some seven or so billion of us,

sons and daughters

of God, I prefer Goddess

(the brutality

of masculinity in this world

too much a travesty).

Would you turn toward us

your grace filled eyes

and drop a tear over this

world, so traumatized,

afraid and weakened.

Your children are in need

of a healing intervention.

Please mum, please.

Dear Moon

I wish you were closer,

not that it would be good

for the tides, but that

the despair I render

in whispers might

reach you.

I know you keep watch

over all our dramas,

and have no need

to hear what I hold up,

this typical,

and in many ways

boring existential crisis.

From your seat far above,

those wounded in war

and earthquake take

the focus, rightly so.

None the less, I hold

out these, my meager ordeals

this cold dark night

and confess certain

vulnerabilities.

I wish you were just

a little bit closer.