I am Dead, and Shining

I stole this title

and forget from where.

Forgive me, I can not provide

the needed attribution.

You know –

the footnote,

the hyperlink.

The action saying

I’m not the author

of this wonderful idea

and you need to know that

and my efforts to tell you so

are clearly deserved.

Two things.

Yes, I am a thief.

But I only steal the best.

I am dead, and shining.

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.)

It’s time to write a poem

The sun is setting.

Or I guess, we are spinning,

literally, like the back hand springs

the girls would practice

on the playground

at East Farms School,

from Maine to New Mexico

they cut a path

on the map Mr. Keller

painted the summer

of the bicentennial,

these fifty united states

in horrible yellow paint

on the blacktop.

This round about trip

through the universe,

even from this desk,

looking out over

my right shoulder is so…

…so damn beautiful.