HURRICANES AND EARTHQUAKES

Tuesday was an earthquake,

Sunday a hurricane.

Must there be eight more plagues?

It’s driving me insane.

All this is my fault 

Since I was so wicked

I lied; said I was 65

To get a discount ticket.

Because of me there’s suffering

By innocent women and men

I promise all most sincerely

I’ll never do it again.

If you may be tempted

Please take my advice

Unless you can survive heaven’s wrath

You’re better off paying full price.

SELF-PORTRAIT

Why does the artist

Get to do a self-portrait

In somber colors?

Gaunt cheeked,

A picture of himself

Serious and unconcerned.

Why can’t I write words

Indifferent to my critics

With cheeky expressions

That say “This is me.”

When did I learn to mourn  

Over what others’ think?

I must pose unafraid

And paint my own picture,

Even if my way is

To draw and quarter myself

In words.

DAUGHTER DENIA RECALLS PB&J

                                      

Dad, I remember 30 years ago

As though I had taken a picture

And written details on the back.

You made me peanut butter and jelly,

Taking the time to spread the jelly

All the way to the edges of the bread

And the peanut butter applied evenly

Like icing on a birthday cake. 

You gently put my sandwich,

Juice box, fruit and cookies on

The bottom of a brown paper bag

And folded the top over squarely

Several times pressing it tightly

So it wouldn’t unravel on the bus.

I remember this quite vividly and

Love you for caring so much that

Even my peanut butter and jelly sandwich

Had to be done well and my lunch bag

Had to stay together on my journey.


SEA GLASS PEOPLE - Portraits in Words and Watercolors   (available on Amazon.com)

LBI WRITERS’ GROUP

Gathered round the table like Thanksgiving,

Tuesday afternoon is holiday for LBI writers.

They share the bounty, the fruits of their minds,

Anxiously anticipating others’ reactions,

Praise or pointed, always well meaning.

No jealous bees hoard their honey,

All are fed, fertilized and encouraged to bloom.

The event is joyous, a celebration. 

Wine is served in abundance. 

Words are the wine of writers.

They intoxicate the imagination.

Each writer is a parent

Lighting another candle

For the birthday table.

By the final page,

Faces glow in the illumination,

Fulfilled, thankful and longing like Ulysses

To return home, each Homer,

Story teller, myth maker, anxious

To sire a new sound for next week’s nectar. 


SEA GLASS PEOPLE - Portraits in Words and Watercolors  
 (available on Amazon.com)