One City Dreamer
Boats--bright lights
on blue water
at night--
and the dreamers
are on their way
to temporary fantasies
as night engulfs
the city, cold winds bite,
and he drinks his beer,
crestfallen and alone,
in black coat and hat,
dirty streets
pulling him and all the dreamers
through night hours and into morning
and the business
of daylight--
perspectives changing
with the light.
The Shining Silver Sea
The ocean's scent
pours through the windows
with the sea breeze, as it
pushes his long blonde hair back,
his whole face exposed,
sharp-cheeked, intent eyes,
strong nose, powerful jaw;
as his hair falls against
his shoulders once more,
the musculature art.
Slim-waisted, he steps
onto the balcony,
the stars shining above,
his sorrow transparent
and so contrary
to all else about him,
the water's turbulence
increasing,
the shining silver sea.
Blue Feather from a Party Hat
She picks up a blue feather as
bottles stare from shelves,
yellow eyes like a cat's
seem to wink from the whiskey
and brandy among the crowd.
Midnight cigarette finds its way
to her lips as she watches
the "tuxedo" play the piano
with such passion she swears
he forgot where he is,
drifting off into the white lights
decorating the lounge. Notes
rise and fall like the drunks
who try to make it to the door,
but he's so much a part
of his playing that they can
scream and laugh and he won't hear--
his own heart beats time
with the music, never pausing
except to note the applause
between sets--
she waits till everyone leaves,
pushes past the barmaids,
lets her sparkling jewelry
speak first but then she invites him
to her dark apartment,
hoping to touch the place,
where the music takes over,
a bit of magic in this all too
human world, to make it inside
where the art is,
even for only a moment.
Royal blue sheets and lace;
romance is only an illusion.
Dandelion in the Wind
The fan spins on low
as Sophie peeps in the window,
her lover with his ex-wife.
How dare he?
Sophie thought her life
spun into strange patterns.
Vodka--her staple
to drown the drowning.
Her friends see her as
a broken glass doll
held together with glue,
know that a sneeze might
scatter her into pollen
and she'd fall into the fields,
blow away,
an aged dandelion raped by wind;
they know she holds
a covenant of silence
with her heart,
all her linen stained black--
mascara tears.
Only Sophie knows
wind blows at random--
her own need for validation
always waiting
on the edge
of someone else's horizon.
Little Glories with Wings
Angels fly, no, birds
above the road, birds
like white angels
dipping over water
harboring crawfish traps,
their wing tips shining
like pastel rainbows
in the morning sun,
rainbows amidst
sounds of howling dogs
and crying trains
warning travelers
to beware--no gates.
Heaven is a wide open
blue dream of vast
possibilities and infinite sky
as bright angels of nature
descend from her
as if they offered
messages for the people
who live near rice paddy farms
and highway travelers
who happen by--graceful
angels of light.
Cold Horizon
So cold outside
on silent dark streets
at 3:00 a.m. she thought
she'd turn blue,
but she walked down
near DD's Lounge,
saw his car,
kept walking down near
train tracks,
remembering the old days
of railroad tie walks
and Johnny;
he always led his body
with wide shoulders,
boots hitting each tie
the same way;
she'd sometimes lead,
other times follow.
But one day
she was alone--
his shadow and silhouette
disappearing from view,
lost somewhere in her
long ago Colorado dreams.
