Yearning Perfection

The naked figure is perfection in its twisted reaching
Thick solid timber creates parenthesis and crooked
Slingshot shapes arching from the enormous gnarled
Trunk squatting husky while countless tiny branches
Shoot in a thousand divers directions each striving
Wand stretching toward the enormous gray white forever
The exposed hulking giant’s adornment long overdue
Impatiently waiting overwhelming shame percolates
Longing bursting buds yearning luscious leafy green
Pining for change craggy perfection looms insufficient


When they reported his sentence
15 months
What I heard was 15 years (because that would make more sense)
My first thought
That’s not long enough
For running a crushing freight train through children’s lives
But it was only 15 months
15 months
There’s actually a statute of limitations
On destroying innocence
Crushing trust
Stomping out optimism
Planting a vile boot print on a half formed soul
This hateful man preyed on children
While wielding power
And haughtily peering down
Casting judgment
The portrait of hypocrisy
And evil
15 months


“Did you escape or will you be spending the
Night on that couch with the ancient Quakers?”
The question was remarkable in peculiarity
Out of context who’d know what it meant
But once it was asked that was the joy
The myriad of mysterious possibilities
Secret journeys unknown adventures
Beginnings with unimagined/imagined
A story’s innocent fantastic origin

Sleep Please

An endless day finally narrows
The light…
It’s the dark that’s in sight
Clarity fades muscles ache
Burdened lids droop
Every sinew craves renewal
Pure surrender satisfies
As sleep’s ravenous appetite
Consumes consciousness
Good night

The Place I Was Told To Go

I went to the place I was told to go
Today a fill-in a Monday replacement
The address was clear on the notice
The notice stapled tight to my folder
I arrived on time but was the only one
Just me I was unexpected and alone
The time was right but they forgot
To mention the distant new location
My Monday off to a shaky start
Off to the place I was told to go

Prospect Park Morning

The long-haired boy in the orange Patagonia jacket
lithely climbed the jungle jim while the gray haired
Father scrolled the emails on his phone occasionally
Glancing at the baby brother tucked tightly in the
Close-by stroller parked next to the father’s green
Bench in Prospect Park on the sunny Sunday morning

The long-haired woman in the red flowered dress
firmly massaged her boyfriend’s head resting gently
On her lap the skirt of the dress flowing over the
Blanket her eyes closed as her fingers kneaded
his eyes closed as he hugged a brown arm around
her stretched-out leg on the sunny Sunday morning

The long-haired man in the brown Nehru collar shirt
Stood barefoot under a quiet tree with no one near
Raising his arms arching slowly saluting the sun
Then stooping low to the ground brushing his
fingertips along the grass starting the sequence
over breathing in on the sunny Sunday morning

Old Photo

A photo of my 31-year-old dad holding
The 3 month old me on his lap in my
Childhood album caught my attention today
He holding me I’ve had this photo for years
And thought I knew it he looking down
On me blanket wrapped but today I
Took a fresh look and saw the rotary
Phone on the wall and the pass-through
Window over the draped kitchen table
His slicked back black hair and handsome
Silhouette my round cheeks his crisp
White shirt with turned up sleeves but mostly
I saw his gaze looking down at our hands
I followed his eyes how had I never noticed
He looking at my five tiny fingers holding
Wrapping one of his fingers tightly