The Fireflies Still Dance

Fireflies danced in the Ortman’s field.
A vacant lot really,
where the suckers came to park
when the house had been a church.
Richie Ortman called them that.

We played kickball
and whiffle ball games there.
Back when I lived on the other block.
Back… a lifetime ago.
Nine years at least.

Lois sat with me
as we watched them swoop
their luminescent Pavan
suspending - then dark.
She listened as I vented
my adolescent angst.

There’s a house there now.
The downstairs toilet sits on second base.
I can just hear her hearty laugh.
Lois and I got to third base once.
The downstairs bedroom ironically.

The Ortmans are gone.
Jerry Hill said, “La Paz.
Some missionary thing.”
No matter to Lois and me.
the fireflies still dance.

 

Origins


I found my breath in the ocean’s curl
my exhale creating
crashing - at peace
in sync.

I’m not a water guy
but the rhythms walk through me,
my feet speak in sand-tongue
lips mute to the wow in my eyes.

It’s the only repetition
that I never find boring,
it’s a litany of lunar prayers
the planet’s only rational voice.

I found solace in these fingers,
this tactile reach of our root.
We are of the sea,
estranged in the commerce
and the body politic,
only to savor
the siren,
the stroke
the primal thrust of the ocean’s hips.

A State of Grace

When great love leaves your life
there comes an acceptance,
a surrender of something
up from the dark of your bones.

Some things take more than their pound of flesh.
Some things darken your door for too long.
But nothing wounds you forever,
Time scars as it makes you strong.

When a fist of light leaves your heart
what remains is a bruised hollow space.
Comes a day when the whispers will cease.
Comes a day with a state of grace.

I'll Sing You to Christmas

The music has stopped,
the thunder in the surf has ceased,
the sky free of drama,
the bikinis and shellers have wandered away.

Another holiday in the rear view mirror,
a strand of sand and glistening pearls
left to the next with a ticket,
the next spoke in this island’s wheel.

I’ll come back when it’s noisy
full of mayhem and rock,
full of rocket thighs
and lines of stylish cars.

I’ll look for you
in that turquoise dress
I’ll buy us a drink
in that hot tourist mess.
I’ll sing you to Christmas
and Auld Lang Syne.

 

Abiding the Milieu


Every day
I sift the latest news,
its meager currency.

Every day
amidst the spin
of tails wagging their dogs,
of agendas dripping with wealth…

Every day I reach for you
living our moments
holding our hours
until the planet
turns us back that way,
hungry, seekers on the road.

The history books already hold us
in the times we’ve had lives,
Beatles, Disco, Grunge, Hip Hop.
Viet Nam, Shahs/Hostages, Kosovo, Mosul.
Peter Max, Warhol, Maplethorpe, Kandinsky, Christo,
Hitler, Pol Pot, Agent Orange, ISIS.

Every day I look,
amidst the scrabble and the angst.
and I remember an island
no allegiance,
just being there,
where we lived and loved.

Light's Bright Breath to Scream

Still
in this resplendent green
rain sodden canopies
dripping with verdancy,
these old forests lush
with the heartbeat of the wood.

Had I my cello,
or Shauna’s sweet viola,
resonating in the moss,
off the tree falls
rich in timbre,
bright with rain
sun-splashed in this calico glade.

Still
In this resplendent green
of emeralds, spinach and olives…
and countless dialects that have no names,
no tongue
only light’s bright breath to scream.

Wine of the Dreamers
              - A New Color of McGee

I dreamed I was standing in a dime store aisle,
Kresge, maybe Woolworth’s Five and Dime.
The milkshakes were pouring,
chicken clubs with chips,
tuna on rye.
Stools were turning as I walked by.

I finger flipped the vinyls
past The Beatles in B
past the ocean of Elvis in E
past the Kinks of K.

I spun the paperback towers
looking for a new Bond,
for the latest Doc Savage,
a new color of McGee.

I dreamt I was standing in a one buck store,
Dollar General, maybe Family Dollar.
The diners long gone, no jukes,
no wisp of food or chocolate in the air,
nothing turned as I walked by.

No vinyl here,
no Asimov’s Amazing Stories
no The Man from Uncle or paperback stands,
no new color of McGee.

I fingered through the kitsch,
the plastics for the trailer folk,
the one size fits all,
the two dollar shampoo.

I dreamt it was different,
not just ten fold expensive.
I dreamed there was new currency,
I dreamed there was a new color found
a lost novel of Travis McGee.

 

The Last Time

It was the last time
that I saw your lips
the last time
your sashayed those hips
the last time I had the chance
to remember your skin.

It was the last time
your breath ran my cheek
the last time
you tossed me a naughty peek
it was the last time I had a chance
to say I love you.

Birds come and birds go
but when Delta says good-bye
you never really know.
When your window left the gate
my heart might have stopped.
It felt like out lives were too late,
as if the motion was too slow.
Birds come and birds go
but when Delta says good-bye
you never really know.

It was the last time I’d hold you
the last time your tongue
would taste mine.
It was the last time
I saw your grin
kiss the corners of my mind

Birds come and birds go
but when Delta says good-bye
you never really know.
When your window left the gate
my heart might have stopped.
It felt like out lives were too late,
as if the motion was too slow.
Birds come and birds go
but when Delta says good-bye
you never really know.

It was the last time
your breath ran my cheek
the last time
you tossed me a naughty peek
it was the last time I had
to say I love you.

Once Renowned

I knew you were dangerous,
a digital rogue
a Viber vamp - renowned.

I knew you had a record
a number one in Cape Town,
a top ten in Amsterdam.

You thought I was a sleeper cell,
a minefield for your notice.
An IED on your road to the stage.
A winter’s dream
on the summer solstice.

I knew you were a tart with a trigger
a screen grab of pleasure
a Snapchat with baggage.

I knew you had a record
a number one in Cape Town,
a Rap sheet in Amsterdam.

You thought I was a hanger on,
as groupie from Berlin,
a ghost in the audio
an aftertaste mornings after.

I knew you,
when you were dangerous
a binary vixen
a viral phenomenon - renowned.

I know you now, don’t I?
Two kids and a mortgage,
a lassie on our knee.
The old hits and your tits are holding up.
Got a warm cuppa for me?