The Strut and Fret

 Just steps out of spotlight

The backstage swagger

Buoyed by butterflies

Swallowed in stomach

Mind races recitations

Transformations

The inky expanse 

Is not a void to be lost within

For whether entrance is shadowed or lit

Within it one can avoid being lost

I have lived a thousand lifetimes

Cut short - curtailed by dropped curtains

Each moment an intimacy shared

Soul bared drawing strangers

Together

Like curtain close

Ode to the Bulb

The jewel of the Bay

Is not the Golden Gate

It's a suitable fill-in

For a glittering landfill

Jutting out into the salmon-skin sparkle of the Bay's waves

A waste reclaimed

First - made home by homeless

Then - gallery of the hopeful

No pathway ever the same

Even the steps of yellow brick 

Leading to Mad Mike's Castle

Lengthen to reach back to the shore

Inviting one to find more

Far from the watch of the driftwood dragon

Vermillion shards of glass hang in the trees

And mosaics are affixed to concrete detritus

The sun always seems brighter

Shining on this peninsula of free dogs

How this place was transformed

From trash to treasure

Reminds me that one cam make

Anything their own pleasure

Volunteer Park

4p.m. 2/15/12

Beetle boots crunch and crackle 

On a stone-lined path

Jet engine and prop plane hum above

Her pea-coat is open

And a camera nuzzles into her chest

Her feet silently wait on the grass

The wind blows past eddying inaudible whispers

That can only be felt

The waves of her brunette hair are moved

By the wind's expressions

The path crackles 

She opens her arms

To receive her friend

And his camera knocks hers 

As they kiss. 

Snuffboxes

Seattle Asian Art Museum, 2/15/12

Rank and file stand the snuffboxes

Waiting for inspection.

Their only uniformity: their usage.

Some were grace with delicate brushwork

Depicting maybe a horse grazing beneath a tree

Or a heron wetting is toes

Waiting for a chance to spear 

Something to whet its appetite 

Others are mimics of geisha girls

Or bulge-eyed coy, dragonfly or

A nephrite rabbit mid munch.

They all hold a musky scent of aged tobacco

Laced with the aromatics of mint, compher, or jasmine

They stand in failing light

Awaiting inspection

But never granted the release

Of validation.

d'If

I am the gatekeeper of your heart
I hold the skeleton key to all you feel
I, like Pandora, release your fiends
But imprison your celestial light
Only gleams and glimmers can escape
Through cracks at your edges

I'll dispassionately watch
As Hope and Dream - two of my prisoners -
Slowly dry out to desiccated shadows gasping for breath
I hear, and ignore, the pounding
Of love against the heavy timbered door of my censorship
Pleas for companionship meet my deaf ears and die out
No reverberant echo to carry
Any inkling to a sympathetic ear
As Hope, Dream and Love etch with worn fingertips
An escape

They merely burrow deeper within you
Unaware that their attempt are self defeating
I will grow old as you count days like Monte Cristo
But I will grow no less powerful
Knowing for certain that, like Pandora
Trapping hope within her box,
That it is for your own good.

Hurricane Season

It is always hurricane season

In my soul

The violent tempest tosses 

My better judgment

Whips like wind

With no leeward shelter

From wayward drives

I'm a category 4, at least

But the strength of my storm

Is secret (until it's not) 

Though the deluge may begin as a depression
The rising waters always rage
And though I've tried my best
To shore up levees to stand
Up to the brackish waters
Escaping bayous
The floods waters brim
At the edges of control
And like the puzzle pieces adrift
In the back of my mother's station wagon
I'll never really find solution

The pressure builds
Threatening absolute destruction
When the levee gives
Will you have what it takes
To stand against the crash
Of fists
Rushing like water

Pet

Am I another stray?

Alone and abandoned

Or am I a runaway?

Escaping from limits imposed

I know for sure the itch I couldn't scratch 

Let me loose

I don't know why I flea or dip

Only that I chase my own tail 

Getting me nowhere

But a leash

Is not prison, but possession

And to be had

Is not necessarily to roll over

And even I'm backed up

Belly up

I'm not scared

But trusting

That your next touch

Invites me to be your pet