A highlight collection 2



The Cardinal

There is a cardinal in the oak tree Outside the living room window, A bright red cardinal in a tree, Free, & easily seen. Not a Cardinal up an oak tree Outside my window, Not a Prince of the Church, A prince of peace. There was a cardinal, in the grape arbor, Outside the kitchen window, A brown cardinal in the grape vine, Free, but not easily seen. Not a Cardinal in the arbor Outside my window, Not a man, but a woman I see. I. C. Yippee!



Edith at the Market

Edith at the neighborhood market, a cautionary tale, a lack of rant or rail, cling peaches in aisle five. Cling peaches holding onto heavy syrup like honey, Edith on the money, careful not to let the carriage tip. The baby! The newborn infant! The bundling & bagging of joy, rapid moral declension into poverty, Ferguson’s market (I seem to believe) is home to green stamps & those young innocent looking stock-boys. She couldn’t let it pass, she could have let it ride, but for a ticket for her class & pride. I’d have thought her more resilient, shopping at the market in the Queen’s neighborhood, a middle class community of New York… New be her thinking, here, we fear for her survival, a mother, a woman, a wife. Undeniable, tokens of love fall like late September rain. Cling peaches “in heavy syrup…” driving like a summer wind, the approach of disaster here is where she begins; the approach of summer’s last one breeze rests alone. Edith at the neighborhood market, a cautionary tale, a lack of rant or rail, cling peaches in aisle five. Cling peaches holding onto heavy syrup like honey, Edith on the money, careful not to let the carriage tip.



A Lay

Whether to relay a lay, olé, & allay any fears of my intentions, my dear (he is being laid, but she is being ugly, it is quite ugly, or she is bein’ led), my dear appears in the partial beginnings of Baudelaire’s perceptions, his prose poem “Un cheval de race,” tested in the crucible of franglais, arrival, arriving on the day, the Leap delicious & delightful, a Jell-O brand chocolate pudding angel pie!

She is being led by him, by his song, his blood, & hymn, led by the hand & the heart, a glossary of detailed parts, leaving French for long ago parts, beside the volume of a storied lore, as she hears the reed, the poetry, the play on the need of a saxophone’s knee, a Blue City Review Upon a Hill.

“A Love Supreme,” Coltrane’s rearrangingly becoming loveliness & deed to God above. A lay finds us freed of entangling alliances, translating blind séances, translating blind, translating… interpreting, translating.


World War III

Might we reassess the need
That WWIII be thermonuclear?

Might it be happening as we sleep?
Might we reevaluate the need

For WWIII to be like the Cold War,
With spies & lovers & intrigue?

Could the War on Terror be international,
A world-wide cacophony?

Could the Middle East be
In the middle of an international meeting?


A greeting from Hades?
Might we reassess our need


That WWIII be traditional,
Centered in the primacy of European culture?

With battle-tanks & armored personnel carriers,
Humvees & M-16s. Might we reconsider

The police duties of the military police?
Should we possess a new attitude

Towards Islamic beliefs?
A new attitude towards Hagar

& Father Abraham, this holiday season,
As the infant Jesus awaits


The Three Wise Men
Bearing gifts from the East!

World War III is such, a beast.
World War III is, such a beast!



Hagar Frees the Slaves!

The father/daughter relationship
Is never one easy to please,
It is one part confusion, one part love

& two parts harmony,

The amusement of male scholars
Taught by celibate men,
Meant years of our only daughters
Being hoodwinked, then again, “Why not?”

Slavery was on its last legs,
The suggestion human beings were not human
Carried little water & no more weight,
The wait had been interminable.

Hagar was a young woman,
A female garçon the French might say,
A teenaged grrrrl, the Americans might relay.
Her love of her master led her to trust

Her faith in the husband who harbored a lust
For life & his progeny. His wife wanted a baby.
She was handy, her trust in God
& the father Abraham led to Unity,


The Union of humanity as one commonality.
No more slavery! Only unequal parents
& their obedient children.  What separates
The Children of God from the other cultures
Is this very belief in a catholic marriage of humanity.

President Lincoln would understand.



Yellow Missives

Yellow be the honey bee, Chartreuse be the missive, A momentary time to be dismissive, Towards a yellow flower is he. Missives of a lost memory, Past time to yesterday’s morrow, A marrow bone the dog intones As if he knew the story better, We borrow, we beg, & we discover, A flower laden wilderness of snow, A distance, a maiden, a girl, a giant, The slave of yesterday’s long ago. And we will remember, Her dress of leaden gold, A taffeta bodice, a metallic goddess, & an emboldened woman of old… An emboldened woman of the cold, As if she was a child of the fold. A folding of the letter, And a tossing away of the cast & mold.



New Year’s Eve

On the cusp of becoming a woman, Eve, a giant, with a little girl’s heart, An innocence combined with a youthful desire To be like a mother, a woman, a God! My God, My God! The poet did write, As weightless men & women did fight Over who would get the easy chair, A sharing of pie, or a graph of a distant air, The record does not lie. A shoring of the strand, A beaching of a whale, the death of a leviathan, A passing away of a tale, (the death of a tale). As the recording does not lie, lie flat upon the page, It gets up to take center-stage, & command The audience’s attention, not mentioned until now: The truth will pierce & astound, a tonnage Of verbs & nouns, a plain spoken word: a grape.