Maybe

A cloudy poet's mind
caught up in the daily grind
she looks askance
neighbors walking by 
in their own trance
"I want to dance" 
she thinks 

bemused by the idea 
of judgment and remorse
she caps the pen 
with a wry smile 
observing
how the poet's mind 
can be so unkind. 

Oak Park, 2004 

RED

I wonder why I like 
the color of chili peppers red
throughout my house
The color of fire

a wake up for when I'm tired
a warm glow 
an inviting store of red memories. 

The little red wagon 
from my L.A. kiddie days
The geranium leaves I picked for
pretend house play
the plaid uniform for
Catholic school first grade
the lipstick Mommy elegantly wore
a Christmas bow on the door

Oh give me red in these Northern skies
and the image of Ricky's collar as 
she jumps for a tennis ball oh so high
Give me my lover's red hair and her lips in bed
give me fire and love and passion
in the color Red.

(Oak Park, IL 2004)

And Out Came...

Somewhere 
a while back I filed away my passion
to write poetry
I unzipped an old back pack of
self-doubt
Out came a dusty, ugly face
a screaming little monster
that sits on my left shoulder
a favorite spot as it whispers
why do it? No one will read it 
or care

OK you little rascal
that's it

get on your bike
put on your helmet
and leave

You're the same creature I used
to douse with whiskey and wine
I'd put you to sleep
as I started a paragraph and a creative line
worried that you'd wake up
any minute now
and beg to be fed.

Nighty-night Little Ugly One
Go to sleep
back to the 20th century
and leave me the fuck alone. 

Aurora, IL 8/21/2008

Autumn

Autumn

The October light
meets each car
at the four way stop
an intersection
illuminating tired
men and women
aiming the wheels
with purpose
to be on time
while little boys
and girls in formation
skip down the sidewalk
with backpacks
and a similar
determination
as glistening leaves
fall

the roar of a city truck
nearby
approaching them
with gusto
and a shovel
for fallen grace and leaves
that float by

the boys and girls
the men and women
who stop in obedience
for the rules
of the road
but not to
catch the light
of a drifting
downward bit of
summer's face.

Oak Park, IL 2006

When Tony moved out...

You left behind in this place
your gentle friendship
a sweet way of lending a hand
an open smile
to the children in us all
a model of patience
and discipline
in difficult times
and with unruly people
you left behind
in my heart a huge box of memories
of hugs shared
laughter found
for the unveiling
of my imperfections
like leaving too many
cabinet doors open
and running myself
on a treadmill
out my window
or pouring coffee
on an upside down
cup
You left
behind in this place
a treasure of memorable times
too long to list
for you have left in my heart
a space where I will hold
the thoughts of you
not just like someone who lived
here that I learned to respect,
to like and to love
but more like a good friend
and a sister whom I
will constantly miss.

December 19, 2006

Oh Dear the Fear of it All

I am like a wasteland of thought
caught in a mental knot
having a home in the South that years ago
I bought
an apartment up here in the North
where I work and travel
no
I commute during the coldest parts
of the year
so my question to you dear
Goddess
is
Why
What is my purpose in this place
as I putter like
every other rat
in the human race?
When I think about
going home I will
still spend too much time
alone
I don't cherish
Denise
her entire way of being
often annoys me
and that is a Big Problem
Because it's nothing about
Fearing Little Her
It is about Fearful
Me.
August 2004

NB - September 30, 2012
And now reading this
how I wish I could have her back
hear her tired angry, stressed, tired voice
how I wish I could hug her again
and be held.  How I miss you My Angel,
My Denise.

Coltrane and Me

When I hear Coltrane
and his saxophone playing
against the backdrop of
soft-pedaled notes
on a jazz piano
I relax, close my eyes
and then
I'm back in New York City
on Bleeker Avenue
or maybe Basil's on 7th Avenue
and I'm in a black sexy dress
smoking a thin cigar
yes, a thin cigar
and holding a fluted glass
that I tap with my fingers
long red painted nails
fizzy bubbles moving
a little back and forth
and the blues notes
of a darkened club dance
over my table
and I smile at the musicians on
my personal stage
as I shift my weight
a little bit forward
hungry to embrace
the notes of
A Love Supreme.

Te pareces a tu mamá

I look in the mirror as I put
on the color rinse to my hair
and recognize a certain look
that as I age returns you to
me in that mirror
and then haunts me as you follow
me with your judging gaze

The magic in the box will
take away the natural grey
much more than that
it shall put off and delay

the moment of my coming to terms
with the hardening fact that
outwardly I am becoming you

while with fierce intention
I place the dye on my head
and wait
and charge against my future
with the energy of my past

you know
those teen years
when I hated you were my mother
and I that was your daughter

and look here I am
becoming you
and still resisting you
with the promise on the box
that the grey will go away
but the reason for
the treatment will not.

 Austin, TX 2011

Roxanne's DNA

Roxanne is a wild cat
Green eyes stare at me defiantly
with a loud unspoken
NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
Stay away from me
You have toenail clippers in your hand!
NOOOOOO!!!!!!
What do I care that you paid
$2000 plus for that French antique
farm table!
I see TREENice scratching post
thank you and
Meoooowww!!!

What do you expect
I'm a kitten
born of a feral mother
Saved from the incinerator
Bearing me and four orange tabby
Brothers
I am your bundle of joy
and exasperation
I am your kitty
and your own little monster
I am a furry coat
of spinning atoms
a thousand years of
cat Will-ful-ness
and as many ways
to say - uh-uh-no-no-noooo
And by the way
do NOT confuse my purring
For love and obedience
Or I will scratch your eyes out.
Batavia, Illinois 2010

Java and Toast

The peanut butter on my bread
Matches the color of the brick
Building outside my 9th floor
Chicago window and the apricot
Jam the color of the building next to it
And I gaze out as I munch and chew
Wondering who’s eating breakfast with me at this 8’ish hour and is
Anyone having eggs the color of my soft pajamas
Or if they will wait for a Starbucks
Latte filled to the brim with foamy milk that is the color of
My mood upon eating this sweet toast fluffy and light
And warmly wrapping itself around a hot brown soft woman java!

Chicago, IL, Winter, 2000

Professional Ghost

I am a ghost
and I am leaving now
this haunted house of academic spirits
of greed and competition
of desire and power run amok
of childish tantrums
and wasted millions
on fluff heads and bald heads
of pseudo-intellectualism
hard knocks
on a soft reality
men and women
without hearts
students learning to mimic
empty smiles and the rules
of containment of one's values and soul

I was haunted by the spirit of lies and myths
and by the rumors of my own fictional identity
that I was strange and probably even a witch
that I couldn't teach my way out of a paper bag
that my students had all been brainwashed into
giving me those excellent marks
and that I dangerously
threatened the formalism
required to maintain
legal traditions

But I know
I spoke from my heart
and my brutal desire for honest connection
and I learned to pray in my office
before opening the door to another
bitter confrontation
with the coldness of indifference
and the antics of fear
that are the world of politics
little and small
by men mostly
carrying fat cigars
tugging at their groin
and never stopping to look
at the love in the stars

I am a ghost of my own creation
of a woman who is only now learning
to howl like a wolf
in search of mountains high enough
to carry my voice to the winds
to the people I touched
with a radical thought now and then
and dangerously warned of the
intimate connections between life,
lust, love, and the law

Yes I am a ghost of many complexions
red for the embarrassment I have felt
when I made mistakes
pink for the dozens of times I laughed freely
in the moment of flowing ideas between my
heart my mind and the moment of seeing
the light bulb switch to "on" in a student's head
I am a green ghost when I jealously think
of the people who did find a home
on this haunted hill
and I am a grey ghost
when I remember that I
spent thousands of days and hours in worried
agonizing and painful reflection
of the time it has taken
to learn a simple lesson
that ghosts are both alive and not
and that the mysteries of the past
including the reasons for my coming
here
are no clue to my future
that I was neither killed by my enemies
nor was I murdered by my own self
but I did
like a ghost only whisper
in these halls
the essence of my being
which is a truer and open heart
than the one I came with eight years ago
the one I reclaim now
as I leave this house of spirits both evil and good
and the memories of the moments
when I did come alive
even though I had been resoundingly
confirmed
as professionally dead.

Fall 1999 (upon clearing out my first professor's office).

The Visitor's Worry

Not one ray of hope today
Not one pretend ray of sunshine
to paste on my forehead?
Not one rosy cheek to turn the other way
in case I get slapped by the fierce
Chicago wind or by one more
biting criticism of who I am
or what I love to do
by a student
No, I guess not
I better get on with the day
and just accept
that I am walking out this
door in a very bad mood.

Chicago, Feb. 24. 2000

Snow Observed

Shall I ride a snowflake
to work?
Shall I be ready for life today?
Shall I listen to the music of love
in the silent fall?
Shall I drift and melt my mood of fear
into friendliness
Shall I be brave enough
to fall downward if I must
gracefully, leaving my mark
on the earth
happy to have been on a ride?
Shall I ride a snowflake of love?

Chicago, 2000

Post Oak

Post Oak














I remember the big tree
that lived on my land
God's land in Travis county
in the Spears' League in Austin, Texas
an acorn came to settle on that spot
had to sweat it out and not rot
turn into a seedling
sprout its way upwards
reaching high to first no one around
not even an encroaching rancher's thigh
no sirree
tall and up to the heavens so that
by the time it appeared as a nice lookin'
sap on the square of land on which they marked a plot
in the year circa 1933
and built a triplex apartment house
on that gorgeous shady spot
it was a strong lookin' handsome tree
that covered the whole house and so much
more than that
serving as a home for ants, tree roaches and other critters
and as nest for featherlings and nut crunchin' sitters,
Oh yes that Big Old Tree that survived
a swing and several piñatas and thousands
of chirps, nests and first ever flights
under the gloriously hot Texas sun
returned to the earth in which it had been cradled and born
a final thunderstorm
took it home
1st of July two
thousand and one.
Note: The irreplaceable post oak was estimated to be 150 years old and left us after four days of continuous rain on 7/1/2001.

Johnny's Curse

"May the fleas of 1000 camels invade
your armpits" said Johnny Carson once
to his sidekick Ed McMahon
what a great quote to remember
now and then
and send it to deserving persons
like the dean of this law school
who lied to me yesterday
and lied to herself
and lay in the bed of deception on
a mat filled with fleas, each one a myth,
a distortion, a gossipy tale, distrust,
fear, a manipulation and a struggle
for power and control
which she'll never get against
the powerful men who run this place
yes indeed, may the fleas of 1000
camels invade her deserving armpits.

Chicago, March 2000

Dissatisfaction

Fog outside
a lonely meal and an endless
cough and no sense of hope
for my mental wellness
plain bread and butter
unheated water
rows of pills and a cat
begging for my love
and attention
the kind certain to make her just as sick as I
Satisfaction
all of the above and someone to hug me
through the end of this miserable prison term
the sentence for my crime of not stopping to rest
and let others be there to support me
Faction:
A set of divided loyalties within me
one group of feelings saying all of the above
is too harsh
another set saying just let it be
it's another day in the stressed out
life of a lonely visiting law professor.

Amrit's Disciple

In 1992 I took a vow

in the beautiful Berkshire mountains

with a teacher

who sprinkled holy waters on my head

and left me seeing with closed eyes

lavender hosts of light

as his long Hindu dress brushed

the edge of mine

where I sat in meditative repose

believing in the connection between

spirit and love and all beings

and promising myself never to forget

to reach out and experience the sweetest

form of love

that of trusting in the moment

and breathing into the

yogic experience of Life.

First Love

I remember when you sat

at the desk at 5 a.m. or so and I

half asleep looked over at the furious

pace of your writing down every feeling

image desire and dream that came rushing

out from your soul to your brain

to your heart and through to your hands

and I was awakened by the sound of

your passionate pace

and now almost thirty years later

I reach out to your memory and wonder

where you are and what happened to

that brilliant star in the sky that I knew your

mind to be

and I wonder if you are even still alive

and if you even remember me

and if you ever really forgave me

for joining hands with you on a path

we were destined not to complete

together

and for loving you so deeply

so richly

and then so harshly

letting you go.

Visiting Professor Blues

Grain meal that's "healthy"

but that I cooked in a Teflon pan

my life is full of contradictions

Lo-fat and a bunch of cookies

rich in caramel and chocolate waiting

for me in the fridge

sober alcoholic and these

alternative medicines

prepared in 70% grain alcohol!

Oh me oh my

How old and tired I feel somedays

Cooked and tossed around

in a bowl of confusion

the world of politics

is not for me

I am learning I'd rather be

buttered up and fried in that

Teflon pan than

be eaten alive by

law professors who need

to act out their

insecurities on me!

Gold Coast Bells

Chime

for the living

a stony realization

that although I feel

squeezed in

by the tall buildings

and although the city laughs

tonight outside my 9th floor

window

the street lights did not

turn on in my heart

and I panicked

and felt singularly

alone

unable to embrace

the friendly

chime

forgetting that

there are times

when we need to be

our own best company.

Pike's Peak and Down

Bump, bump jiggle

bump, the tightness in

my ear drum

reminds me of how high

we are on this

Colorado mountain road

food tumbling around

my tummy

girlfriend at the wheel

doin' a fine job of

getting us through the

red rock,

the hard rain

and smoky grey clouds

that surround my little 'ol

body a tremblin' in

both excitement and fear

Yikes, the feel of a Pike's Peak

trek on the way down

as she shifts down from 2d

to first and we gaze yonder

into waves and waves of

clouds and mist

and eerie but fantastically

majestic hues

that tell you the hand of the goddess

has been here and is gently guiding

you down

Rumble rumble on a sharp curve

over red dirt and gravel

a wide view over flat

plains, snow capped

distant ranges, pale blue lakes

and a giant's playground

of rusty pebbles

Trust is the growing feeling

as I descend and in awesome wonder

and delight

take in the highs and the lows

hoping to grasp with an artist's sight

one more curve

another 10,000 pines

a flash of lightning miles away

and the comforting signs

of being just a few more

miles

a few hundred yards

and a few more feet

from the bottom

and The End.

8/14/95 -Colorado

Glamour

I love glamourous women
painted lips
pearls
low cut dresses
black silk
thin gold bracelets
and really simple earrings
a hint of an expensive cologne
soft curls
and a rich red velvet sofa to sit on
no reason to give
for imagining the
elegance of a woman
and her cat
fluffy and warm
on a Sunday afternoon
enjoying a poem
and eating a box of chocolates.
Care to join?

FIVE CAPE COD POEMS

(1) BEACH

The mainland
is but a smear
of flattened grey blue paint on
the horizon
as fishing boats
head north in search
of lobster pots
and in safe distance
of shipwrecking
hidden sandbars

Gentle waves climb and dance
upon a strand of charcoal like
and mossy boulders
the wind is making
an angrier sea today
than yesterday's mellow calm
when fishermen waited
for the tide's turn in hopes
of a decent catch of
striped bass or herring

Seven colors of pebbles surround
my feet on the beach today
which I can see was visited
much earlier by a morning stroller
I am in no place to meet those
icy and tempestuous waters
into which the seagulls dive so easily
in search of swimming prey
I would rather keep warm
in the sand and toss grains
and pebbles and bury
or mourn the red and black ladybug
lying next to a rusty orange pebble
who must have met an untimely
death last night on
this Cape Cod shore.
@May 1999


(2) STUBBORN AND ON VACATION

While I spent three days
working on a writing
I did not think twice
about the essay that was due
last month
Ahhh...
how wonderful this seascape feels
and how powerful its effects
on my mind and my body because
though I could have worked
on that essay
I do not feel an ounce of guilt
for waiting and putting off
a task
that is far less important
or urgent than
embracing my stubborm
spirit's voracious appetite
for these ocean sounds
and pebbled beaches
which I must leave
with longing and sadness
after today.

(3) SAND AND SKY AND MORE


I know you cannot hear it
but just imagine the melancholy
horn sounding in the distance
in tempo
and throughout the evening
until morning
Now see in your mind's eye
a faraway sailing ship
with a white hull and long
masts and other gear for
hauling in mass quantities
of lobster, fish, mussels and clams
and place that smooth sailing boat
on a Cape Cod blue of ocean
with a seagull
calling out in a mile high sky
of white clouds
and seat yourself
in this mindful photo
on white and tan grainy sands
and now open your arms
to the new day
awakened
to whatever comes forth
as a means to express
how happy you are here.

(4) CAPED HISTORY

Cross legged and sitting on
moist sands
like an Indian Chief
about to smoke the peace pipe
she looked out wistfully
at the lonely waters of the sea
and believed she heard the
ancient cries of the
three thousand or more
ships wrecked upon these
New England ocean doors
and she imagined
men
and women lost in the night
and praying final words
in Puritan faith
and wondered why
the difference in centuries
cannot change the rhythm
of the waves on a Sunday then
or now
when the sky is a happy blue
and terns and seagulls enjoy
a veritable feast of
hunting game
and she wondered if the pebbles
strewn about her near and far
might contain some of the very rocks
once tossed against these battered boats
by an angry goddess of the earth
waiting in suspense for the arrival
of these witless invaders of
native and indigenous lands.


(5) SALT MARSH

Low tide
blue and even
deeper blue
In the distance
a light house
and quiet
in the seagrasses as white sands
surface and the high morning sky
lengthens
like arms outstretched
appear the welcoming
yellow and tan sandbars
for curious feet
and webbed predators for the tiny
crabs, mussel and snails
Fox and heron, raccoons
sea rat and clams
old and new
grasses of brilliant springtime hues
mosses of a deeper sheen
and rocks painted
black in a drying greyish green
wetness upon which
gulls
and ducks
may land and observe
a new day
on the salt marsh.

The Flood

(based on hearing of events in Ciudad Acuña, Mexico)

He was probably just
7, 8 or 9
leaving his work of bagging
groceries and pushing carts
much too late
with a few tips in his pocket
maybe for a mother
or a little sister
or brother
a contribution to the
meager household funds
for food or clothing
or the toys father
could not buy
and one day it rained
much too hard
and the path home
in this colonia
at the Mexican border
flooded

and in his tiredness
at 11 pm or so
his judgment and
that of his two companions
was overwhelmed

and they thought they could swim
across the bridge
and maybe they held
each other's hands
but then they could not
and someone let go
because the exhaustion from

the day's work of pushing carts

carrying groceries to cars

was too much

for the small thin arms

in a white shirt

and uniform blue pants

and the torrential gushing water

too strong
and little fingers unlocked

and separated
the boys
the little workers
let go into the cold waters'
embrace
into the doorway out of
a short lived life of struggle
observed daily by
the shoppers' eyes
blinded to their plight
by their accustomed
indifference.

@Fall 2000

The friendly pies

They didn't really know each
other yet
they chatted about their pasts
and laughed
and ate lemon
pecan
and pumpkin pie
and in the talking asked
and answered more questions
in between gulps
laughing or asking more
about life's whens or whys
and about how to eat favorite pies
and dishes circled

the snug dining room

slices of pie

slices of life

making friends

and as I swirled
the flavors
on my tongue
I remembered
at the end of the feast
that it was a Friday night

the weekend's beginning
a very good night

to meet

greet

and eat

unforgettably

delicious pie.