The Drought

August 10, 2017

It’s been fifty days since
High clouds congregated to
Bless us with new rainfall,
Gone are the days where we
Used to sit and listen to drips
Coming down off the gutter.

The time of year is right for
Sun-scorched grass and the
Peculiar smell of pavement
Sizzling in the sun’s glare,
Heat waves distorting any
Semblance of comfort.

Droughts never last forever.
Eventually, we shall see
The grey clouds accumulate
And release our tensions in
The form of warm sheets
Of summertime rain.


Indian Summer

September 12, 2013

Swirling winds pick up;
Subtler hues in your eyes
Shine like the hard faces of
Gems cut from the earth.
It is not yet the equinox.

I wonder if the roots of
Trees feel the warmth
Of autumn sunlight, or if
They drink in the soil
As their foliage turns
The colors of passion:
Orange and crimson.

Hopefully your mind
Wanders like mine,
Swaying like those leaves
In the dusk, braving the
Mires of reality just to
Think of me.


This June

June 1, 2010

I awaken
at quarter till six
when the one window
in my room is flooded
with light from the
newborn sun
flat on my back,
I glance down at
the bare hand
connected to the
bare arm lying across
my chest, brown
curls cover the pillow
she stole from me
in the night

Staring up
at the dim white
stucco ceiling
I think about last June
how I felt the despair
of friends long gone
and how I ached,
more than anything,
to avoid being like
Frost’s oven bird:
screeching at dawn
alone in a forest
beyond reach

And now
waking up to this
I shut my weary eyes,
trying to steal a few
soft fragments
of sleep from wherever
it is they come from
before time begins to
slip away again



June 16, 2009

My relief was taking my sandals off
And letting the grass caress my soles.
Summer’s recent spotlight of heat had
Turned the front lawn into a crunchy field
The color of cinnamon sugar.

My small escape served to remind me
Of the things I have to hold onto;
When I find myself at tomorrow’s doorstep
And returning to the bed I left last year,
Bringing a sense of solace and solitude.
Both halves of my heart taking
An extended leave of absence,
I have no choice but to recall
The way the seasons change us.
Although my Company might go off
On their own solstice adventures,
When the autumn comes to remove
Nature’s sunburned outer layers
It brings with it a renewed anticipation
And the harvest of friends new and old.

A turn in the wind’s trajectory
And somehow I can taste the blue
Strokes of light blending seamlessly
Through the west wind’s fingers,
Taking what little dread I have left
Away from myself so that once
I wake up from the warm sleep
My first glance to the horizon
Makes me smile a tiny grin.

A frayed rope hangs silently below
The archway, as the last thing I see
Is the back side of white sails
And ash grey skies.