Fierce Bad Rabbit

Too Big.

When life is becomes big

Do small things first.

Empty the kitchen sink

Maybe even put away the wheelbarrow. 

So much depends on it. 

Lights Out

I read or cry

or both.

I watch for lights outside

dorm father's out there with a flashlight

looking for slackers doing homework under the blankets.

I wonder if he ever steps on fire crickets.

I hope so.

Poem For My Happy Place.

I have a special filter;
I put it in my ears.
It turns off our dear president
and saves me many tears.

I use it when I watch the news,
or ride along in cars,
for if I do not use this tool
I gorge on chocolate bars!

Flowers and Trees.

Frangi-pangi
twisty tree

Butterfly

Little butterfly blond
in bright black shoes
picking dandelions
dodging bees
pricked by purple thistle tops.
A little cliche
kneeling in the grass.

(from 1995. Very little changed, mostly punctuation and capitalization issues.)

Lullaby.

Spin, white moon.
Spin me a simple waltz
in crystal time.
Sapphire dragons, ruby kings
and shining rings.

Sing, red moon.
Sing me a song
of pipes and paisley
and leaves
and shadowy things.

Whisper, silver moon. Speak
to me softly
of a piano playing by golden light.
Stars so bright.

Sleep, blue moon. Now
dream silently under skies of night
Eyes so wide
under the spinning moon.

Bench.

It's old, that bench.
Never thought I'd own teak.

There it sits, most evenings at dusk
pipe smoke-grey and waiting,
while I bend to pull the same damn weeds
I did when I was thirty-five.

Congregation.

The singing's not about you anyway.
Better to take a crowd, see;
there's safety in numbers.
And while we're together, there's this:

The battering ram won't drive itself across the plain
to splinter Hell's front door.

So push.

The Dog Never Sleeps.

Mostly he's outside
back by the garage
his black nose visible in the dog house door
On sunny days, he lays in shade under the maple.

But he always faces the house.

Eyes on the clouds
waiting for rain.
Eyes on the clock
waiting for night.
Ears all alert
waiting for tears.

Never any warning
but he's in the house --
sneaking in with the mail
a phone call or too much cake.
He stays, uninvited, for days on end
leaving behind dirty laundry
breakfast-cereal suppers
and too much computer time.

Eyes on the clouds
wait for the sun.
Eyes on the clock
soon comes the morning.
Ears all alert
listening to friends.

Snapdragons Come July.

It's not so hard, you know
to grow where you're put.

To be one color
after all, is safe.

Stay hybrid-bright, why don't you?
Throw your seed to the wind
 and who knows how you'll grow next year?

Why try quite so hard to chase
after the crabgrass, the thistles,
growing in sidewalk cracks?

I've planted this garden just for you.
Please stay.