Tag Archives: Rhyme

Housepainter’s Exhibit

29 Oct

These green towers are soon to be pyres,
their sparks and embers falling from the sky.

But for now, ripe acorns are unsteady hail
and one ricochets the roof to my paint pail.

Brush in abeyance, I extract the now white
nut, settle it on a windowsill to dry

then, on lunch, coat another dozen or so,
leave the pointy pearls in a row

set on two dry leaves and a wicker table.
Perhaps the customer will notice and be able

to receive this, the smallest of small signs.
Perhaps she still believes in acorn rhymes.

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Sleep and Dreams

26 Oct

man napping sculpture

No crime, keeping watch for couplets or half-lines
to cut through the alley or gather at the street sign.
They arrive as I usher my daughter to bed,
as I doze by her side.      And no surprise

to see them when I stay up after midnight…
but to find them at the trigger of a drive-by
is a hard rhyme.  I have no wish to testify

when the shooter is close—when he is the son
of a neighbor; when I pass him on the sidewalk
on his way back from the Short Stop—then I think,

No!  I didn’t hear a gunshot; I had a dream
that ended with a pop.  I tell myself
      I never had the gift; I need more sleep.
      No living poet would choose this street.