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Sample
Poems
A Visit to Lands' End
The rich colors of an autumn
catalog
warm my eyes on a darkening afternoon;
plum and chocolate,
the words roll in my mouth
like edible stones.
I can almost feel the sureness
of the herringbone and tweed
in tones of memories,
the deep hum of the earth,
relish the sound of houndstooth in
its sturdy complexity of olive and rose.
What else but a camel plaid
can set the world right
and promise the peaceful glow
of a scarlet wool cardigan,
knowing the storms of life
are no match for wide-wale
corduroy and a bunker navy turtleneck.
Published in Wisconsin
Fellowship of Poets' Calendar, 2008
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The Reaper's Yield
If you should call
when the earth is turned
and the black dampness
clings to my breath
then I would not be surprised.
If you should call
when the yellowed grass
lies in sodden, melted puddles
and the fetid sweetness
of manured fields fills the air
then I would expect it
to be so.
If you should call
when the regal whiteness
is wiped from the land
leaving only the pale washed sky
to cover the naked furrows
then I will have been waiting
to hear from you.
Published in Wisconsin
Academy Review, February, 1993.
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Phone Call From My Brother
When he calls,
I accidentally cut my hand
with the scissors
while opening a box,
the clean slice like a smile
across my palm.
My sister carefully carves
the roast, white pork
firm and juicy. She promptly
cleans up after dinner,
ivory linen napkins
perfectly folded at each place
until the next meal.
We turn the pages of the
family album
but the pictures, faded and brittle,
slip out, flutter to the floor,
and she says, Don’t bother
to pick them up.
Published in A Cup of
Poems, 2005
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Harley Bikers Come to Town
Commemorating Harley-Davidson’s 95th
Anniversary
I thought I might, maybe
want to be biker babe—
I mean, there is something curious,
exciting even to spot the rumbling
chrome and black machines,
symbols of rebellion and freedom,
a self guided destiny.
But, I don’t know…
Somehow it all seems too noisy
and the wardrobe rather limited
and awfully messy when it rains:
then who is the master of one’s fate?
I was fascinated to see the
first few cruise into town,
then packs of them swarm
the highways like shiny cockroaches,
then hoards cram the fair grounds
looking like war refugees—
I think I’m about over it.
Published in Wisconsin
Fellowship of Poets' Calendar, 2001
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The Meaning of Life
It is as natural as
cheese and crackers, tea and toast;
it is where the beginning starts
and endings finish.
It is knowing all there is to
know,
and never knowing enough;
watching yourself through your own eyes
and seeing someone you've just met
all the days you have.
There are no do-overs,
though a new game every day –
take your best shot, and delight
when it dances around the rim;
there is running with all your might
down the wide open trail,
or hiding in a hole – it's your choice.
It is all the sand on all the
beaches
by all the oceans grinding
every stone to sleepy benthos;
it is as simple as
him and her
and this and that,
all or nothing, once again.
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