Bunny Slippers

 

My slippers don’t actually

have bunny ears on them

but they’re more than twelve

years old, a ripe old age

for a house rabbit or slippers.

They’ve survived twelve

funerals of nine family 

members and three dear

friends. They’ve stayed 

in Thailand, Korea, France

and the Grand Canyon,

camped in the Poconos,

moved house up and down 

the east coast from Florida

to Upstate New York,

Connecticut, New Jersey,

North Carolina, forth 

and back to France--all

told, twenty-four moves

or two times twelve. When

they first covered my feet, 

not one of the nine kinfolk 

were ailing. I never imagined 

them dying or going 

to Thailand. Similar to how

bunnies don’t imagine 

wearing slippers.

photo: bunnies, Cathédrale Saint-Nicolas (Russian Orthodox Cathedral), Nice

Waiting for Patience to Arrive

 

Irritated, standing shoreside of that peaceful pond

at the edge of the meadow, its green stagnant

scum passive until Basho’s frog

plops through the surface and leaves

a couple of bubbles at the center of brand-new

concentric circles whose arcs ripple toward me

--an inciting event, cue sunbeam, then squirrel

to scramble amidst underbrush like a distracted 

old man with dementia scattering junk mail

by the foyer, fidgeting through his sock drawer

and then the freezer wondering where the keys 

to the door he can’t find have gone.

~ pcm

         2021-04-17

photo: 2020-04-14, Carrboro

Reading a Note from a Mysterious Stranger

 

Ice cream scoops from the OED

words yummy as a clear conscience

laughing a bouquet of sunflowers

 

a chorus of golden petals 

sing hallelujahs 

around earth’s warm fruit

 

seeds set in endless labyrinths

feed winged multitudes

 

outside thunder rolls 

morning sky darkens with rain 

that dims not the inner light

nor limits the flight of dreams

                               ~  pcm

                                     2019-09-19

photo:

sunflowers 2020-09-12

Battle Till Dawn

                                                  

                                           morning began the night before

                                                  the sun arose in glory

                                                  grief’s relent I did implore

                                                  morning began the night before

                                                  each star of hope a troubadour

                                                  through dark sky’s memento mori

                                                  morning began the night before

                                                  the sun arose in glory

triolet: pcm  2018-04-09

photos: April 2020, crescent moon over pines,  #Carrboro, NC

April 2009, Stonehenge at dawn

New World

The birth act contracts

before release

narrows the vista

to a small tract

of real estate

—an impassable darkness

delightful in conception

death defying

in regeneration

each rolling wave

of pain a victory

gained enlarging

consciousness

our common

humanity

strains to be born.

pcm 2020-04-04

photos:  gaze from the sky, Nice 2019-02-23

wave, Nice 2019-04-24

Advice to Physicians

fill your own chalice

before calling others to sup

neither rectitude nor "engagement"

as the French say

je mens, tu mens, il ment

not mon

the other is not mine

but mystery

the earth

turned through worms

sweet scent

of rain and rot

your salty thick nectar

makes me see stars

photos: Nice 2019 fireworks over the port

Raleigh, night of two moons 

 

Here's looking at you, kid

the soul goes walkabout

untethered quits the noisome world

a shadow cast from driftwood

perhaps it seeks the sea

or a clear pool

of love where it is pleasant

to stand and pretense drops

its trousers about the ankles

forming little ripples

photo: crane from Ocracoke Island, circa 2000