Walking from Starbucks

You’ve seen me

In the thousand faces you passed today

Even tho’ I was trying my best to hide

In muscled shirt

Or tight red dress

The honking horns

We’re meant to distract you from looking too close

Still, you heard it as music

And smiled

As we walked on

The wind that came around the corner

Was supposed to push you away from me

Yet we collided and your Latte spilled

On the path

And still, you smiled


Picture Puzzle

We sit at the sunroom table in our 90’s

Finished Working on that huge picture puzzle

And finding one piece in the middle is missing

Where is it?

Did it drop on the floor?

Is this a joke;

The kindly giver putting that piece

In his front shirt pocket?

Still, looking at the overall picture

I can imagine the piece that goes there.

Maybe that is the missing piece

Found in my own front shirt pocket

Like a magic trick

Where the card you chose is the card you have.

But don’t question the magician.

He is there to entertain you.

Guardian Angel

Music is a guardian Angel

A mother’s voice before sleep

A lullaby that captains us

As we sink in the deep

She flies through air


From places near and far

She even will come visit me

As I drive in my car

She shouts about injustice

She tells me of my blues

And she is there to waken me

When I’ve had too much booze

And at my ceremony

I’m sure you’ll find her there

Consoling all those gathered

And lifting up the air.

And I’ve heard that in heaven

They don’t speak but sing

The new celestial choir

That we hear when it is Spring

Drive my Car

Fear can drive us to Nirvana

To meet its family there

A bevy of confusion

Of noise and rancor where

A sense of hesitation

And judgement all appear

Affect my self-direction

And pierces like a spear

Too long for just a ride home

Before I was brought here

In vehicles of splendor

By driver who was Fear

Still, seems that Fear departed

The family disappeared

And all the noise and rancor

Is in the rear view mirror

Service at Harper’s

They were having a service at Harpers.

It’s about a block down from the community church.

The spirits flow freely there

And Honesty often erupts into a fight.

Twelve pickups and a few SUV’s

make an interesting congregation.

And each confession concludes with the listener’s exclamation of “No Shit!”.

And the man with a broken smile and dirty hands says, “Another round on me.” So the ex-football player with the white SUV knocks him off his stool until the bartender steps in and reminds them of their long friendship. Soon the shouts die down and Willie Nelson keeps playing on the juke box and two by two the patrons leave affected by the preacher’s words.