Selected Poems
Cancion de Amor
Stocky heavy-limbed men in brown-soiled jeans,
with their sweat-stained white straw hats lean over,
then reach up on ladders, perched high to the August
sun, for the yellow fruit. They measure with rings
the golden lemons, and with their voices from
Guadalajara, Quintana Roo, and Vera Cruz
they begin to sing La Paloma.
I walk down our hill listening with my English
bulldog, his wet jowls swinging, beside me. I walk
with my white lace bonnet, its pink satin strap tied
in a bow under my chin. I walk, a blue-eyed blond
amongst their ladders, with their voices like gardenias
floating in a pool.
The lemon pickers turn from their high rungs smile
at me, they whistle and click their tongues. Others
huddle around hesitant fires and gesture with open
hands offering me a toasted tortilla, a heated can
of frijoles or a piece of chocolate cake and I start
to join them.
Until, with a shake of his head, my father grabs
my hand, to end the cancion, to claim my difference.
Published:
Forces, Collin College (2011)
Pete’s Book and the Friends of Pete (2017) GA Thompson
![Lemon for poem](https://i7m5fc.p3cdn1.secureserver.net/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/Lemon-for-poem.jpg)
![Lemon for poem](https://i7m5fc.p3cdn1.secureserver.net/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/Lemon-for-poem.jpg)
Cancion de Amor
Stocky heavy-limbed men in brown-soiled jeans,
with their sweat-stained white straw hats lean over,
then reach up on ladders, perched high to the August
sun, for the yellow fruit. They measure with rings
the golden lemons, and with their voices from
Guadalajara, Quintana Roo, and Vera Cruz
they begin to sing La Paloma.
I walk down our hill listening with my English
bulldog, his wet jowls swinging, beside me. I walk
with my white lace bonnet, its pink satin strap tied
in a bow under my chin. I walk, a blue-eyed blond
amongst their ladders, with their voices like gardenias
floating in a pool.
The lemon pickers turn from their high rungs smile
at me, they whistle and click their tongues. Others
huddle around hesitant fires and gesture with open
hands offering me a toasted tortilla, a heated can
of frijoles or a piece of chocolate cake and I start
to join them.
Until, with a shake of his head, my father grabs
my hand, to end the cancion, to claim my difference.
Published:
Forces, Collin College (2011)
Pete’s Book and the Friends of Pete (2017) GA Thompson
Coyote
In memory of Fallujah
Among three crimson azalea beds coyote creeps.
He with his eye at me and I standing stock still.
Startled brown and silent he lingers while oaks
in dark profiles ease our pain within their shadows.
Coyote and I hesitate.
Shall we warn each other?
Tell our species secrets?
Instead, into the foliage he vanishes.
Back into my cushioned lair I run
each to hide our secrets.
Each to surrender to our fears.
Published: Cape Rock Southeast Missouri University Fall/Winter/2014/2015
Coyote
In memory of Fallujah
Among three crimson azalea beds coyote creeps.
He with his eye at me and I standing stock still.
Startled brown and silent he lingers while oaks
in dark profiles ease our pain within their shadows.
Coyote and I hesitate.
Shall we warn each other?
Tell our species secrets?
Instead, into the foliage he vanishes.
Back into my cushioned lair I run
each to hide our secrets.
Each to surrender to our fears.
Published: Cape Rock Southeast Missouri University Fall/Winter/2014/2015
Ego
Right blade in a pair of scissors,
left sock of a pair of gray argyles,
middle cushion in the sofa,
second step in the stepladder,
middle C not B sharp, each one
thinks it is the one most necessary.
Published: Texas Observer 2010
Ego
Right blade in a pair of scissors,
left sock of a pair of gray argyles,
middle cushion in the sofa,
second step in the stepladder,
middle C not B sharp, each one
thinks it is the one most necessary.
Published: Texas Observer 2010
Meditation On Canyon Fires
Mountain tracks of
Wild boar, deer, fire..
Sant’Ana blows.
Six quail scamper
Across the ridge – winds
Carry ashes
Pocked bark of
Eucalptus ignite as
I water grass.
Doors shut on a
Heron trapped. I hum
A sonatina.
Jasmine and books –
Milton, Dante together
Cinders caressed
White dove watches
For a rainbows, sees
Only embers.
Published: Beginnings 2004
Meditation On Canyon Fires
Mountain tracks of
Wild boar, deer, fire..
Sant’Ana blows.
Six quail scamper
Across the ridge – winds
Carry ashes
Pocked bark of
Eucalptus ignite as
I water grass.
Doors shut on a
Heron trapped. I hum
A sonatina.
Jasmine and books –
Milton, Dante together
Cinders caressed
White dove watches
For a rainbows, sees
Only embers.
Published: Beginnings 2004
Oak
Bobcats hide in the branches of the oak tree ready to pounce
on the lost small dog. A pack of black skunks sweeps over
the green fairways of oaks looking for a victim – a cricket or
beetle. The silhouette of an oak is penciled across the pond,
until one morning a lightning bolt breaks it into two.
Is there a prayer for an oak tree felled by lightning and rotted
to its core? It was struck while I watched you with your get
well cards covering the side tables, your pots of hydrangeas
littering the cabinet, and my bud vases of yellow roses lying
to you that there is hope, if you try harder to live, not to die.
You rest with your innards rotted by cancer, listening to the
roll of thunder, waiting for the next strike, as the rain keeps
coming down, coming down.
Published: California Quarterly 2009
Oak
Bobcats hide in the branches of the oak tree ready to pounce
on the lost small dog. A pack of black skunks sweeps over
the green fairways of oaks looking for a victim – a cricket or
beetle. The silhouette of an oak is penciled across the pond,
until one morning a lightning bolt breaks it into two.
Is there a prayer for an oak tree felled by lightning and rotted
to its core? It was struck while I watched you with your get
well cards covering the side tables, your pots of hydrangeas
littering the cabinet, and my bud vases of yellow roses lying
to you that there is hope, if you try harder to live, not to die.
You rest with your innards rotted by cancer, listening to the
roll of thunder, waiting for the next strike, as the rain keeps
coming down, coming down.
Published: California Quarterly 2009
Ode to an Avocado
A fruit with 250 names like:
Haas, Fuerte, Bacon, MacArthur
a creamy mush inside
green leathery, black, olive-hued skin
hanging like clustered grapes
in Nahuatl means testes.
picked by men from the south,
hired Broceros far from home, who
live in the barracks to pick while
singing mariachi songs about palomas
can create a dip,
a salsa, salad slices,
extras, never the main course,
or dessert, always a side,
a tangy, sweet addition
to a meal,
like sugar in coffee,
not necessary, but nice
came from the jungles,
to give us your green zing.
Published: John Garmon’s Eclectic Anthology 2016
Ode to an Avocado
A fruit with 250 names like:
Haas, Fuerte, Bacon, MacArthur
a creamy mush inside
green leathery, black, olive-hued skin
hanging like clustered grapes
in Nahuatl means testes.
picked by men from the south,
hired Broceros far from home, who
live in the barracks to pick while
singing mariachi songs about palomas
can create a dip,
a salsa, salad slices,
extras, never the main course,
or dessert, always a side,
a tangy, sweet addition
to a meal,
like sugar in coffee,
not necessary, but nice
came from the jungles,
to give us your green zing.
Published: John Garmon’s Eclectic Anthology 2016
Rabbit Moon
When a rabbit is etched in the moon, high
up over my garden fountain, and spring
winds scatter pollen, blossoms and pear
branches onto my winter dazed lawn,
when my day ends with no chores or errands
to finish, when my kettle boils and my feet
are soothed by lotion and pink cashmere,
when memory is put aside like the mending
of loose buttons, fallen hems and torn silk, then
from the rosy confines of an afghan my Russian
blue stretches and I lean down to stroke him, my
brown-spotted hands, my falling white hair, ground me,
I pray to bless the night and the light in the moon.
Published: Illyas Honey, 2011
Rabbit Moon
When a rabbit is etched in the moon, high
up over my garden fountain, and spring
winds scatter pollen, blossoms and pear
branches onto my winter dazed lawn,
when my day ends with no chores or errands
to finish, when my kettle boils and my feet
are soothed by lotion and pink cashmere,
when memory is put aside like the mending
of loose buttons, fallen hems and torn silk, then
from the rosy confines of an afghan my Russian
blue stretches and I lean down to stroke him, my
brown-spotted hands, my falling white hair, ground me,
I pray to bless the night and the light in the moon.
Published: Illyas Honey, 2011
Rinascimento
Speak to me in words of courtly love.
Remind me of the Quattrocento,
Bow to me, lift my hand to kiss –
do not see the sadness from old tarnished loves;
rather see the romance behind my eye.
If you do choose to speak, I will return your smile,
and promise to be noble and kind.
Published: Beginnings winter 2003
Rinascimento
Speak to me in words of courtly love.
Remind me of the Quattrocento,
Bow to me, lift my hand to kiss –
do not see the sadness from old tarnished loves;
rather see the romance behind my eye.
If you do choose to speak, I will return your smile,
and promise to be noble and kind.
Published: Beginnings winter 2003
Star Creek Morning
Blue heron, geese and flocks of black grackles
gather on morning star creek
as if noticing our watching them,
as if expecting us to praise them,
like my walking through your door
letting you greet me,
letting you love me,
like the bird wings closing its talons
to alight below creek’s clear waters,
like me raising
my hand to caress your face,
touching you for the first time,
you welcoming me,
as if I’m a morning star.
Published: Heron Clan 2020
Star Creek Morning
Blue heron, geese and flocks of black grackles
gather on morning star creek
as if noticing our watching them,
as if expecting us to praise them,
like my walking through your door
letting you greet me,
letting you love me,
like the bird wings closing its talons
to alight below creek’s clear waters,
like me raising
my hand to caress your face,
touching you for the first time,
you welcoming me,
as if I’m a morning star.
Published: Heron Clan 2020