Wait Here. A Poem

A loitering cloud,
hanging around,
smoking,
looking cool
in the leathered sky.

Apparently no agenda,
no place to go,
so it leans against
the evening
and waits for a star.

Choking On Air. A Poem.

Scenes within get stuffy, crowded,
and I don’t want to breathe on anyone
let alone choose words to place in
run-on sentences while my fingers

shuffle through party crackers
and cheese the size of dice.
The jazz music wandering though
it all only served as a “should.”

I used to be comfortable being
shoved around by “ought.”
Now, I would rather step outside
and see what the sky is up to.

It’s not their fault, really.
Sometimes I avoid people by
helping them, instead of eating
cheese, I set it ornately on trays.

The folding of chairs or arms
is body language which neither sits
nor embraces connection.
Yet solitude is what I crave

in a crowd sometimes.
Please be near me but do you
mind if we brush cold shoulders
and eat cheese?

The Giver. A Poem.

A light breeze through the poplars whispers of a Lake Michigan shore.
Hummingbirds engaged in dog fighting over the feeder.
A lone woodpecker pokes around in the distance.
Flies hurry past sounding like Indy cars.
Crows speak in short sentences.
I breathe thankfulness.
God is a giver.
Heartbeat.

 

Painting by Wilfred McOstrich