Sink and swim

I'm surprised when I find a poem in the kitchen sink

the first few lines swim in my mind

I must return to the blank blog page

and spill the ideas into the virtual sink

Ah flow in the gray morning

Time to turn the music on!

At my kitchen sink

I've found a poetry spot

a place that puts the images in my head

and draws the words from me

in the morning,

before the day begins

I stand at the kitchen sink and look out the window toward the sea

and I see

and occasionally record

the songs still springing from my heart

making tea

making tea on a foggy morning

breathe easy

lilacs bent with dew

buffalo grass grey with mist

the kettle sings then shrieks

like old memories that
radiate when held up to the light

no,  just hot tea
in white porcelain mug
on a foggy morning



dan baumbach photography
http://danbaumbach.wordpress.com/

second wedding anniversary

A rain swept hill in Crete

Sheltered in a Shepard's hut

So new in love

every day announced itself

a gift.

We said, Look at us!

We're living life!

So many years since that rainy afternoon

Bounce the grand baby on my knee

Watch our grown children laugh

Remember all of the meadows and hills
we topped.

I love you!

water melon

Is anything sweeter
more satisfying
than the recollection of
a special point in time

when taste combines with sound and light
makes a memory?

Sweet cold water melon

served as a break
from heavy work on a hot day

I look out the picture window

and  remember

eating a slice of seedless morning melon.

dog's dream

What do dogs dream?

for surely they do dream

I watch Brindle dozing on the couch.

His eyes rolling behind closed lids
the big paws twitching
the gutteral snore turns to muffled woof and wheeze

is he chasing the road runner of his dreams?
is he connected with all dogs past, present, future,
hunting with the pack?

Or is it simply random neurons firing,
fueled by a reptilian biochemical breakdown
of kibble and the radiance of the sun
on his dun colored tiger striped back?

what do dogs dream when they sleep?

loafing

Yesterday,

stretched out on my couch

I looked through the window to see

20 birds

perched like leaves on the bare thin limbs of a tree

hunkered against a cold wind

facing into the breeze and riding the branches.

as one

they  launched

leaving the tree bare.

shortly after, I slipped into a sweet mid-day nap.

An old man blogging simple observational free verse when he should be working

No fool like an old fool?

A survivor spending time to let the optimistic candle of mindfulness generate images on virtual paper?

Still thinking in verse after all these years.

Is it enough to briefly set aside the mundane demands of the day to save some words?

Enough?   Not really, but something at least.