Brown hair,
Hazel eyes,
A smile like the sun.
She'd love to sing and dance for us,
And have more hoodies than she should. (duh)
Her favorite food would be green apples,
Oh, and she'd love to read and draw.
And anytime she sees a dog
We'll be hearing her name it all day long.
If she ever fell out of a tree
(which she will if she's like me)
She'd run inside and laugh it off-
"Don' worry daddy, I fine!"
And if she's like you,
I'll have almost no time on my hands,
Cause I'll be too busy keeping her out of trouble
You make me lose my mind.
It's not like you do much,
Just talk and acknowledge me,
But I still think you're one of a kind.
What kind of music do you like?
Rain, sun or night?
Do you prefer the scooter or the bike?
Would you talk to me for the rest of my life?
Can you wiggle your ears,
Or curl your tongue?
Do you like dogs or cats?
Or maybe even bears?
What's your favorite color?
Is it red or yellow or blue?
I'd really like to know,
So please tell me a bit about you.
Cat purrs on the floor
Doggo licks his lips
Onyx and Midnight; my boys
Today I spoke to the "Quiet Kid."
Found out he doesn't like his voice.
Said he should talk more cause I did.
To be honest, it sounds like an angel.
Not that I'd ever tell him.
I wonder tons about him,
Like if he likes the rain.
Maybe soon I'll ask him,
Unless he tells me to go away.
Quiet boy has fluffy hair,
So I'd really love to see
If I can get him to let me touch it,
Or if he'll get sick of me.
See, I'm the "Wild Kid"
Who all the students know,
But that's not really true, cause if they did
Scratch your head
Bite your tongue
Grin
Bow low
Keep your hands tied
Your feet pressed firmly together.
'What's all this?'
You'd better
Ask the belly.
It'll tell you.
A weed, an insect and I
In a conference under the sun.
On the Lantana, flowers.
Pink, white and violet
They snuggle in bunches
Looking up at me like children
In awe of a giant.
Thorns prick my fingers
The stalk taut, lean like a whip
Refuses to oblige my hands
Trying to clear a path.
Then, glinting in the sun
This little Ladybird on a leaf.
Legs drawn up under the shell
She sits still, as if hoping
I wouldn’t see her.
It ain’t easy to write about love,
The blind can see better than I.
The deaf has ears sharper than mine,
The dumb has voice sweeter than mine.
What do I feel, what do I sense
I do not know what is love.
Is it sorrow, is it joy,
Is it the lust betwixt my legs?
I listen to songs, if I feel the same
I like the lines, nothing more.
I read the books, stare at the words,
Aay bee cee dee, eee eff gee.
Weary from travel, home am bound
Opens the gate- then hears the bark.
A blur of a dog leaps at me
I can’t see, for he licks my eyes.
The evening was full of surprises.
Sunshine had a brighter, merrier tinge
Streets were full of decent men
And every woman looked beautiful.
Signals turned green at my very sight
Youngsters gave way, most obliging.
The fishmonger gave a couple free
The coffee tasted so good.
At the corner shop, I read out
A letter in English
To the unlettered worker
Who listened joyfully, as I told him
His daughter will be home for X’mas.
Passing, slowly, I saw me
In the glass panes -
A happy, smiling, me.
There were two of them, silent, so unusual
Green Barbets, on the Papaya tree.
A flurry of green wings, heads cocked
They studied the ripe, yellow Papaya.
To lie on bed and watch birds in the morning!
One nibbling on one and the other on the other –
Pity me! The fruits I had hoped to pluck today!
Then hopped down a Woodpecker – what business
Does he dare here, I wonder, this nemesis
Of worms and termites? So do the Barbets –
Awed at his red crest and sharp beak
And how funnily he sat on the stem, so unlike birds!
One Barbet hurried away – the other sidestepped the ‘Pecker
And watched him, like me, head cocked
Jabbing away at the ripe yellow Papaya.
Filled, he left, the mighty Woodpecker
I once gave my friend a sock on her birthday, attached to the bright fabric is a note reading.
You're a free elf.
In my bubble I like to walk.
I like to run and dance,
All around the bubble.
It's small but I like it here.
My bubble is now water,
So I swim now.
It's much bigger than before.
As I grew, I got more curious.
Is there a Bottom?
What does it looks like?
I want to know.
I want to see.
With my arms I swam to the bottom,
As far as I can go.
I want to know.
As far as I can go,
The two are within a block of each other
near the northern edge of downtown.
Whether in cahoots or competition,
both stake a claim on their respective stages.
One, a conductor at her podium
who stands mid-intersection
directing nonexistent traffic.
What plays in her head is anyone’s guess.
The other, a fly fisherman
whipping shadow-cast figure eights
over the empty street; determined to find meaning
when there is always a catch before his release.
As cars arrive to nudge both experimental theaters,
a dance ensues to the tune of one long echoing symphonic honk.
Twirling, arms waving, she casts a spell
over her orchestra pit to silence the critics.