Poetry of the Week

Butterflies

Wings so delicate

A miracle in the winds gusts

Smooth flights

In all directions

Eternal optimists

The Bench

A soft breeze shifts the hairs
of the arms swinging back and forth
One foot in front of the other
The morning mundane walk
For the dog to pee and sniff
and pee some more.

Not there the night before
It glistens in the shade
New dark brown painted slats
sleek shiny metal railings
That prop to an angle where 
an old woman is resting her elbow
Her hand holding a lime green leash 
for her small pooch
who growls upon approach

The walk back
The lady and her dog 
are gone.
The bench in its entirety
To enjoy
Eager to sit since the first passing

Balancing on the top slate lays a 
somber calla lily.
The sun rolling over 
its curved bloom
the bright white a sight to see
Balanced by 
someone who must have 
Known him
Loved him.
Still does.

Dedicated to Christian O. Torres
8-7-1987—3-2-2021
Always in our hearts

A tear slowly gathers
Each word building more moisture
fulfills maximum capacity.
And cartwheels over the rim.
Quickly down the cheek
onto the sidewalk
Leaving a clear glistening
trail of its journey.

This bench a new place for
bottoms to sit
alone or together.
With strangers, children, loved ones, birds, the sun
With Christian

What a gift he was
What a gift he still is
Reminding all who pass to live in their aliveness
Luck is still on our side
though fleeting
Life is still inside

In the clearest way
the heart lives on
of a man I never knew.

The Owl

A slow deep dip
through the muted purple sky
Talons clench the top powerline
a steady bounce
vibrates to a tightrope stop

Turned its neck in 
an exorcist fashion
to reveal
Head with horns
Swiftly analyzing the
land below

Here is a wish.
For all the rodents 
to be tucked tightly in bed
warm next to their mothers
Dreaming of daisies

If they are all home safe
maybe by chance
The Owl
will come back for a second look
A second check
Of the ground I stand on.