Eye of the Hurricane

Every night I hear the engines rev, then tires burning black marks on the street.
And when the cars pause to take a breath, still silence bends its knee to light and heat
And noise: the booming echoes voice these works of fire sold by the shrewd Shrewsbury pyrotechnicians
To residents familiar with plot-lines and settings in The Wire: blue-collar workers, gang members, and beauticians.
These beautiful mortars join their sinister (gunshot) sister upon the moonlit soundscape of the city,
Though daylight is no guarantee of fist or knife as choice weapon, and none of these will make the crime more pretty.
A rage breeds here, though this year perhaps more subdued when compared to the national or global attitude.
This place has accumulated vile tragedies, now adding to the pile viral disease.
Yet in this chaos, sin, and pain, despite the picture seeming bleak
Here lies a gleaming lovers lane, here a spring and flowing creek,
Here the eye of the hurricane, a place for hope and joy to speak
And say not “I won’t, can’t, shouldn’t, haven’t” too
But simply, and beautifully, “I do.”

Photo by Julia Wanner


June humidity–
Water, water everywhere:
Crystals in the air

Swimming on two legs

Photo by Eliana Anthony

A Trip to Jason’s Deli

A day so cold I saw my breath inside,
So we stepped outside and took a drive–
Shivering lumps of flesh, with the heat on full.
We arrived before the dawn and hesitantly knocked,
Unsure if she would come or if we’d wake others up.
She let us in with an hola and a smile.
We gathered up his things, wrapped him warmly then rushed
Him to the car.  We introduced ourselves as best we could;
She spoke little English, but she understood our names.
I tried to think of words to say, but everything was wrong;
The only Spanish I could think of was from warning labels–
So we all talked to him, since there was no language barrier
And he cooed back contentedly.  “¡Eso es!” she interrupts.
I missed the turn, but circled back and drove her to the door.
She smiled and said, “Thank you.” “De nada,” I replied.
She had a life’s worth of problems and a smile miles wide.

boom boom boom

Silence fell like an empty drum
banging echoes down the hall
to Please the cat and I and mum
(though she Cannot Hear at all)
Myself, my ears work well as ink
(that’s pretty well now, don’t you Think?)


..No, no, I simply cannot rest
And talk with You; I must invest
My time in other clutter things–
..You would not want for me to sleep
Within Your words, for that would keep
Me from my other clutter things–
..Besides I need to socialize
For that’s the root of being wise,
Along with other clutter things–
..I cannot spend this time alone
With You; I’d surely turn to stone
And join my other clutter things.
..Why would I rest when I could work
Instead?  I say this with a smirk
Along with other mutterings.

Some new clutter things

In Vain

He said your name as if that’s all you were–
Some syllables of phonemes, random sounds;
I want to pick his brain, unlock, restore
These mountains from what he’s reduced to mounds.

Writing in the sand

Herbal Hermeneutic

Lemonbalm slowdown (
The kids still scream around the playground )
Lilac relaxation (
Chicken on the monkeybars )
Lavender duration–
Life is chutes and ladders.

Sometimes even they slow down

Photo by Claire Anthony


One Nation

Red and blue both swirl to purple,
As the bird unites the people:
“Velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er”
Edgar Allan interjects and continues on some more,
“Nameless here for evermore
San Fran–and cheer Baltimore!”

Ravens for Life CAW CAW

Evening Gown

The Days Run Into Night

Sundrops glow
Dusk approaches slow
Then comes night

For: http://haiku-heights.blogspot.com/

Angry Sushi

Raised lip, he looked
Like a hooked fish
Uncooked, so raw.

Put Him in the Blender

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