Monthly Archives: November 2015

November poems

A few new poems from November. Enjoy!

She turns to me

Weekend awake
day’s first light
no morning workout
yoga t’ai chi
gardener cleaner
no need to rise.

She turns to me
touch skin to skin
hand to arm
thigh to thigh
breast to belly
head to shoulder.

Nestled in down
rise and fall
easy breath
slip back into sleep.


Sunday morning quehaceres
(chores, tasks, “that to do”):

Record weather data
hi/low temperatures
humidity rainfall
(enter on spreadsheet).

Make the coffee
(cappuccino, latte
for Irina after shower
and weather report
in Spanish).

Patrol the yard
for dog shit
(an owl butterfly
four hours sat
on that pile of poop).

Prepare fruit for
Irina’s smoothie
banana mango
papaya strawberry
mandarin orange
(avena linaza
in the Silver Bullet).

Empty compost pail
collect garbage
(Monday morning pick-up).

Trim lilies and palms
(yellowed leaves and fronds).

Repair Irina’s purse
(glue piping to strap
torn, hopeless).

Paint wheelbarrow
(rusted sitting
out in the rain).

Write a poem.


On terrace tile
at sliding glass door
two moths lie
a female large
powdery white
trimmed in steppingstone
outlined in umber
the male smaller
markings darker
hindwings fade sheer

barely touching
her leg his abdomen
his nose her wing
still stretching
out towards noon
as if exhausted
by night of passion
in bliss forgetting
time to rise to go
to where moths go
at dawning light.


No problema

Order a leg of lamb
from the butcher shop
across from the Pali
sign says sells cordero
in Spanish and English
two weeks it’s there
wrapped too small to serve
ten invited to share.

Stretch with sausage
go to Carnes Colon
with one bag of chile flakes
another semilla de hinojo
fennel seed muled in —
can count on Isidro
makes chorizo to spec
pork twenty percent fat
needing tripe for casing
be ready tomorrow.

Prepping for dinner
at noon discover
no pierna a paleta
shoulder not leg
not the barbie as planning
needs a slow braising
brown and simmer
in stock and herbs
all afternoon ’til
tough meat turns tender
spicy sausage infused
no one knows or cares
no hay problema.

Good conversation

Afternoon at the gate
Ingo with a beer
Larry bottle of wine
wives in the states.

Ingo born in Ukraine
says doesn’t like it
here he’s just lonely
long way home now

palling with Larry
long last retired
says a fishmonger
once had a band

and ragtag of writers
sharing tales of fallout
of war the big one
after one to end all

and later grown a man
years at sea and
three days in it
miracle found.

A tenderloin strip
roasts on the barbie
Larry doesn’t eat much
heart shying beef

evening fades
fetch bottle of rum
Larry his guitar
starts in to thrum

Texas blues
Louisiana ’27
could be Randy
sitting at the table.

This is what I like
he says. A little
something to drink
song to sing
guitar to pick
good conversation.

Rainy season gone

Skyspread gray
darkness lightens
trade winds swell
clouds scoot south.

First afternoon sun
since can’t recall
retires in a pageant —
the word for it
Spanish abigarrado
verb abigarrar
to paint in wild colors.
Moon rises near full
beams through ribbon
of wisp and the pines.

Awake under blanket
clear blue at dawn
just like that
rainy season gone.