Prayers of Defiance

Hands clasped together

knees firmly rooted 

eyes closed

each breath measured

in the quiet

alone,

praying

but for what?

Love is the desire

of everything we do

as the world lurches

from one idol to the next

seeking happiness

in the squalor 

of massage parlors

and brothels of shame.

Holding on to faith

in the midst of despair

an act of defiance 

against those seeking

to chain the hearts

of those who love

The Headache of Zeus

I’m looking for that perfect sentence

the one that will open this poem

the perfect metaphor never used

so that you will read my poetry.

I even bought a book or two

to help me on my quest

to find the right combinations

of those words that I seek.

Poetry for Dummies is one

that claims to help demystify poetry

only will it help demystify me.

I dream, dreams of words aligned

all in perfect poetic order

then when I sit to write they are a jumble.

Outside the sun shines bright

and I hear the birds singing

the world is slowly waking up 

as I emerge from the dreams.

Now I sit here writing once again

looking at the blinking cursor

on the blank screen of the iPad

trying to remember what I dreamed

in the midnight hours

because what I saw was that sentence

all pretty and perfect

just waiting to be birthed

a sleeping fetus

enclosed in a darkened womb

of my mind

the headache of Zeus

that refuses to be born.

Cup of Tea on a Rainy Day

Outside a cold rain falls

I hear passing cars whoosh

as they rush down the street

splashing through puddles

ignoring the people walking

inside I am warm and taking tea

trying to write some poetry

what comes to mind

is the tea that I drink

it is warm and comforting

but I’m not a tea guru

I don’t drink it everyday

I don’t know my Earl Gray

from my Darjeeling 

even if they were on hand

I just pull out the tea bag

pour boiling water

and wait a few minutes

while I watch as the tea steeps

and the water transforms

from clear to a rusty red

as the tea bag floats along

swirling its flavor throughout

then I drain the bag

put in the sugar

I always use sugar

as my Dad used sugar

then a splash of milk

as my Mom splashed milk

then on a cold, rainy day

I sit back, with pencil in hand

sipping tea and writing poetry.

Traffic Stop

They walk across the road

chests puffed out, heads high

as if to say, we own this spot

their waddling has purpose

as the traffic waits for them

once in a rush now stopped

having to wait while they saunter.

A brief moment of rest

from the hectic days we have

a time to watch this slow parade

that does not rush or seem to care

it’s not easy to sit there patiently

too many things to do and see

but maybe this brief interlude

is a special gift of peace

as finally the last of the group

a few steps behind, slows down

to look up at the massive vehicles

as if to say, “You’re welcome