cluttered

in a corner of the desk

late January

shadows fall behind

a skyline of lotion bottles

and pencils

skyward

gazing across the temperate canyon,
enjoying sun; light breezes, I realize
I've forgotten the sky.

looking up:
cerulean blue,
delicate clouds,
endless possibilities.

old dog

The mean woman across the street
walks her old dog every day,
around the block, I'm guessing.

The dog can only move slowly, and the woman has great patience as it waddles behind her on a leash. She restrains from walking at her own pace, waiting for it to catch up.

When they near their house, the old dog's tail begins feebly wagging. He or she is ready for a rest.

The mean neighbor woman invariably yells at everyone whom she dislikes and is always cranky. She hasn't made many friends.

saturday morning

coffee and oranges,
books and birds
squawking like ducks
and last night's dream,
the sun streams,
strong as a chariot
into my morning room

old car

before I turned left,
a tough-looking guy
drove by in his old car
without hood or bonnet
covering the engine

crescent moon

a coin placed over
the top half
of the round light
that hangs near the stars
behind the night sky

winter sun

light breezes
warm,
weaving through
the metal
grid of the table
with long shadows,
for a moment:
calm

neon

blinking colors flash
against black sky:
red, blue, green, pink, red go
on - off - on - off --
I'm working late tonight.

manners

under the table:
left and right thighs
pressed together,
warm fingers
tightly entwined

still life 2 (#22)

on the table:
a basket of bread,
some butter,
a cup of soup, 1/2 sandwich,
one glass of beer
two napkins, forks, spoons, knives,
one gin and tonic with lime, and one
plate of fruit with 1/2
his sandwich.

california winter

against the grey sky, after much rain
three tall palms flex and sway
in ruthless, endless wind;
in my neighbor's yard,
bright oranges punctuate
green leaves, white blossoms

traces

after the rain 
rows of paw prints in the mud
parallel tracks of running shoes

clocks

underneath daily life
behind all the movement
and clatter
I'm listening for clocks,
measuring time.

nothing

today I noticed nothing
in particular
except
the absence of
something

paper stars

paper lanterns
hang in clusters
of white and colored lights
like painted stars

so-cal palms

on my walk
the wind picks up -
palm fronds rub
together, whispering
secrets of old trees

virtual nature break

saturday - shot from my window

white cat

with eyes
ice-blue as marbles,
a snow white feline
scales the twisted maze
of leafy canopy,
sitting sentry at the highest tip
of the mesquite tree

crows

in the black fragrant leaves
between tall eucalyptus trees,
shiny feathers, beaks
parted, calling
so loudly to each other
I look up

looking inward

eyes closed,
tingling between my brows,
white light glows, and
circles expand with the breath