Another Ghost

Night slips
into black silk,
and breathing stills.
Lilac floats
on swollen air.

I wait
in full blossom,
my feet warm
in the spreading moss.

A cricket calls, lonely,
from another valley,
in another hollow.
Another shadow,

another pause.

© 2003

If this old poem has posted without an illustration (and/or with this attached note), it is because I'm just not up to editing it before publishing. I have seven or so entries scheduled to post: two for May; one for June; and two more for September, and then some later.

I hope to be up and visiting everyone soon.

Mayday, Mayday!

Wonderful was this day for the mission,
spring in the city - sunny and clear.
Fully inflated squadrons of roundbirds,
tethered together, drawing us near.

All of a sudden, one of the birdies
broke from formation leaving his peers.
Hellbent for leather, turning in spirals,
bravely the maverick shot into gear.

Corkscrewing contrails, powered by flatus
thundering forcefully straight from his rear,
thrust daring Chrysippus into the wildest,
into the bluest, yon stratosphere.

Escaping Earth's gravity, bouncing off satellites,
blowing past asteroids, showing no fear,
Destiny calling, heaven-bound Chrysippus
hurtled towards his final frontier.


- - - -

an alternative wimpy ending (this would need a final verse to follow the rubbery-fluttered one I've written here):

Fuel nearly spent, now totally breathless,
reaching the zenith of his career,
rubbery fluttered, Chrysippus wondered,
"What in the hell am I doing here?"

A shout out and thank you for TenaciousK. Your teasing remarks early on are what inspired me to find new adventures for roundbirds, Chrysippus Crow and Circular Joe.

Flying

To the wind, blooming cherry trees are puffy dandelions.

An Early Spring

[click to enlarge]

I saw one of my new neighbors today, alone at the far end of the hallway, naked. And then he was gone.

Snow Man Sprouting

Taking a deep breath.

There are so many wonderful things I love about Missoula:

Our muffled winter fogs; the way the snow can fill our valley like a bowl of heavy cream; quiet streets shaded in the summer with maple leaves the size of dinner plates; and the incredible greens and blues shimmering in waves up the hills around us.

But what I love most are these days in May, when the lilacs are in bloom. There must be almost a hundred lilac bushes in every square mile inside Missoula - at least one or two bushes on every block. Colours in the palest of lavenders, whites, violet, and deep purple…spilling over fences, gathered in groves, and hedging entire property lines .

Missoula's lilacs intoxicate. Their fragrance drifts in the air. It permeates – saturates our clothing, our hair. It fills our lungs, and tickles our minds. It teases, arouses, and renders everyone in love. People on the street will stop in their tracks for no reason, but to inhale.