A Haiku for Isaiah…

Five digits hold wax,

placing scribbles on paper;

Creating for us.

Welcome to the show…

I’m a 1 man 3 ring circus.

Denying the ringmaster His control;

Things could get pretty interesting.

 

Over here you see the clowns

in the little car.

They’re the lies that I’ve told

that I’ve sold

that I’ve bought

that have wrought the misery

I’m in.

 

I’m a 1 man 3 ring circus.

Denying the ringmaster His control;

I now find the rings start dissolving.

 

Now the freaks and the geeks

begin their parading

around a tiny ring.

The crowd screams;

the freaks jeer

at the fear and terror

I’m in.

 

I’m a 1 man 3 ring circus.

Denying the ringmaster His control;

A Big Top full of pandemonium.

 

The animals have broken free;

they swallowed the trainer’s whole.

Now they prowl through the tent

their claws bent

for the kill.

I try to still the panic

I’m in.

 

I’m a 1 man 3 ring circus.

Returning the ringmaster His control;

Think I’ll step back to enjoy the show.

Winter’s Spring Rain

Driving to work and smelling

the rain outside.

60 or so degrees on

an evening

in February and it

makes me wonder

do you smell sharp metallic

scents and get hurled

back to days you’d forgotten?

Nostalgia reeks of rain, tilled

soil, and sometimes

Bath & Body Works lotion.

I wonder how

many senses nostalgia

has?  For me it’s

most strongly attached to sound

and scent.  Often,

I hear soft “new age” music

or Christmas songs;

I remember you sleeping

under the small

tree next to your mother, next

to the Mother

Mary and the porcelain

Jesus.  I’m not

certain we even owned a

Nativity,

yet, it is there in my mind.

Jesus raises

his arms in the soft glow of

the music on

the TV.  Mary softly

hums an Enya

song to all of you as I

slip quietly

out the door and into a

new memory

of driving past thunderheads

and fresh tilled earth.

It all runs together and

The only thread

That keeps it in line is you.

February

Changes.  Gone, you change me still.

And you smell like

The rain that is creeping up

On me again.

This time the rain smells like salt.