BILL SAYS LET IT RIP
re: Bill Scheffel
Bill, yet i think
of the 5 limes you gave
me last night now in a half
circle around the eggplant
with its own green top
on the edge of
the blue
wire
basket and despite
war, i am
happy, i don’t mean i
just sit on the sunnyside
of sorrow, i mean
i am happy, the limes
bob on the river,
the eggplant
blows its
horn
Tom Path
WHY BILL?
I was living in hell anyway,
so I thought I’d burn off all the karma I could.
Maddy Radish
SITTING OUTSIDE ON A FRIDAY MORNING
It’s raining. I can smell toast from one of the 4 houses that surround me – one on either side, two across the alley. The gutter is dripping rain onto the plastic cover over the grill. Birds are singing. The garden is in its half dead/half alive state of the spring. My cat reposes nearby. Oatmeal is frothing on the stove, and I have to be at work in an hour and a half.
Eileen Malloy
SHE IS FORTY
She is forty. Each morning
she walks the shore of Lake Michigan
not far from where
the automobiles—but not the trucks—
stream by in rich profusion,
yet close enough
to still delight in spray of the waves
as they crash against the layered concrete
Later in the day
she dives into the plexus
of distributed servers, clamoring texts,
studied telephone calls,
conference table cabals
and flickering Zooms,
pursuing distant goals
and scattered expectations
When dusk descends
the razor knife
is tucked within the sheath,
providing an evening and a night
where the play of ease,
exploration and dream
gently unfolds
Frank Ryan
TALL STOOL CLEAR WINDOW
Perched on tall wooden stool
cradling warm glass of whiskey
quiet
close by, others, passing to and fro
through the battered front door
of the neighborhood tavern
as the night slowly uncoils
We see him through the clear window
as we saunter the stubbled Hasted St. sidewalk,
seemingly holding himself for attention
as if waiting for a distant drill sergeant,
flanked by empty stools
now only memories
his constant companions
Above him a silent T.V.
other end of the long Mahogany bar
raucous laughter, strident declarations
as barkeep fills the glasses
murmuring, reassuring small talk–
Winter night descends deeper
faint wind rattles the sills
Frank Ryan
FLYING OVER IRONWOOD
Mach 0.770
true airspeed 499 mph
distance to destination 1415 mi
headwinds 42
sudden turbulence at 34,000 feet
Daydream of delighting with friends
amid the ease of Phagtsok Gedün Chöling Temple
abruptly interrupted–
plastic cup brimming water exploding,
violently pressing against the seat belt
Less than five seconds
calm is restored,
soothing voices massage us,
momentary upheaval,
simply pass the crackers
and, if you may, put all thoughts
of an imminent, unruly death to rest_……._ _
Frank Ryan
FOUR TWENTY
Momentum of each day often
unnerving
best to step back, appreciate,
relax into all that’s arising
whether wide vista of Olympic mountains,
manicured fields of Tuscany,
or just strum of impersonal cubicles
Four Twenty
is many things—
day the beautiful and vivacious woman was born,
always inquisitive, exploring the pulse–
Four twenty, that hour and day to celebrate
play of heightened sound, spreading ease,
auspicious time to gently interrupt
Moment after moment
year after year,
illusion of clambering a mountain
with axe and pitons
when in fact
best to simply tune into effortless play
of Four Twenty
Frank Ryan
SOME DAY
Some day
They will know
Full import
Of a life
That has been unfolding
From raspy first breath
Through today’s syncopation
Perhaps on that day
All will marvel & delight
Frank Ryan
2 Responses
I appreciate the work and artistry at work here. It was a pleasent to unwind and read these poems, a rare pleasure on this Monday morning
So nice to connect with you in this way Mark Daniel. Hope to see you soon.