A Basket of Flowers

Time-worn hands

Buzzing brain

From far away lands

Forming flowers

Hardly sane

Painting pictures

Limited by no bane

Drawing doodles

Held back by no strictures

Creating classics

A home-bound fixture

Forming flowers


Hanging high on my living room wall

A basket of flowers, picked in fall


Dryer’s Done

Ding! Dryer’s done

In goes damp, out comes dry

Glaring glow emanating

From unfolded garb

Imploring to be folded

Perceiving plenty of pants

Inside out, not outside in

Sensing invisible socks

Divorced from their mates

The warmth emerging

Is pleasant and congenial

‘Course, don’t leave them out too long

‘Else mother comes and finds you out

Oh, the warmth you feel when

Ding! Dryer’s done

Pot of Gold

I don’t know where I’m from. The ferris wheel fell down. She looked like a doll. My dad is strong. Whenever the man came down, we played catch. He’s in jail. I wonder if Mac is in heaven. Papa is probably taking good care of him. I wanted tacos. So I went to the other country to get some. Orphan kids don’t cost much. Unless they’re crazy. Then the people with briefcases and paper take them to the special place. I would like to go there. But I’m not special. Basketball is hard to play. Especially when you’re skinny. The big people pushed me. Reading is better. Nobody bothers me when I read. Mom doesn’t like it when I lock the door. Friends are hard to find. So I lock the door. There’s not a pot of gold at the end of rainbows. I think that’s stupid. There should be a pot of gold there. But only for nice people. 

Where I’m From

I am from nowhere,

But I am from everywhere,

I am from the bustling streets in the land of the free,

The crowded towns in mountains where vampires be,

I am from where the buffalo once roamed,

The rolling green hills of the Old World uncombed.


I am from nowhere,

I am from everywhere,

I am from they who toiled in southern fields,

From those who across the vast ocean sailed.

I am from a people doomed to roam,

A people who have no temporal home.


I am miles from my safe haven,

I am like he who was visited by the raven,

I am in the place where I appertain,

Although I wish not to remain.

I am led by Moses through the wilderness,

But I am home in Canaan nonetheless.


I am on the road less travelled,

Hoping for the path to become unravelled.

I am walking through the narrow gate,

On a path that is being made straight.

I am sure of my destination,

And this is my greatest consolation.