Poem: Unfamiliar Spaces

smokey nights
in darkened rooms
with relatives
mixed with friends
and enemies

anxious and
surreal, caught between
narrow walls, thick bars
and fences
with barking dogs

that move into
unfamiliar spaces,
steps with no stairs,
running on fresh

unspoken wishes,
lame excuses,
the unconscious

back to the wall,
head to the floor,
clawing up a slippery slope,
into a maze
without an exit sign

never seem to say
what they mean,
never finish
what they think, until
it’s too late,
the dreamer
wakes up

with a vague suspicion,
a piece of undigested
a cryptic message,
a letter
with no return address.


A Dream in a Costco Parking Lot

Also posted in Poetry Passion.

I was strolling on a hot summer day

in a field full of Van Gogh poppies.

I dreamed I looked like Troy Donahue,

tan and shirtless, wearing shades

as the gentle wind ruffled my blond hair,

wondering if I should date Grace Kelly

or how about Lauren Becall,

if she wasn’t too busy.

I stood in the swaying fields of poppy,

surrounded by a thousand singing Hobbits

with large feet and big hairy ears.

While flexing my pecs and bulging biceps,

a beautiful naked lady appears

with long, flaxen hair and ample bosom,

riding a Chagall white horse sidesaddle.

She invited me to hop on

bareback, galloping up to the sky

as she gently shared her 

moist, warm soul,

nibbling on my ear,

whispering in an all too familiar voice:

“Harry, I got a good deal on Bayer Aspirin,

but I couldn’t find any of those wet

Swiffer sweepers.”

Crow Tuesday: Ushering in a Dream

I want to hear the symphony

for free,

to see the rock stars

glitter up close.

I want to look at your ticket

like I’m reading your palm,

predict who you’ll marry,

what future you’ll find.

I want to shine a flashlight

without disturbing others,

without stepping on toes,

without spilling a drink.

I want to be an usher

that tells everyone where to sit,

that knows the theatre

like a seaman

knows his ship.