dirt on the welcome mat

Monthly Archives: February 2011

Each morning

Mist gathers

Like dew in the mind.

Thought droplets hug

Each cranial curve

Causing sleepy heads

To droop

Until sunshine

Dries the

Mental condensation.


Cherry red fingernails

Tap dance on a keyboard,

Callused palms

Grip a board and a saw.

Rotating wrists

Knit rows of warmth,

Muddy, curious fingers

Build sandy forts high.

Mind, body and soul,

We all work hard.


Phrases of flattery

Stir in my mind

Until like

Necklace chains

They swirl into

A glistening knot.

Like lichens

Clustered on buildings,

Disfigured, yet works of art.

Cold disturbing creatures,

Concrete emanates

From claws to heart.

Bulging eyes and

Fangs for teeth,

We let them snarl and stare

Since they seem

To find some pleasure

Being ugly, sitting there.

Sort and separate
The pine needles
Pricking the parts
Of you
That still feel.

Snap the spindly
Excuses before
You’re infected
By their hardening

Sure, you stand tall
In your stubborn resolve,
But several wobbly
Rings in your solid core
Will be all that’s left

When someone cuts
You deep enough.

Bike tire spokes

Hover like a halo

Above your head.

They rotate as you

Contemplate, yes,

We all see your

Imagined jabs and

Inside jokes,

They poke us as you walk by.

No words required,

The gentle whirr is enough-

How silly of you to think

No one would notice

That your mental gears

Have melted into

Little external

Metal sticks

That only move

When blown by winds

Of condescension.

The stick of gum you
Pop in your mouth
Right before you
Draw the fatal
Foul breath to

Perhaps you think
The thinly stretched
Bubbles of profanity
Popping out of your mouth
Display what you really

When you said-
Well, I couldn’t hear it
For all the loud chomping
On your wad of green glorified cud,
Your endless recitation and repetition.

Are you
Ready to spit it out?
Or swallow it even-
Perhaps by the time 
It’s fully digested,
You’ll be more than spearmint.

We shift to sleep,

Downward like gears in a car,

Kettle bells an extension of our arms,

Elevator arrow down,

No lullabies just sighs to snores

To sunlight in the morning.

One plastic red cup
Anchored down with water weight
Was our sun as we orbited
The splintered picnic table.

Dipping long paintbrushes
Into our pond water paint,
We like cavemen drew
Crude designs on rock canvases.

More smooth brown stones
In a basket of rusted wire
Waited to be turned miraculously
Into the object of our appetites

Some might say
Our soggy paintbrush strokes
Dragged across dirty stones
Vanished with the summer breeze,

But my fingertips absorbed each drop
Just before they blew away
And now, racing in streaks up my arms,
The droplets display their color.



Cover the mind’s

Cracked concrete slab

With laughter streaks of

Sidewalk chalk.

Fill the silence

With shuffles of

Hopscotch feet,

And when you

Start to rain inside,

Let the colors

Wash away.

But clutch the

Chipped chalk nub

So you can

Create again.