Tag Archives: poet

Mary and Lana

Oh, Mary and Lana
were just two nuns
with too much time
and not enough fun.

Out in California
at the old St. James Catholic School
they were teaching and running things,
guiding youth through God’s rules.

In their days of slapstick rulers and prayers,
they heard about a place
alone in the desert
where secrets have no case.

Dazzling lights,
delightful sounds,
ironic facades,
and money everywhere
to be found.

Oh, forgive them Father
for the first sin laid
was greed and dreaming
of a glamoured life
every day they waked.

Oh, Mary and Lana
were just two nuns
with too much time
and not enough fun.

Together they were smarter,
moving numbers,
creating distractions,
fooling all the others.

Dressed in boxy black
through the week.
And sparkling on the weekend with
suitcases full of cash.
In Vegas,
their dreams could last.

One trip turned to many.
And so they became the queens
of the penny slots,
rewarded with high dollar suites
and free daiquiris.

Greed is a funny thing
and addiction is just one
of it’s nasty lots.
And while the two were careful,
Eventually, they got caught.

It may have taken
St. James over ten years
to catch on to the sisters’ game,
but they found out
all the same.

Long since retired,
resting in old age,
bowed in prayers.
They came for them with handcuffs.
“Criminals of the state.”

But like good a Catholic,
St.James weighed forgiveness
and decided the two passed the test.
No charges were pressed.

For, Mary and Lana
were just two nuns
with too much time
and not enough fun.

Playing with Fire

I like the way
fire plays.
Dancing and twisting
across the limbs.

Swirling in yellow, white,
blue and red.
How the tips of it flicker and sway.
How it sings with hisses and pops.
And in its underbelly,
the most entracing part.

Glowing with a heartbeat,
internally checked
and split,
lines that pulse
across the ash.

Signs of the living
among the dead.

Machine

Months flick by
as fast as a turned
calendar page.

Steady progress
to an unseen goal.
Hours clocked in
go slower and grow dull.

I am but one piece
in the machine
of a thousand parts.
My tasks necessary
and if stopped
will all fall apart.

AFTERNOON NAP

There is a boredom
hung in the air
on a hot afternoon.
One of those days that
has a busy mind circling
in a neurotic frenzy of
“What to do?”

I can’t seem to even summon
the energy to move.
The flutter of the leaves
out the window
and the hum of air
seeping through the ducts
seems to be enough.

Part of me continues to trudge.
There is a list,
you see,
and it is not done.

And the other part shrugs
and continues to keep me down,
letting the quiet of the house
and the soft breathe of sleeping dogs
be the only sound.

The tone on the living room walls
changes as the clouds pass by.
My eyes dim with them
slowly fluttering
as the disgruntled part of my mind
gives up
and every sense shuts.

BROKEN

When something is broken,
do you leave it to lie?
To let the pieces lay scattered,
displaced, from one another
in a pattern of loss.
Left to collect the dirt
and dust of years.
Until there is nothing
to even recognize.
No resemblance to what
it once was?
What it could have been?

STRANGE STORMS

The air stills for a moment;
the sky takes a deep breathe.
Exhaling and everything goes into motion;
pushing until there is nothing left.

Trees flutter and flicker,
spilling little drops of light,
reflecting the sun
and it’s warm delight.

Waterlogged colors streak over the clouds,
reminding us of the strangeness
of the storm
that surrounds.