finding poems in bazaars

Farmers markets Formula shopping taking a break to touch, feel, talk bountiful sights encourage a break stir up sensibilities Farmers markets baskets with strawberry luscious and anticipative the onion skins itself on the cobbled walkway pleasingly purple and crisp fried potato’s lean into the air,a concoction of self-indulgent treats pancake stalls make concessions to pointless

Twenty tournaments and yet..

Twenty tournaments Since that moment when you left us with the world beneath our feet and its many broken parts like crumpled sheafs of paper fragrance in your closets neither here nor there scabs on our heart skins rubbing hope into each other instead, dripping voids Trying to illuminate Twenty tournaments Counting twenty tournaments Still

Will you answer?

When does God make his plan for pairs? Why do you let me dream unfettered? Where did you learn your patience? How can someone promise forever ever? Which role do you relish the most? What makes you want to talk to me?   When did you bring tenderness to your songs? Why do I need

The (im)perfect journey

They sat to break a breath, at that corner His silver hair gleamed in a ponytail She held herself steady at the waist They leaned forward again, to speak in murmurs   He recalled footsteps that had been firmer She clutched his arm as she stood in pain Purposefully, nudging pebbles into a pattern They

Shelling Peanuts

We chase conversations, Crunching bags of eager peanuts You dust promises into spaces between cracked shells Together we jostle dreams settling into scattered skin and chaff Smiling in acknowledgment Symbiotic glances, like peanut and salt Bringing stories together Nutty anecdotes coated in toasty flavors Seeds break out of their comfort Nostalgic taste punctuating sentences Memories become

tchotchke*

revisiting tchotchke gaudy colors and tacky textures strung on tree branches, sitting on shelves that magnet, the lanyard, those peg measures toy story like, alive in dreams and adventures crowding dresser table tops,pinned on scruffy coat lapels whispering in hesitant shapes, stories and verses finding tchotchke a book stand spills over, hiding predictably, in the corner

sandcastles

sandcastles in the sun are you willing to call it fun? sandcastles with a moat does creativity flourish by rote? sandcastles that glisten pride may i match the depth of your stride? sandcastles sculpted with bare handed care will you knead my heart with similar flare? sandcastles that repair and replenish can the aquamarine mirror my tears with similar flourish?

remember when

you lay hapless, sterile, quite wanting a hug! at that moment there was a mother sending a firm message to you and to Him nothing doing, get your act together no unclear terms not another time she was in control, would have it no other way He knew it was not going to be easy

Swimsuits under siege

  Swimsuits Are supposedly a shame The rapturousness of my shape is to blame Your stupid cannot be called naive My good looks are suspended on a spine stubbornly brave Nauseatingly, you judge modesty by my pose Forever the shrill of your voice excused as an overdose My legs bask vivaciously as they speak to

Road Trip for my Graduate

Glaring headlights, squinting into eyes Graduation, a mile marker – one you can amortize Roadblocks, accidental speed pause Road-ready, you navigate sharp turns with an applause Afghan like colorful crocheted, dales and fields Anchored steady, yielding spiritedly to odds and ordeals Driving impaired, compulsively through emergency stops Dean’s speech focus, stimulating you towards detours and mike