Written in 1983.
Cobwebs hang from the drawers.
The empty seat
covered with dust
sits abandoned
by the desk.
Death
now sits here
looking at thirty desks
aligned in six rows.
No more do children laugh
in this place.
No more does teacher teach
the students.
The Apple
perfectly red
sits
untouched
by dust
or web.
Alone
The Apple does not age.
Forever
is
The Apple.
For the past two weeks I’ve been dealing with my dog’s health. She’s been sneezing blood all over the place — a bad combination of high blood pressure and aspirin seemed to cause it. Anyway, I’ve really had blood on the brain lately, thus this somewhat dark haiku for this week. Cleaned gore off the…
Written in 1983. I am an atom. I make up molecules. I am a molecule. I make up tissue, bone and flesh. I am tissue, bone and flesh. I create a human being. I am a person. I make up cities. I am a city. I make up counties. I am a county I make…
“There is no love sincerer than the love of food.” –George Bernard Shaw Ask me about any place that I have visited or lived in, and I’m bound to tell you about the food. My strongest memories of Berkeley, Calif., was my introduction to Batura Chole, an East Indian fry bread served with curried garbanzo…
This poem was written in February 1988 during a time when I was writing a lot of love poetry. My Love is as sweet as the nectar of the honeysuckle the laughing call of gulls the soft breath of a babe He is as pleasant as the sun upon my back the wind in my…
This poem was written Feb. 8, 1991. At the time I had a crush on one of my co-workers, a compact, handsome Indian man named Sanjay. He had the cutest nose! I wrote quite a few poems while I had that crush, and Sanjay will always have a special place in my heart. Your lips…
The imagery of a lonely old house always grabs me. I take pictures of them when I see them. And they often put in an appearance in my writing. Here’s a case in point. Towering, it stands. Long driveway spirals down the hill. Forbidding, it sits on Grecian poles. Dark and lonely are its windows….