Each month, write a new collection.
Summer breeze flirtswith the hem of her skirt.Her heels rise.Her body trembles.She defies gravity,reaching for the last sweet plum.--Lynne
Ah, that's wonderful! Love that quick poem!
In your orchardeven the bruised fruittastes sweet to me.--Lynne
That's a great one too!
Kuns Parka small squareescape inthe citycool respite
Man, coach used to have us do windsprints around Kuns Park! Lovely place, but I have only evil memories of dying and being beaten by all the other runners.
In this town they get a jump on the fourth and shoot off fireworks at the park celebrating a week early. They call it Murrieta’s birthday, as if the city was born out of the chaparral and dust to live the American Dream forever. I wonder about its death. Will there be a eulogy, a gravestone and mourners when the sports park exhales its last breath? Will people still love it and forgive its shortcomings, remember its best moments? We go every year, park on a side street when the sun drops, and walk down to the field. Last year was a little tricky though. We were with a close friend fresh out of rehab. The following week she would fall off hard and be back in again. The celebration didn’t last long.The fireworks didn’t seem as bright that year; the oohs and aaws muted like they were coming from some distant room; the flashes of exploding color even more temporary and when the smoke faded we knew it would be dark for a long time. Love and addiction can become desperately intertwined, sometimes unable to separate an optimistic flash of clarity from the deadening blast of reality that follows echoing in the night.It’s another year and as sure as old age it’s the city’s birthday again. We’re planning on parking on a side street, but this year feels different, optimistic, like the colors won’t fade quite as quickly and the darkness that follows won’t be a death shroud, but instead a moment of peace until the birth of another dawn.
That's great man. Really painful and real.
NatureWith it's nose to the groundSmelling every inch of the surfaceLeading unleashed I walk softly relaxingTo the rhythm of green grass and tall treesI take a breath of fresh air meditating on the Birds playing like children without a careA sound of a faint radio in the distance playingSaturday in the Park by ChicagoThe irony makes me laugh and feelas though I may be on a spiritual journeyThe smell of fresh cut grass and the tallEucalyptus trees blowing in the breezeSquirrels unwilling to share their presencegive annoying grunts in disgust wanting meto move on my way and the scrub jay in thedistance giving a loud boisterous welcometo the new intruder as I walk softly and breathetaking it all in
That's great. I love the joy in this!
Happy BirthdayThe remnants of pink streamersfishtail on the breezea near deflated ballooncruises lazily along the grasstrashcans are overflowingwith wadded balls of bright papera trickle of smoke from the BBQSends its faint SOS into the skya forgotten piece of candylays motionless under the treeconfetti dots the sticky concreteunder the faded wooden benchesbackseats are loaded with sleepy childrentheir bellies full of hotdogs and cakeHappy Birthday
Great work Molly. You're really turning into a poet!
Balance (saturday in the park)I was late to this art — the delicateHovering over the two wheels of youthfullocomotion — But he of the former total impatience broughtMe to the park as the urban leaves began theirGreenness we rented the vehicle and heHeld the back of it and said pedal And ran with me down the road betweenThe fountain and the boats. I saw myFeet moving on the black pumping rectangles. Look up heShouted breathless, steer, and then he let goThat feeling of weightlessness as I left him behindBut I heard him shouting hoarsely you’ve got itYou’ve got it. I never really liked riding, but thatMoment of release with him waiting in the distanceFor me to turn around — I still have it wheneverI accomplish something, knowing somewhere inThe background he lets go of me, yet stillWaits, completely attentive, utterly present