Under the Bed
When I was young,
monsters lived
under my bed
or in my closet
waiting
until dark
to whisper
my name.

Now, they hide
deep in an unmapped
part of my brain.
Or maybe in that bourbon
in the freezer waiting
to be poured. They call
my name at night.
In the morning, I hold
them at bay
until it’s after noon
and the bottle is gone.

SLAB 2016

One Can Never Have Too Many Recipes
20 chocolate cheesecake recipes
15 for pound cakes
a book of 420 baking recipes.

2 sets of spring form pans
ramekins for crème brulee,
a Pyrex baking dish
A little torch to caramelize sugar
I have Mom’s old tube and Bundt pans
and sifter with no memory of her baking.

The Raven’s Perch 2016

Hostess Twinkies
At 63, it’s a wonder that I am alive.
Mom put Hostess Twinkies
in my school lunch for dessert.
Don’t remember the sugar high
that gets so much talk today.

Who knew about gluten? Grade school lunch: white bread,
baloney and cheese, mustard and mayo sandwich
with a bag of chips in a brown bag. Sometimes,
it would be peanut butter or cream cheese and jelly.
I bought my milk in the cafeteria, chocolate if I was lucky.

And what about the milk? It was whole.
Now, you are supposed to be drinking soy.
Today, someone is going to miss their cold glass of milk
and ‘warm- from -the oven’ fudge brownies.

I ate hotdogs, not the ones certified
organic and 100% Angus, just plain hot dogs.
No telling what was in them. Nitrites for sure.
Mustard and ketchup on the bun.

Today, a vegetarian, my cholesterol is high,
not much to cut out of my menu. I drink 2% milk,
eat a cheese sandwich with mustard and mayo
on whole wheat and wonder how much longer I have.

The Raven’s Perch 2016

Downsizing
Electric hedge trimmer that I forgot I had,
scythe I got from a friend and never used,
old saw and machete:

taking them to the Swap Shop wasn’t hard
along with the clothes that don’t fit
or haven’t been worn in years.

Pictures rescued from old trunks, some still in their
old frames, these will be tearfully dispatched,
even though I don’t know who they are.
Jewelry from my father I’ve never worn.
Who will want all this?

Not the nephew nor the niece (she is taking the china),
not strangers in an antique store or moving sale.
Owl pictures from my brother, pictures I have taken,
more than enough to cover all the walls–these I will
keep, the others, maybe I will ask you
to take them to the dump.

The Raven’s Perch 2016

Backyard Stream
Guess you’d call it seasonal, dry
in summer’s drought, iced over
in winter, this 150’ of stream
I own. Last spring, a red-shouldered
hawk hunted in it. He nailed a frog, presented
it to his mate watching from a poplar limb.
Hidden from beneath the bank’s overhang,
a blue bird wetted each flight feather,
finished its bath in the redbud.

Yesterday, the brook was a black slash
border lined by snow. Two or three at a time,
goldfinches dipped into an ice free pool
to drink. Barking up a storm, the dog
pointed to the creek. Cocking its head,
a great blue heron plodded
down the sand bar.

The Raven’s Perch 2016

October Moon
The “O” of October,
shiny and white, pouring down
into the leafless forest.

In the glow, the snowy owl wakes,
feathers puffed out against the cold.
Perhaps it dreams of the rabbit some
see on the moon’s face.

The moon’s light flickers in the stream.
Frost outlines fallen oak leaves in crystal white,
crackling under the doe’s feet as she roams the woods.

Moon sits high in the sky, with only one face to us–
only the stars can see the other side.

Third Wednesday 2016

Ode to Black
A cave’s mouth
Swirling bats
Stream smoothed stone
Raven.
Onyx.
Dog’s nose.
Chimney swifts spinning into the smoke stack.
Sea shell
Vinyl record
Piano’s sharps and flats
Burnt candle wick
Horse’s mane caught in the wind as he leaves
Lightening scarred tree
The shirt you gave me
Hollow heart

Third Wednesday 2016

POND
Bronzes and rubies whisper,
drop onto the gold dish,
trapped in the riffles

from dead branches. Along
the surface, frozen leaves’ veins
rupture and begin

to leak amber. Water
distills into whisky brown
like the drink I want.

Third Wednesday 2016

Black Snake
Often it would scare me–draped on the mower handle
or hiding underneath it–sometimes just its skin on the brick wall.

The dog would bark in high alert.
Coiled, it was prepared to strike. With the dog in the house,
I would escort it outside the fence with the rake.

But today, the dog did not bark, only the loud crash
of tubs, buckets and wood told me something was wrong.
He, shaking the lower half of the torn snake,
danced with pride in the yard.

I searched for the rest of the it, mangled in the dirt.
Its ripped lung fluttered like a red flag in the wind.

Tar River Poetry
Fall 2016

UT Sweatshirt
I kept my sweatshirt with short sleeves;
gray with an orange UT in the center.

It is one of the few things I have kept from my college days.
Used it to warm-up before racket ball.

Folded neatly in the bureau, I take it out sometimes thinking
I will wear it but I don’t. I want to keep it just for the memories

of basketball practice, running the stairs, eating cheeseburgers
and fries after every practice. (By the time practice was over, the cafeteria was closed.)

Forty years old, looks good; I keep it with the light blue t-shirt
with UT Women’s Athletics, on the front;

we’ve come a long way baby on the back. Must of gotten this one after Title IX.
We sold doughnuts to fund our field hockey and basketball, used our own cars

to get from game to game. Rock Hill South Carolina for a tournament
was a big trip for trip us. Not the same today, the women have home

and away uniforms, warm-ups, airplanes to get from coast to coast.
No eating cheeseburgers every night.

Don’t know how long I will keep the sweatshirt,
I have carried it with me from Knoxville, Kentucky, Memphis and North Carolina.

I refold it and put it back with the t shirts.
I guess it will be given away to Good Will.

Muddy River Poetry Review
Spring 2016