Poetry with Punch

      The Rival

      Moose Creek

      It's the Song


The Rival

The answering machine,
a wonderful delight.
Never miss a call,
even late at night.

Replay's every message
whenever you would like.
Erase, rewind, set.
It sure seems so right.

Call your spouse hourly,
as often as you like.
Leave him reminders.
Never starts a fight.

Tell him that you love him.
Set him all atingle.
Treat him now in marriage
like you both were single.

But when you get back home
and listen to the phone,
don't think the honey voice
is someone's not your own.

For your voice recorded
sounds different than you think.
And jealousy's green eyes
take over in a wink.

Published January 25, 1990 in Rocky Mountain Poetry Magazine

Moose Creek

Whipping, sipping, dipping willows.
Swishing, twisting, listing breezes.
Massing, passing, sassing birds.

Rumbling, tumbling, crumbling banks.
Slashing, crashing, flashing rocks.
Dashing, lashing, basking frogs.

Quivering, slithering, dithering fish.
Wishing, dishing, fishing girls.
Swirling, whirling, curling water.

August 28, 1988

It’s the Song

It’s the song not the siren.
A song of hunger and yearning.
It's a tune holding heartache and
swaying the urgency in the lyrics.

Enchanted by the lay
truth is dashed in the breakers.
As pride smashes over the rocks,
desperation mounts from the foam.

The song is a bittersweet hymn
moaning for fulfillment
as shards of self respect
sway in the tidal pools.

Sailor, brace yourself.
Hold fast to the mast.
Ride out each chorus
to their costly climax. 

February 14, 2006


snippets in time.
Segments lying
one on another.

July 7, 2008

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