COFFEE SOUP
Pour mug of freshly brewed coffee into bowl.
Add creamer / sugar to taste.
Saltines optional.
Side of cheddar optional.
Served since my childhood.
Amish kitchen optional.
AMISH CHRISTMAS TREE
Why can’t we have a Christmas tree?
That is not for Our People, Mom explains.
I beg until she cuts a tree from cardboard,
Spray painting it gold.
We cut up Hallmark cards,
Decorating its boughs. Together.
BIRDS
Musing on a long ago winter,
At the Amish farm house,
A bird strikes the window pane,
“Ach my!” my mother exclaims,
“It is a death message!”
The kitchen is now lit,
By kerosene lamp light,
A sudden knock on the door,
My father receives the news gravely,
Mom weeps softly,
Occasionally over the years,
A bird bangs against the window pane,
“Ach!” Mom cries each time,
While Dad answers the door,
Musing on this winter night,
As snow silvers the city skyline,
A bird strikes the window pane,
But no one knocks on my door.
AFTER HOURS
After hours passion unites, ignites room.
Silken musculature, metered desire.
The groaning bridal bed with groom on groom.
Love’s spirit sings sonnets, Lust’s still higher.
Of unrestrained rain, drenched a capella.
Unattired, unabated, understood.
Unrequited under night’s umbrella.
As if unquenched Uranian love could.
Our afterhours of unmasked hours.
Unschooled, unclenched Uranians lie.
Alone unraveling, untold heights high.
I think we need to give this one more try.
Ungrounded gyrating, felled flesh and feet.
Still unfilled by the still when our lips meet.
THE ITALIAN BED
In the moonlit room,
That only held the best,
We lay upon your Italian bed,
A time to play, a time to rest.
You spoke in the gloom,
Of visiting Oscar Wilde’s tomb,
And your Paris travelogue,
And Ganymedes in youthful bloom.
I was once in a parade,
Drunk from the best of your cellar’s wine,
I was your last seduction,
You were the first of mine.
Alien Buddha Press 