A few recent poems...

Mantis

A green stick on a stalk,
he waits
alien head swivels
hesitates

eyes set wide as
a hammerhead shark's
fix, unseen, on
fluttering marks

with soundless snap
of slender tongs
the mantis feasts!
Blends back,

belongs.

as published in the San Diego Poetry Annual 2019

The Night-Shark

stirs in its kelp bed

moonlight gleaming on its gills

then slides,

a one-fish waterfall,

into the shallows

of the hall

through waters cool and

quiet, and dark as fresh squid ink;

the only sound,

of soft-tipped fins,

carving through the

murky, midnight drink.

The creature advances,

small sub at full sail,

building bubbles and speed

with each switch of its tail;

flipping salmon and sand-dollars

still deep in dreams,

slicing thick schools of fish into

right and left streams –

and then, it leaps!

A spectacular sight

as it crests,

twists suspended,

in frothy starlight;

grins a familiar,

faint crescent-toothed grin,

eyes the soft reef of my bed,

and dives in.

as published in the Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Vol. 4, 2023

Beware: Wild Animal Sleeping!

By day, she’s a quiet,

polite kind of child,

but beware: when night falls,

the kid goes hog-wild,

and as soon as she’s sleeping

she tosses and kicks

like a grumpy old donkey

with nasty new tricks,

or a slurpy swamp creature

who mutters and mumbles

then roars like a jaguar,

a queen of the jungle;

then jabs out with elbows

and bashes with knees

as she swings through the bed

like a monkey through trees!

She snuffles and drools

like a crazed armadillo –

like the absolute last thing

you’d want near your pillow –

then she wraps herself 'round you,

a strong silly snake,

which starts out quite charming –

till it’s too much to take...

...and then, in the morning,

the creature awakes

stretches cute as a kitten,

gives her lamb’s-tail some shakes,

yawns out a sweet little yawn,

maybe two, and says

"I slept great, Mom –

how about you?”

Thank you to the San Diego Poetry Annual, 2023,

for publishing this poem.

Where Did All The Towels Go?

On Sunday, I washed towels,

washed them clean as pure white snow.

By Thursday, they had melted away –

where did all the towels go?

I swear, I stacked a dozen right there!

Hung two or three more, down below.

Did they fly off, like terry-cloth ghosts?

Where did all the towels go?

I finish my shower. I’m dripping and cold,

I reach for a warm, dry towel... oh no.

You can imagine, just how hard I hollered:

WHERE DID ALL THE TOWELS GO?