Let it sing
Let it become a meeting place
Wearing a cartoon face
Limited to an inner curbed space
Beckons to be filled….

Atelier De Cezanne;
Paul Cezanne’s Workshop Museum

Empty as dry steam.
A fog drips in colored hues, plays with light.
Hollow shades.
Clouds, colored hews, play light.

Rain II
Leaping water fugue,
splashing crystals,
dot, dashing
sounds tapping on windowpanes,
Cotton clouds roll in,
curtain mist blunts dim view.
Listen to the rain.
Waiting for Act Two.

Fashion Statement
December 1966.
Bitter cold.
Afraid to go to school.
No money for a winter coat.
Had to borrow mama’s quilt blanket.
He entered the classroom,
students stared,
said nothing.
By the end of December,
Everyone wore a blanket.

Riding a Poem
Trott through stanzas,
galloping, rhythm, rhyme.
Vibrating tuning fork.
Fantasies wandering, zigzag,
winding road.
Prancing: rambling, meandering,
flying Words, kicking up dust,
frolicking, floating fairies.

Contemplate Time
Red Rock Canyon shows us how passionate life can be
Crimson skies awake in us an unruffled mind
With neither greed nor anger
Nature beckons us to live with love
Depart like an afternoon gale
Serene maroon terra-cotta mountains
Dance across a desert floor
A chalk white moon sails east.

I saw a cockroach
Crawl into the grating of my toaster/broiler oven
I turned it on
Hundreds of little legs scattered in flames
All movement stopped
I smelled something cooking
I lost my appetite.

Empty boring space without a face
Give it a voice
Let it take a lofty place
Give it life

A Kimchee Poem
My poems are Korean kimchee
Burning the pallet
Strong like garlic and red pepper
Leave after taste.

Eat My Poetry
Eat my poems, savor the taste of very ripe delicious words.
If you like vigor, spicy food for thought
lingering on your palette
Taste the thick sauce of life.
Swallow mellifluous verbs.
Take in images, delight.
Don’t eat my poems alone, share them!
Make sure you drink plenty juice of life,
to gulp them all down.
Slowly take in the pungent flavors, feelings,
lick your lips in pensive reflection, fantasize.

The couch in my living room is ruby red.
Waiting for guests who never arrive.
Oh, couch!
I pillow you in green, gold, and olive to give you life.
You are an unmarried mother without child
No impressions press against your skin.
No stains, wear, signs of sin, stories.
You reflect my uneventful life.
I waited silently in dim light and brightly painted antique white walls.
Overhead, a rifle hangs.

Rocked by the moon’s rhythm
earth is a cradle
sets the sea’s swaying
Waves swell savage seas surge
Moon Sun push pull
The only predictable thing on earth
is the ocean’s ebb flow
until the end of time

A Sublime Winter
White on white
Egg white
Whiter than white
Reflect the white light
Ice white
Divested trees
Over a pond
In a rippled mirror
Alongside the mere