A lot of what I write deals with death and deep questions of our place and function in the universe. I am not always so dark and serious. Consider The gravity of dance as part of a trilogy. It is about knitolitics, one of my daughters. She has two sisters and the following pieces, The librarian and Sally and the turtles are about them.
The last poem in this diary is made of darkness and cruelty with a filling of mean jelly.
I should have deleted it.
Don't read it.
Really, don't.
The librarian
There was a little girl
who loved story books.
She wanted to visit the library every day.
She grew taller and wise, and went to library school.
Now she practices "information management".
The little girl who loved books in the 20th century
has found new ways to love them in the 21st.
She fell in with a whip-smart young fellow along the way.
They have a little girl of their own now.
This child will certainly love books that haven't been written yet.
She will read them in ways that haven't been invented yet.
Yet,...
Sally and the turtles.
There was a little girl who liked things plain.
She had a doll named Sally.
(Sally also liked things plain.)
She was afraid of turtles, then grew to love them
then she got over it
and went to Minnesota.
She accidentally shaved her head, learned to speak French
and took up with a warrior prince.
They had a moon-bounce wedding.
The Prince's ways are strange for he is half Canadian.
He makes the lit students tremble.
His eyes and beard are fierce.
Their home smells of fresh bread, coffee and book-dust.
In their thoughts and in their kitchen
they explore and experiment without fear.
Bonus poem!
Things I say out loud when nobody's listening.
Most promises keep somewhat better than potato salad.
Many die the slow untested death.
Others are born bad and get worse.
Some human beings live on a higher plane of decency and kindness.
They give of themselves and wax joyous in the giving.
Other folks are uncurious baboons with cars and cellphones.
Your spouse, children, house, goods and liquor are safe with me,
with one exception, well, two exceptions.
If you leave unguarded, within my reach
good coffee or bing cherries
I will consume them without remorse.
Beware the caffeinated thief of cherries!
I tried to warn you, but you read it anyway.
More ruleoflaw poems...