Gulls

It is only fitting
that in the light of dusk
I dive
headlong
into a flock of gulls.

Their might 
in feathers
flashing white, 
beating in unison
across a bowl of tinged crimson.

And when the light leaches
out of the oncoming night,
I still hear
their ceaseless flight,
their cries older than time.

Spring Rains

As bidden, the spring rains came
leaving behind what was left
of snow banks eroded,
and sparrows awakened
with their unseen voices.

And I was told
of the first cottontail
sighted this year in our backyard.

Each drop of rain
came with a purpose
as if it knew better than us
about spring, rebirth,
and all that.

And we rise from our sleep
believing we have found
those insights
that have eluded us
all winter long.



Rain

When it seems like the rain never stops,

I hobble along on poems.

- Anna Kamienska

Rant

Sitting in a cafe with a cup of hot tea
I had ordered but did not want
I wondered if anything creative
could come out of the drone
of the 80's rock playing overhead,
the relentless bids for my attention
in the local rag of boosterism
for marble kitchen countertops,
and botox during your lunch hour,
and a new house with a view of the lake.

Remembering

In the grip of something where

the half-forgotten

are remembered:

kicking leaves

in the fading light,

running

over fields of dry grass,

and trying to forget a love for the boy named Danny

during the moments I played the child

I was quickly leaving behind.

A Dream I Had

Day after my birthday padded in
on feet of dreams
where a noble-birthed boy stands by my side
as I wash away
muck, watching the swirl of water and dirt
disappear from my hands into the drain
and now remembering this blessed moment.

Contrails

A thought that I had
like a patch of light that left
as quickly as it came
leaving behind
that unmistakable
something
telling me it's about you.

Interlude

I will be away from Tea Musings for awhile but hope to come back refreshed after the hiatus.

First Year, Med School

So the pile grew over successive months:

Books in the language

Of science and malady,

The pages busy with tri color markings.

And the long nights with days

That were not long enough.

We dissected in unhushed voices,

Our fuzzy notions made real in flesh.

And when it was time to leave

And enter the night of stars,

I could only think

Of the tang

Of yogurt

On falafels

Two blocks away down on Woodward.