Observation, December 2nd, 2017, Saturday

It is noisy at the airport at 6:00 am

The plane to New York promises to be full

The smell of perfume is think in the waiting area

I am sitting next to a Buddhist, wearing the saffron and ochre robes

Of Gottama, of the philosopher, of St. Katherine

The crowd in the terminal are speaking in tongues

In the tongues of humankind, though undoubtedly

There are angels among us, a one-armed man walks past me

There is a ball of fire climbing over the horizon

Casting light on the moon in its fullness

There is a buzz of activity beyond the window

Flickering orange and red, and green

I am waiting patiently to take flight

Observation - November 2nd, 2017, Thursday

At 4:00 am the street outside my window

Is bright with electric light, Bryant Avenue

The refrigerator is noisy, click, rattle, hum

The floors have a different squeak to them

Deeper along the joists, a bus rolls by #4

Kitty is on her blanket, taking in her view

The wind in the maple blowing, leaves

Gathered by the stairs, there are no rabbits

On Bryant, but there are chip monks

With their striped fur, they are sleeping

She is waiting for them to wake

Observation - October 2nd, 2017, Monday

Observation

There was lightning, and the bright crack of thunder.

At 2:00 am, my cat came to sleep under arm,

Rain was fall hard against the house, against my windows.

Thunder rolling across the city, otherwise dark and quiet.

The news was of a shooting in Las Vegas.

A man with an automatic rifle shooting from an elevated position in to a crowd.

Twenty or more people killed, one hundred more injured.

The shooter himself had been found and killed by the police.

The Sheriff is not giving details.

America is on fire, and breaking apart at the margins.

Storms pound our coasts, and millions of people are flooded;

Without homes, without power, without medicine, without clean water.

The occupant of the oval office is playing golf, and whining.

America is on fire.

Observation - September 2nd, 2017

Observation

It is cool in the house

The cool of early September, it will give way

To warmth in the day, then dissipate

There is ragweed in the air

The pollen is scratching my throat

Raking my sinuses, my head is pounding

The phlox outside my kitchen window

Bears the softest tone, a shade of matted fuchsia  

Rising against the cedar fence

My cat is sleeping on her blanket

Her tawny gray head resting on her soft white paw

The streets are quiet 

Observation - August 2nd, 2017, Wednesday

It was dark, deep dark

In the middle of the night

The witching hour passed

My cat is sleeping

She is curled up on her chair

She does little else

There is a rattle

Noises come from the upstairs

The house is creaking

A car rolls past, bass

Booming down the avenue

The bars have let out

I woke too early

I came to my desk to write

My fingers tapping

Observation - July 2nd, 2017, Sunday

Observation

The light is soft in the morning.

The house is quiet…the city is quiet.

People have left town for the holiday that is coming.

It is Sunday morning, and there is parking available on the street in front of my house.

The birds are talking to each other.

My lady is still asleep behind the closed door of the bedroom.

Kitty is in the big window watching the wind blow through wisteria.

The smell of gunpowder still lingers in the air,

            The residue of 2:00 am revelry.

Observation - June 2nd, 2017, Friday

The morning sun is streaming in through my kitchen window

Reflecting off a stack of boxes against my book case

The morning sun is bright, and flashing

The day promises to be sunny hot

There is a for sign in the yard next to the sidewalk

It says for sale

I anticipate the footfall of strangers

Walking through my domicile

There are transition coming, I can see them

My cat is sleeping blissfully

Unaware

Observation - May 2nd, 2017, Tuesday

Observation

It is 4:00 am, and dark in the morning

The house is cold and quiet

It is wet outside, after days of rain

And snow

Kitty is curled up on the back of her chair

Her white chin resting on her white paws

I can hear her breathing

The low rumble as she shifts and turns

She ignores the news cast I am watching

More interested in the clicking of my fingers

            Typing

Observation, April

Observation, April

The April sun streams

Today is a month for fools

And birds clamoring

Gravity bends sunlight

Striking soft, the rounded world

It is cool outside

Kitty is sleeping

Twitching, dreaming of bird friends

Feathered play and bones

Withered apples fall

Dark red fruit cast to the ground

As small as cherries

#NPRpoetry

#Poetry

#Haiku

#April

Observation - April 2nd, 2017, Sunday

There is laughter peeling from behind the closed door.

The sun is climbing behind a soft gray sheet of clouds.

The talking heads are chirping about treason, and lies.

The robins are chirping for each other, oblivious, free.

March 2nd, 2017, Thursday, Observation

It is 5:00 am and the city is stirring.

I have been awake for a few hours writing.

My cat is sleeping in the window,

Half lidded and watching.

There are rabbits on the lawn in the frosted morning.

The news is of the Attorney General lying,

Lying to the Senate under oath.

My lady is on the couch drinking coffee.

We are talking about the news, and wondering,

Is there a place for justice at the table in March.

Observation - February 2nd, 2017, Thursday

Observation

There is a blanket of white noise over everything

It is the humidifier in my apartment, droning

It is the news cycle Trumpeting, trumpeting

The outrage of billionaires…wailing like babies

Demanding, white power, white privilege

There is a blanket of white noise over everything

The humidifier in my apartment is useful

It helps me breathe

The trumpeting of demagogues is smothering me