Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems

Yes, the bear we’d heard rumors of was nearby that day, the day we made a list of
ways to Deal With A Bear:
A loud horn
Mace
A stick
Or an umbrella
An umbrella that shot mace out of its tip
Or an umbrella with a scary dinosaur carved at its tip
Or an enormous hologram of a scary dinosaur
Or an alien
A slimy alien

But none of that was necessary. The bear, hidden only by the scrim of bushes at the edge of the road, that bear ate the vicious pit bull who was about to attack. Pleased protector, superhero bear shrugged off his armor and shuffled off, back to the deep woods far from here, where he ate only blueberries, just like the bear in the storybook.

early, earlier
each day, hidden by new leaves
and night, birds begin

today ends the small green candle
scented like all new beginnings
bought on your graduation
day. Here, as if I needed
another reminder
and another
of what
to let
go.

I’ve never re-posted one of my own poems before. But the redbud tree in my yard is at the height of its loveliness, fully blooming, tiny green leaves just beginning to open at the tips of each pink branch. Admiring it all weekend, walking by it, mowing under it, watching it from my writing perch as I am right now, this poem from last year kept reciting itself in my head–

ADVICE FROM MY REDBUD TREE

Flower first
before you dress
in green and
practical leaves.
Why wait
when this very day
can be spent
covered in pink blossoms
and fat bees,
every single one of them
drunk and busy,
lopsided with joy
just to be near you
at the height of
your beauty?
Flower first.
Flower now.
Extravagance is Everything.

How do the birds know
in the cold, in the still-dark,
nested in rain-soaked trees,
that this, now
Now,
this is the time to sing

Picture a tall, laughing girl
cause of sleepless nights for parents
girl like a feast for the gray lady gossips
Long black hair and purple nail polish
always dressed for the party
Somehow both a tight dress and a motorcycle
No one knows how she manages
but they shrug and she smiles and says
Let’s Go. That’s just how Wild Violet is.

Instead, these small blossoms
deep purple, pale purple, white,
peek from the grass, lovely and hidden
dreaming who knows—warm dirt and rain?
Or humming to themselves, turning
towards the sun in a perfumed haze
memory of another self—
jazz bands and martinis and
that reckless smile.

Last night’s only dream
was of waking at your house
in a soft green bed
breathing Calm
with the rippled lake
flowing below my window.
And then I woke
Exactly where I’d Dreamed.

Windows sealed shut.
One side, my side,
blank conditioned air—
On the other side, the world:
Sky full of thick clouds
Tree thick with clouds of white blossoms.
A breeze I can’t feel
Moves through the branches
Where meandering bees buzz
Even if I can’t hear them.

Paul brought me
his cheerful grin
and a bouquet
of mall flowers—
twelve quiet yellow daffodils
and one red tulip