Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems

I am waiting
for a mad poet
for a Ferlinghetti
like a Lamborghini
fast and wild-haired
painted Red
to sweep through this world
and shake us all
back to wake

Morning coffee
dark enough
to wake the day

The first day of spring.
Too distracted to look
for robins in the yard
but time enough
to store away small facts:
For example,
Ibsen, as a young boy
living poor in the country
performed magic tricks
to distract himself from
Real Life. Some tricks
never grow old.

The world is at it again
Making art
Of whatever supplies
It finds

Today’s efforts are all white-on-white:

From the kitchen window, an
imitation ocean, field carved
in ripples and waves by a single sculptor

From the front porch, a
multi-artist extravaganza, wind
having invited snow plows, shovels,
and the bodies of small, ecstatic children
to contribute their visions of What Should Be

The work of this world
To make beauty of what we hold

distracted and adrift
in this new silence

when it’s daylight again
we are relieved to find
roof tiles and tree branches
remain, ours held up high
by hopes, foundations, deep roots
while so many others
(just as hopeful, just as rooted)
lay down in the tousled lawn
or in the road, to rest

high wind warning
the table’s one candle
shivers in response

*********************

this whole street
turns in restless sleep
each gust rattles
our hinges and frames
shakes our joined edges

We could solve anything given enough good coffee,
oatmeal and crispy home fries. Let’s begin with eggs,
over easy like morning brunch advice from my old friend.
She tells me the cure for worry is this:
Instead of arguing with the world,
or sending it lists of urgently needed repairs,
Write a list of each day’s moments
Be selective. Don’t take every single thing on the buffet.
Stick to moments as lit up as a neon diner sign on a rainy night highway,
moments like matches struck in the cave of a dark mood,
or even, she says, pointing with her oatmeal-covered spoon,
moments like this, with fresh blackberries for breakfast

At the discount housewares store
this five dollar mug with a painted on
brown and blue rabbit reminded me
(of a picture or a memory) of a
happy childhood. So, I bought it.
Wouldn’t you? I brought it home
washed it at the kitchen sink and
tested it with herbal tea.
Reader, it worked.
I felt safe and sleepy, filled with
the scent of sun warmed grass.
I realize this may have been the tea talking.
But still, isn’t it worth the gamble?
So now I offer this to you
whoever you are. Come by anytime
when you need to remember or imagine
your own happy childhood
you’re invited over
to sip it from the blue bunny mug

abandoned
was how the poem started its story

But here is
how it really was:
No poem at all until
your cats, lonely for you,
crowded my lap
pushing papers aside
and the poem, only a small poem
drifted in on its
little cat feet
calling itself
abandoned
(in the self-important way
of some small poems)
Meanwhile
as we sat together
new snow fell calm
and beautiful with
no fanfare at all

Quiet, few and far
between them
minutes or miles
houses or hours
stretch themselves
luxuriously
from horizon to clock face
and back again
miles or minutes
something is ticking and
making a soft whirring sound
as it slowly goes by