Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems

Like so much else,
One batch of
Star-shaped cookies
Forgotten, burning
In the home ec oven

We are just as puzzled as the ground
here without snow in this usually
weather-battered world now bereft
of blizzards no snow falls at all
Winter leaves the world’s bones bare
every broken branch visible
so we can see both
the beauty left behind
and all the damage done

Word for the day

another gift
from somewhere else—

To wake
on a dark Monday morning
in a country
beset by so much
like so many others
in a family
beset by so much
like so many others
and to unaccountably
feel Joy
sudden as Christmas lights
Joy
right here, right now
Joy
this perfect word for the day

It was the other kind of jazz
not horns trying to impress you
Shouting, This Is Jazz
then mumble-wandering all over
improvising your jangled nerves.

No, this was piano slow jazz
built for martinis and kitten heels
smoky lounges and rhinestones
this dimly lit dance floor
where we sway close, barely moving
drifting nearer, quietly swept away

this never grows dull
though it’s always the same trick—

Drop your guard. Listen.
Blend sleepy mind paper pen.
Cook fast. Savor each small gift.

At night, lost in the dark,
our dreaming selves wander long hallways
trying every door till something opens.
All night, we step in and out
of so much already in progress
with those particular and mysterious
hidden origin stories.
Any night, every night, the tiniest details
tether us to our ordinary days now
turned fantastic or gruesome
melancholy or hilarious.
Often, there is rain in the night
a staticky presence masking
the dreamer on the other side who keeps
tapping on our shared window
knocking hard to get our attention

heart like a cold engine
unstarted for too long
promised leisurely Sunday drives
or thrilling racetrack curves
when what you truly mean
is Stay Put,
quietly
in the dim and cobwebbed garage

most days I do not
think of you. I’ve trained myself
to turn away but
last night you were in my dreams
you, and your big dog, too

Too much to choose from
shiny books delectable
as scattered jewels thrown
on the ground or berries tipped
from the bush to the cracked bowl.
Choose for me, she says
Just tell me which one to read.
Desperate to know
desperate for someone else
to pick wisely as if books or berries
are about to disappear.

I fell in love the other day
with a voice on the radio
Brazilian, a climate scientist
who spoke in metaphors and
Chinese proverbs explaining
in his luscious Portuguese accent
how to understand the rain forest
we burn what is best understood
compared to love—
when you give more,
you get more
he promises