Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems

Unexpected angels
covered the table
Take one, says their creator
as the guests arrive—
Take as many as you need.
I ended up with extras.

The festive hubbub of arrival fades. Faces turn thoughtful, as humans and angels ponder their choices.

I must secretly adore
rushing around like a mad woman
Late Again
tossing coffee lunch vitamins and
high heels into the briefcase of the day
I must love it
because here I am
Here I Am
doing it again

At three a.m., almost like clockwork, a path opens in the night. Those who dream themselves sleepless can enter the stories of dark fairies, stolen princesses, mirrors full of secrets.

Before the rest of the resting real world wakes, do some traveling.

Soon enough, an alarm will ring inside the real world and call you back to the land of agendas and cell phones, where the only golden things are chocolate coins and costume jewelry and fingernail polish.

You may be sleepy all day, wandering past open windows , catching a glimpse — the tail of something wondrous strange disappearing into the scrub brush at the edge of the forest.

And was that forest always there, at the edge of the truck-choked highway?

There are paths, even in the daylight. Every time you eat an apple or look into a mirror, for a moment—less than a moment—you’ll catch a scent on the invisible wind. Was it always invisible, you wonder, or was it filled with tiny glittering things with wings? Oh, every mirror, every apple, you’ll almost remember. Almost like clockwork.

for too many good reasons
money melted itself in my pockets
and flowed easily, downhill,
Away
leaving the faintest scrim of gold
on all the rebuilt walls
of my secret home
with its fine and latchable door
worth any price

How can one day hold both
terrorists in Paris
and the six-point buck
eating our windfall apples

Handsome and so tame,
or such a glutton
or so sure of himself
he barely glances up
as I walk towards him

Somehow, this moment exists
here, in the midst of hunting season

Your emojis
Do not translate on my phone
All those messages
By the time they reach my screen
Are nothing but gibberish

Our phones are talking
Electronic sweet nothings
In each other’s circuits
Let them whisper their secrets
While we use ordinary words

Not like any poem
I’d want to read,
these restless pacing cats
roam my living room
and circle in my head
both of us quiet and agitated
as we try to stir up something—
words or the memories of mice.
Warped art of this moment

mixed in the raked leaves
tiny candy bar wrappers
Halloween litter
last of the season’s
fun-sized messages

a season
preoccupied with change—
one day, this whole month
will wake up
in a mood—
all gray
rain and wind
pounding the wet sky
harrying the crumbs
of maples
as they leave

restless autumn week
hugs summer weather tight,
basks in all this golden light
as I do
like a pause in a symphony
or a line break in a poem
a chance to catch your breath

Savor It
quickly now
because the weather
and so much else
is about to change