Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems

because I thought I wouldn’t
or you wished I didn’t or
because of the way
the evening deer
in the back field
lifted his head
when I said, Maybe
next summer,
Turquoise

a bowl of berries
before a poem,
a pink magazine
before the Physics exam.
The sweet shape
of doorways
marked
Procrastination

the well in the woods of the world
isn’t hidden,
exactly. But you must search for it.
Idly. Casually. Search may be
too strong a word. The well,
I’m sad to say,
does not reward Diligence
nor does it approve of maps.
Rather, it appears on a whim
and only in the right mood
whatever that is.
Until you jump
or fall
down its long dark, the well
is invisible to the world.
Once you’re swimming
you see again how it opens
to wide caves below the sea.
Somehow, you forgot this
more than once.

ten days till summer—
I stride into school each day
donning my costume

armored Roman guard
exhorting daydreamers to
keep rowing this ship

Paris, Pont des Arts:

We placed too much weight
on Paris in the springtime.

magic with a lower-case m
waits for you on this road
each day
build it a soft nest of
confetti, dried grass,
what the new robins dreamed
last night
finally add
one bright twist of ribbon
color of your choices
a silky strand to signify
magic in your hands.
Carry it everywhere.

usually easy to spot
if you turn your head
at the right angle—
us, for example,
shading our faces
from brightness
to better capture
lighted windows
on a snowy night

When we look up
Summer
sunlight on water
Dazzles

Next time, we agree,
laughing
next time we’ll paint
This world instead—
the one jumping up and down
all around us
waving its green arms
to capture our attention

Reality,
It must be noted,
Is sometimes
Guilty of
A lack of whimsy.
Allium, she says
So definite
So certain
No plant would
Dare
To contradict
Or say, Sorry, no
My name is
Seuss-root.

Make a list
a reminder
to notice trees—
How in the smallest breeze
maple leaves move together
like a flock of geese
or a school of fish

Add to your list
a reminder to notice
actual flocks of geese
schools of fish

to see how the smallest breeze
covers the sound
of your pen
writing this list—

Listen to small sounds.
Add this to your list

“Practice any art …
no matter how well or badly …
to experience becoming…
to make your soul grow.”
         ~Kurt Vonnegut, quoted in Letters of Note

the jar of every color pens
cheers up the table
just by presence
whispering promises
to the patient pad of paper