Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems

Last night, I dreamed of you
at three years old in
those green pajamas your
still blond hair curly and
too long. You with a
finger to your lips,
Intent on studying the mouse
in the Have-A Heart trap—
the mouse I caught last night
persistent in his or her efforts
to escape and tell the world
that time is fluid,
movable as a breeze, amazed
mouse who doesn’t know this
goes on all over town, in
the rooms of every mother’s mind
Memories caught with care and luck
then released
back into the wild world of now.

While we remain open-minded
regarding the mention of Literature
we do not confine ourselves
to the topic.
Rather, talk of books is interleaved
with stories in the oral tradition—
what our loved ones did a day
or a decade ago and
What We Thought Of It,
and then we must create time
for cookies and green tea,
wine and chocolate and raucous
rounds of laughter at ourselves
caught as we are
in pleasure and predicament
mid-plot, eagerly turning the pages,
sharing literature, light.

Not that farm field.
Do not stray into it look
how the clouds lower
and thicken, nestled in
for a long gray stay.

Instead, this half-mowed meadow
wildflowers in the grass lay down here
old red-plaid blanket, picnic basket of bread
and apples everything you packed humming
comfort and joy. Stretch out and watch
for them— huge fantastic shaped moods
move like clouds
drift
across your sky.

Chinese Lanterns
Physalis alkekengi bright
orange shine
arranged in my mother’s handmade
vase deep pine green,
next to the bed, first and last
sight each autumn day
Oh, the farm wife tells me
they grow like weeds.
She bundles strands, fastens with
a battered red twist-tie and sells them
75 cents a bunch.

deep cold scent
wrapped around a
secret packet of
the world that was

mountain ash berries
white to green to bright orange
seasons certain clock

All those years spent
learning how, growing
more skillful, faster
as you mastered the knack of it
Now, one by one,
Learn a new thing learn
to drop the apple, bright blue
rubber ball, the flaming torches,
the swords.
Learn to love the look of emptied hands
Use the sword to slice the apples
arrange them on a plate alongside
a crusty baguette, a sharp cheddar
toss the ball to the puppy
light candles with the torches
savor their transformation
to tools and toys and food

If the world won’t play fair,
then we are under no obligation
to comply. If you wake in the dark
to first frost, wind blowing
hard rain at all the windows
the world Daring you
to like Mondays, Smile.
Brew a mug of tea
for the road
wear bright pink
because you can.
Make your own day glow.

Two roads diverge here, or three, or
say certain wild-eyed scientists
infinite roads. Whatever.
When you reach
an intersection, slow down.
Avoid the fate of rushing.

One day, sooner, later, Too Much
comes to every one shaped
as time or romance, money or quiet,
or even zucchini and black-eyed Susans.
When abundance beyond measure begins
to be burden not blessing, you have arrived.

Choose your road, now. At least one is
clearly labeled so those with bounty
held tight piled high can see the sign over
the top of their treasure, the signpost
pointing to the country of the haunted
the whole place called
Be Careful What You Wish For.

Oh, take your time here
at the crossroad. Open your arms.
Hand flowers and romance and vegetables
to all the others on these roads.
Choose another way.

Movie stars and Jesus
get enormous gold stars
embedded in the ground.
For us, I’ve brought this
packet of tiny foil stars
gold and silver
red and blue
occasional green
to celebrate
our quieter passage.