Miso Not So Bad

Shaved brussels
Not yet past their prime
Fresh peas, though the ideal
Unneeded, now, to build this meal

Please pray with me
My dying wish — the miso’s not gone bad
In the refrigerator way

Kitchen shears that snip-snipped happily at chives that waited just for me
All
Summer
Long
Somehow found their way to the floor
Could be an honest omen, or
A sign of what’s to come

Not my garden’s tomatoes, fool
They’re for another day!

Please forgive the white, white rice
Devoid of what I crave

Sesame to remind me and tofu hacked haphazardly
Tamari, I wish

Here, this delicious dish

Unilateral

If you haven’t lost the love of your life
In the late Summertime

As a jewel-toned magic carpet pulled
From ‘neath your soaring heart

As your jump rope stolen
Whilst you sang from the deep

Then you cannot have been my best friend
In this, our late lifetime

Hunter

I am amazing
In hunter green sheath
I’d planned last summer
For New Year’s Eve

Silk against skin
Cut to the thigh
Your demure firework
Heels on high

Champagne celebration
It was to have been
We’d teach eachother
We’d dance again

Inky ring-fingers
Hilltop house near a glen
Belonging to each other
Forever by then

Before You Kiss

Pretend you’ve a past together
For we’re all made of the exact same starlight stuff

We share an ilk
We each have hopes

Pretend that time stood still on your best schoolday
That you mean to steal a kiss before the bus departs

That Summer is on the horizon
All is right and you can do no wrong

Comfort

Could there be more heav’nly sounds
More clear-cut answer to prayer
As these wondrous crickets’ songs
Bless the lonely air

Tear-stained girl, lovesick boy
“Keep the hope,” ’tis said
This night, they’ll keep you company
Their concert voids the dread

June Will Be Okay

Deciding this morning whether
To be afraid for our weather

For this Earth
For its Underlings

I noticed triumph
Its and Theirs

I saw green, cold tears
Gladness!

There was little left to do
Open wide the window

Cry out
Three cheers for a cold victory!

Extol

Saying, “Shave,” seems sexier
Whittle is what it was and is

These troubles
These worries of war within

Away
No more

Summer has been here
Shrouded all along….

Original thought credit: David Houston; “Gonna Lay Down My Burdens”