Rocco

Clank of the gate- he charges at the door.

The excited barks mislead one to run.

Timid I walk, unaware whats in store,

but he sniffs and licks and wags in welcome.

I am accepted- shreds my socks to threads,

jumps around, shows off his half-eaten toy.

Then, falls on the sofa with huge bulk spread-

the long tail swooshes and glasses destroys.

Unconcerned, he snoozes till clink of an ice

or a call of biscuit awakes him wide.

Suddenly, he is at your feet with saint-eyes

that butter you up, melt your heart every time.

Mischief done- he rolls over and over.

I pull his ears, he mock-surrenders.

Thin Line

A tiny girl on the roadside;

walks on a rope hung ten feet high.

A long bamboo for balance-

onlookers pause, cheer and sigh.

Back and forth she walks for living-

like finger rolls on guitar’s string.

Below, a bowl awaits soup-

which wobbles with occasional dings.

Hunger beguiles.

Trots on thin line.

Two Zero One Three

Memories I collect-

reflect,

dissect,

and select.

Like paints on a canvas-

they fuss,

some slush,

and of lust.

The Painter

The sun throws light over the subject.

The fiery mountaintops

heave and roll along the river bed.

Would a brush tame the wild green bush with new paint?

Artist fills the sheets with a figure-

in all fullness sprawled across.

And the dusk sets in to empurple.