immunity

we live as if
we were immune
to extinction
though evidence indicates
the opposite to be true
with traces of all those
who came before
trilobites
dinosaurs
cavemen
bones lying buried
beneath our feet
and when our end comes
will it be like the beginning
with a bang
or perhaps a plague
or pestilence
will wipe our slate clean
will a quartet of horsemen
be involved
in any way
or will we just dwindle down
leaving
one at a time
perhaps starved of light
as our sun grows cold
and when time has passed
and we too lie buried
deep below the surface
will we be diamonds
will we be the fuel
that propels our
replacements
toward their own
doom

the crossing

it was a blue key
that fit in a
secret lock
kept hidden away
known only
to a very few
she slid it in
and gently turned
there was a muffled
click, the door
swung open
a subtle breath of air
brushed past
her cheek it smelled
like roses with a
trace of mint
a voice in the distance
called "come in, come in,
we've been waiting for
you all these years"
as she stepped inside
her fear melted away
sadness evaporated
as if a puff of smoke
there was only joy
and peace,
perfect harmony
as she crossed over

sunrise headed south

the price

she would have been born
in Virginia
if her great-great grandfather
hadn't been
shot at Appomattox
she would have grown up
in the 50s
if her grandfather's
blood hadn't spilled out
in a muddy trench
in the Verdun
she would have been a
hippie in the 60s
if her father's ship
hadn't gone down
in the South Pacific
she would have been a
wife and soccer mom
if her husband hadn't
been killed in a
southeast asia jungle
she would be a grandmother
if her son hadn't
been hit by an IED
along a dusty road
in Iraq
this is the price
of war

the very different gardens of Eve and Adam*

the woman plants her garden
all in one pot
ivy, grape vines and roses
intertwined on the trellis
withhold water from one
and all will wilt and wither
but a man's garden is planted
in neatly marked out rows
peas in one, tomatoes in another
and beans lined up in a third
should the peas fail to flourish
the beans will still grow
the man will not long for peas
nor forsake tomatoes
for the lack of them
and so it is the same
with men and women
when it comes to
love, intimacy, and sex

*with apologies to both genders for gross generalization

the beach

tap dancing barefoot
across the shimmering sand,
ribbons of heat
wavering in the distance,
we rush toward the water,
cool and inviting,
fringed with foam
as the breakers
take turns
crashing against the shore.
after the first splashing strides
we plunge head-first
into the waves,
bobbing up for air,
laughing and shouting.
though not aware of it
in the moment,
that memory will live
with us forever,
ready to call up, replay,
and take the swelter
out of a brutally
hot summer day,
stuck in city traffic,
far from the beach.

caught in the rain

black billowing mountains of clouds
erupt across the horizon
the air smells dangerous
the distance grumbles
wind stirs from sleep
in restless fits
followed by foreboding calm
the first pizzicato drops
fall to earth
one, three, twenty
a thousand of them
pelt against your skin
quenching
like steel grown red hot
in the furnace
then plunged into water
hissing and sputtering
quenching the swelter
from a passionate afternoon
in late summer
the two of you lying
by the shore
too deeply lost is bliss
to get up and run
from the rain

one-legged sparrow

a tiny sparrow
with just one leg
lit on my windowsill
and sat looking through
the glass at me.
i whispered to it,
"poor little sparrow
with only one leg,
how sad and unfair
life can be."
at the sound of my voice
it cocked its head
and chirped to me,
"don't feel sorry
for this bird, sister.
can't you see
how strong and clever
i must be to do
even the simple things
that my fellow sparrows
take for granted?
don't you understand
how very much better
i am than they?"

backseat

it's one of those
blue periods,
Pablo would know
what you mean.
the malaise
the slump
the lull
but grey seems
a better shade to
name it.
you want to take a
backseat
somewhere in oblivion
and watch
the protons and neutrons
whizzing by,
a marionette
dancing
at the end of strings
tethered in
the stars.

summer solstice

half way between
the year's bookends of cold
life flowing through the
trees and grass and flowers
the breeze alive with
insect air traffic
days stretching out
into what will be night
by the time the year ends
if only i could hit pause
and make the summer
last forever

to kiss or not to kiss

blessings (or nothing is ever only black and white)

blessings
come in many
sizes and shapes,
quite a few clever
disguises, too.
that which causes
you a world of
hurt and pain
could be the blessing
prayed for by someone
so dear and close
that you are joyful
in suffering,
knowing that
they are not.

33,163 days

33,163 days
the span of a life
here on this
spec of a planet
the life of a man that
passed through
hardship
and prosperity
that fulfilled
the roles
laid out by
society
son, brother
husband, father
warrior, builder
citizen, honest man
in the end he said
i didn't make my goal
but i'm ready to die now

faith

the moon is full tonight
it says so
on the calendar
but there is no
plump white pearl
ascending above the trees
no trace of sparkling
silver path on the water
dark clouds crowd the sky
leaving no trace of
moon phase or light
yet we believe
that the moon is full
and we believe
that next month
it will be full once more
rising in clear skies or clouded
this must be what faith is

more abstract

 

 fractal graphic                                                                                 © 2011 d.m. shepherd

like a cat

he said
you are so like a
cat
and i replied
can you be somewhat
more precise?
would that be a cat
like Maggie
dancing on a hot
roof made of tin
or more like
the cat encountered
by Alice
sporting a Cheshire grin
what about a cat
on the cover of NatGeo
hunched over a
gruesome kill
or the kitty curled
and purring
on your sunlit windowsill
which of those cats
is it that i am so like?
a bit of each he sighed
a bit of each

the replacement

my father
this man
who used to be
strong, fierce
able to fix anything
that needed fixing
able to build
from a pile of
brick or lumber
structures that
will stand for
decades still to come
this man
who took care of
everyone and anything
that needed taking care of
has been replaced
by someone who
can't tie his shoes
or walk across the room
who sits and nods off
in mid-sentence
and forgets that
you are there
this replacement
is a man i don't know
a man i would prefer
to have never met

driven 2 abstraction

fractal graphic                                                                                                © 2011 d.m. shepherd

take flight

let a little
imperfection
slip into your life
that long list
of disqualifications
of yours
is filtering out
all possibility of
adventure
bet on an
unsure thing
for once
abandon the rules
watch the wingless bird
take flight

rained out

the carnival has come to town
to sit out a solid week
of cold spring rain
the tilt-a-whirl is silent
the ferris wheel doesn't spin
and roustabouts
are huddled beneath an awning
leaning against their trailer
smoking cigarettes
spitting on the ground between
curses hurled at the weather
the colored lights flash overhead
but they aren't drawing in the crowds
time to pull up stakes and head out
to another strip mall parking lot
somewhere down south of this town

goin' to the hop

sometimes i just
want to 
dance out loud
cut loose
twirl dervishly
for no good reason
feel that beat
pounding down
from my heart
through my feet
cut the rug
do the shimmy
shimmy shake
twist and shout
let it all
hang out

numbers look like this

fractal graphic                                                                                                © 2011 d.m. shepherd

the other side

you try to stay there
suspended in that
soft and foggy
moment as
sleep escapes,
floating in an
iridescent bubble
where all is right
with your world.
you have love and
security and your life
has real meaning,
but the harder you try
to hold onto it, the
faster it slips away.
you're left wishing
that you hadn't
caught that glimpse
there between
slumber and waking,
felt that warm,
glowing peacefulness,
because you had never
been quite as aware
before that things
were so wrong,
here on the other side
of the dream.

greener

i was raised
by circus folk
love child of the
bearded lady
and a dashing
young man
who could fly
from a trapeze
but when i was ten
i ran away to join
a preacher's family
because that
quiet life seemed
so exciting to me

living past the middle

she could quote
from Dylan
either Thomas or Bob
and cook up a storm
when the mood was right
she knew the
phase of the moon
for any time of night
and would dance
to tunes only she
could hear
her eyes were green
and her skin was fair
but she couldn't
sing or tie a bow
and wasn't as young
as once she was 
which seemed to be all
that mattered

getting published

it's become clear to me now,
upon arrival
of the newest Review,
that if i'm ever
to be read
by the many,
appear in print
not of my own devise,
then i must simply
stop making sense.
the words will have
to swarm in hives
of the absurd
or swirl in circles
of nebulous meaning,
which seems to be
the style that is
desired
by those in possession
of far greater knowledge
than i myself
may be.

don't fall

pursuing happiness

it's right there
in one of the most well-known
sentences ever crafted
in the English language,
'the pursuit of happiness.'
we certainly spend
a great deal of
time and energy,
not to mention money,
in this endeavor,
but does the pursuit
itself insure
that we will never be
truly happy?
pursuit requires
a set of parameters
'i will be happy once i --
--find love
--have a child
--get a promotion
--own a luxury car
--fly to Aruba
--retire'
(fill in the blank here with
your own set of terms
for acquiring that elusive
state of being.)
trouble with this is,
once that particular
object of our desire is attained,
we find that nothing
of substance
has changed in our lives,
in our true selves,
in the being that dwells within,
which sets us off
in pursuit
of the next thing
we decide
will make us happy,

not unlike a puppy

chasing its tail

in an endless circle.
perhaps if we called off
pursuit, and just started
being happy.
made the decision to
face each day with
a sense of adventure.
seize the moments
that contain those golden
bits of nothingness,
a cloudless blue sky,
the first flower in spring,
a summer sunrise,
that long awaited kiss,
and find in these
happiness in the
here and now,
no pursuit required.

spring rain

raindrops
are doing a tap dance
on the tin roof
and the tune
they are dancing
to is a warm
awakening one
that is delighting
the daffodils
and turning the
grass green
so even on a
gloomy gray day
without a spec of
sunshine
your heart beats
to a stronger
rhythm
keeping time
with the
spring rain

forbidden fruit

there were three of them.
soft, quick,

tasting like apples.

not one or two,
but three,
as if he
were lingering
between desire
and knowing better.
three stolen kisses
that left her
wanting more.

hand of God

katie handed me her iphone.
there was a photo of clouds
on the screen and she said,
"now tell me what you see,
i'm not going to say what
i think it looks like,
but you just tell me what you see."
"well," i said immediately,
"it is a great big hand
flippin' the bird."
"WHAT?!?" she said,
"NO!  it's an angel."
"an angel?" i answered.
"where do you see an angel?
that is a big hand giving the
one finger salute, plain as day."
"oh," she said, "i didn't see that before.
but, look, it's right here.
see the head, and here are the wings."
"ok," i said.  "so it's a big hand
giving the finger to an angel.
ya suppose it's the hand of God?"

benefits of the imaginary friend

my imaginary friend doesn't take up space
or leave his things laying about

he rarely talks back and never
tells me what i should and shouldn't do

my dog doesn't jump on my imaginary friend's lap
or chew up his nice new shoes

when my imaginary friend visits
the toilet seat is always where i left it

i never have to go somewhere i'd rather not be
just to make my imaginary friend happy

my imaginary friend never hangs about
when i'd prefer solitude

he's never too busy for a visit
when i need a friend close by

my imaginary friend has a lot going for him
only problem is, i keep imagining he is you

just speak french to me

you say you don't know
how to crack the code.
you don't have the combination
that unlocks the vault.
you don't know the number,
or how to place the call.
you haven't got the key,
that turns in the lock
or the secret password
that cancels the alarm.
it's really quite simple.
like gomez and morticia,
cara mia
just speak french to me.

the bigger picture

i remember when
i was younger
thinking about
the bigger picture
of my life
what was i going to be
when I grew up
now that i am older
i have come to see
that life isn't
so much about
getting somewhere
it's more about
going there
the journey
of moving
through time
day by day
there isn't really 
a bigger picture
just an endless
number of
snapshots
trying to keep
the moment
in focus

flash fire

you set me on fire
with kisses so passionate
fahrenheit doesn't have
a degree hot enough
to compare
that fire burned so brightly
no way could it last
destined to end up
a pile of ash
but while it blazed
what else could we do
except to watch it burn
it made such a lovely flame

morning mast

my new pet

i felt the need for a companion
so decided i'd get a new pet
cats can turn on you
without provocation
dogs are too needy
rats - well, they're rats
and there's a reason
why they get such a bad rap
my new pet is
an amoeba
it's a really swell pet
it doesn't eat much
or take up a lot of space
it doesn't bark or yowl
no poop to scoop
or vet bills either
and on top of all this
it can split itself
right in two
so i figure
in a week or so
i'll put up an ad
on ebay
and get rich
selling amoebas
to all those
folks out there
looking for the latest
in low-maintenance pets

the cure

reality
so often
interferes
with romance
kisses in the dark
tender touching
in the moonlight
all well and good
until the morning
reveals
a pile of
crumpled clothes
stacked in the corner
and week-old pizza box
on the chair
yes, if you're
searching for
the sure-fire cure
for a romantic
notion
a healthy dose
of reality
is just what the
doctor prescribes

different

things used to be different
now they're the same
he said, "you mean
that things are still different?"
no, no
not at all
nothing can remain different
for very long
what was unique yesterday
is ordinary today
it takes a lot of changing
to stay different
it's not something
that can be
left untended

love like the moon

my love
like the moon
is fading
a mere shadow
of what he was once
a slip of a thin fingernail
less here with me
than not
living in secrecy
growing more distant
by the day
waning away

early spring

even with
raggedy
patches of white
left scattered
in places
under hedges
and beneath the trees
there is a hint
of early spring
about
as the clouds
release their
load
in the form of
rain
not sleet or snow
bring it on
i say
chase the cold
and heartless
winter away
are the daffodils
blooming yet?

penny candy

when i was a child
the highlight of my day
would come
on the way home
after retrieving my older sister
from school
we'd make a quick stop
at the Hitching Post
a small country store
the 7-11 of its day
mom would give us
each a penny
and while she collected
milk or bread
and whatever sundries
were needed for dinner
we'd head straight for the
shelves of candy
at the front of the store
it was a big decision
what tasty treat
to trade our pennies for
there were atomic fireballs
mary janes, tootsie pops,
double bubble or bazooka
sugar daddys, chunkys
bb bats in half a dozen flavors
i never pass up a penny
lying abandoned
on the street
though many
consider it
unworthy of the
effort to pick up
i remember the time
when it was
worth the world to me
and cherish
that sweet sweet
memory
of penny candy
from the country store

more dreams of spring

words worth

written words...
how many have there been
since man first pressed
a stick into damp clay?
the scribe, the monk, the wielder of the quill
Gutenberg, who multiplied words for the masses
novels, sonnets, limericks, lyrics
words of love
declarations of war
words chiseled into gravestones
or hastily scribbled on notes passed in class
words printed daily in the news
presses running at full speed to spit them out
words burned in hatred
as if fire and smoke could destroy ideas
words transformed into bits and bytes
hurling through cyberspace
words that will live forever
lining library shelves
words that die on the vine
jotted, quickly crumpled and tossed away
Shakespeare's 884,647 words
a spec of stardust in the cosmos
of all the words that have ever been

bumps in the road

short words

spite
it's a sharp word
the long i
the hard t
the single syllable
its intentions are bad
like an arrow
through the heart
that wounds both
the target
and the archer
akin to its
close cousin
hate
though few of letters
it packs a punch
and causes
more pain
for the one
who conjures it
than those
it is intended for

golden goose

weight

how light is your soul?
should it escape
the grasp
of your mortal
being
would it float
upward
like a balloon
slipped from
a child's grip
or sink
as a stone
skipped across
a pond
and run out
of momentum?
how to mend
the too heavy
soul?
will saying
a prayer
or two
do the trick
or committing
good deeds,
alms for the poor,
homes for
the homeless?
is there a
soul diet
to shed
the excess
baggage
that weights
you down
or like
extra inches
around your waist,
once acquired
are there to stay?

hurts so good

the sparks that fly
between us
even from
across a
crowded
room
could light
the whole
place on fire
incendiary passion
clouds all reason
caution
isn't just
thrown to the wind
it is blown away
by a typhoon
it's all so wrong
and i know it
but still
i am never sated
always left
wanting more
unchained desire
and endless pain
how can it
hurt so good?

a wake at sunrise

something new

i want to paint with a color
never before
mixed on
an artist's
palette
i want to play a chord
made of notes
that have
never known
each other
so intimately
i want to photograph
the world
through a lens
that sees the beauty
beneath the surface
i want to discover alchemy
that turns the ordinary
into gold and silver
i want to find
something new
that will change
everything
for the better
and mend
the break
in your heart

dreaming about spring

moonlit path

i want to be reincarnated

i want to be reincarnated
as a beat poet
haunting a smokey
dark cafe
wearing black, a beret
and smoking filterless
cigarettes at the end
of a long, thin holder

i want to come back
as Cleopatra
lounging by the Nile
on a hot Egyptian night
Nubian fan wavers
standing on either side
stirring up a cool breeze
and not a snake in sight

i want to return
as Marie Antoinette
so that i can be kind
to the poor
handing out cupcakes
at the gates to Versailles
and ending my story
on a much happier note

i want to be born
as a small girl
in the fifties
on a farm
in rural Virginia
but this time
with kinder parents
and a pony

silhouette

the meaning of love

what does it mean,
this phrase
so often thrown about?
"i love you."
when said by a mother
to her child,
you have to figure
that it is something
almost biological.
how could one
not love that
which she has made
from her own flesh?
but, what about
when it's said,
"i love sugar pops."
what sort of love is that?
maybe we should have
some other word for this,
like eskimos for snow,
so that love
doesn't get worn out.
and what of true love?
i hear so much about it,
but no one mentions
true hate.
aren't these two sides of
the same coin,
one quite easily flipped?
when you say to me,
"i love you."
does it mean
that every cell of your body
and every spec of your soul
are eternally devoted
to the
mystical union
that is us?
or, would a translator
from some other world
understand it
more to mean,
"i really want
to keep having sex
with you,
and that phrase
seems to do the trick."

school of dance

i think i remember
how this dance goes,
but it has been
so long
since i heard
the music
and felt its
rhythm
passing through
my limbs,
slow, fast-fast,
slow....
if i stumble,
will you
lift me up?
will you take
the lead
and sweep
across the room
with me
in your arms?
move slowly
at first,
let me fall
in step.
move slowly,
until our bodies
melt together
and we match
each other
breath for breath.
be patient
with me,
if i don’t
get it right
first time through.
remember,
i’m doing
this backwards,
wearing high heels.

escape key

it happens to the
best of us
sooner or later.
we end up
at a place in life
that is just not
where we want to be.
sometimes it is by mishap,
sometimes by design,
or even because fate,
in one of its quirky twists,
has dealt us a bad hand.
whatever the reason
or circumstance,
wouldn't it be nice
if life had an escape key,
or maybe a back button?
something like control z.
undo all of the mess
and put us back in that
comfortable spot,
the one without
all this stuff and bother.

century oak

towering above

the landscape,

each branch itself

could be

a handsome tree

should it surrender

its horizontal existence

and plant itself upright

on the ground.

the century oak

has never swayed,

surviving wind and storm,

drought and downpour,

adding ring upon ring

to its trunk each year.

every spring

bursting out with

bright green leaves,

dropping them,

turned brown, in fall.

it has shared its shade

with many a boy

who has since

grown old and died.

through all it has stood

content and calm,

as though it would

go on forever,

until the new owners

decided they would

rather plant

a garage

there in that spot.

heavenly bodies

lost and found

pergola at sunset

squirreled away

the squirrels begin
to stir about
at dawn
silhouetted by
the sunrise
scaling down
the trunk
of the oak tree
to search out
that acorn
hidden away
in September

for months you
live as if
life is fine
until one day
you dig up that
nut of sorrow
that you
squirreled away
then scamper off
to bury it again

sentinel