A Mad Magician's Hat

Note:  Back in fall of 1993, I wrote this poem for our wedding invitation.  We included a picture of Bullwinkle J. Moose in top hat and tails. What inspired this poem was months earlier, I placed an ad in the Chicago Reader which began with the statement, "Hey, Rocky, watch me pull a romance out of this ad."  Lo and behold, the man who was destined to be my husband wrote me a letter.  I called him.  We agreed to meet and, the rest, as they say, is history. 

We stepped out of a mad magician's hat
cobwebbed from lack of use but still
possessing some of that spectacular dust.
Hokey smokes, what hath Bullwinkle wrought?
Ah, but see the Fairy Godmother
giving us a conspiratorial wink
as she lurks behind a thick book of spells.
Shh, don't tell the poor moose he has nothing
more magical up his sleeve than his own
merely moosely arm.

Coping

My self scrambles to the neck of the bottle
only to slide again down to the bottom.
Seemingly, screamingly, I survive.
A stay of execution. Damn, again.
Long lifelines are a blessing for other people.

Inside me's a person dying to live.
Tenaciously clinging like a butterfly
to a flimsy weed, oblivious to the breeze too strong.

Inside me's a person dying to be reckless.
A race car driver. Someone who likes to hang glide.
None of this in by midnight, or
turn into a pumpkin stuff.

Inside me's a person not afraid to live
who'd climb all the mountains and
dance in the starlight with a tall, handsome stranger.
If only I would let her.

But I'm the sensible one
Home early by the fire,
alone, with a good book reading about others
who are doing what I'd like to be.

Escaping is not part of the game plan,
so, I guess I'll just like it,
because lumping it would be lumping me and
I'm sore enough as it is.

My Memorex Friend

The dial tone buzzes in my stunned ear.
My Memorex friend hangs up on my concern.
His artistic temperament is his excuse
for being insensitive to my hunger
for his clever words and infectious laugh.

Impressions of You

Molecules of cogent reason and
hairtriggered emotionalism
colloided confusedly structuring
he:  a volcanic iceberg at once
kindly stoked hearth cinders and harsh freezing burn

After A Sleepless Night

Note:  I wrote this two lined poem when I was seventeen and a Freshman at University of Iowa

After a sleepless night, I watched the sun
gradually rise.  Then it dawned on me.