Page 5 of Under the Fan Palm

chair,

  The other claims the cushion pile

  As hers. The cat has his own chair,

  A white one that collects his fur

  Because it’s black and contrasts well.

  All three have clocks attuned to mealtimes.

  The shih tzu yips a shrill reminder

  That supper time is imminent.

  The mixed breed has a deeper voice

  And joins the chorus with her alto.

  The cat meows a tenor line

  To mark the hour of dinnertime.

  And when they all have consumed their meals

  And made their toilet properly

  They fall asleep on chairs and cushions

  And nap the evening hours away.

  Table of Contents--Index of First Lines

  The Oriole

  I heard an oriole

  Chirping for a mate.

  He grasped a milkweed perch

  Clinging to a petiole,

  Resplendent orange feathers

  Brilliant in the summer sun.

  A bobolink and a crow

  Joined the chorus with others.

  The birds relieved my gloom;

  I’d spent too long depressed,

  Sad for all the young folk

  Sentenced to fatal doom,

  As well as other griefs

  That plague the human kind.

  The sort of sorrow only

  A bird’s sweet call relieves.

  Table of Contents

  Alphabetic Index of First Lines

  Bare branches rubbing

  Born in Spain

  Bring me my beer,

  Ceramic insects

  Clouds ride the wind with skill and grace.

  Columbine blue and cool

  Day dies in rose red skies.

  Day lilies bloom in parking lots

  Despite the gloom that fills our souls

  Down the stairs Madam comes

  Earth bound bird

  Elves and hobbits, dwarves and orcs

  Folk wisdom claims it’s true;

  Hear the wind of winter blowing

  Hurrah for lovers young and free,

  I have heard the trump of doom

  I hear a robin

  I hear a distant bugle call on the wind.

  I hear ladies singing

  I heard an oriole

  I shall not mourn them,

  I wait for night to shroud the land.

  I wonder as I wander the roadways

  I wrap me in clouds

  In old Japan the cuckoos

  In the days of our lives

  Invoke Olympian gods and goddesses

  Light your lights and hang your baubles

  Little lady why

  Little rose, little rose

  Long ago in Mexico

  My boy has lost his sparrow; it is dead.

  My cypress trees are spears

  My face has wrinkles I’ve not had before.

  My funeral plans are made,

  My native fields were fenced

  My pelargoniums are pink and red.

  My scribbled verses are written down with zest.

  One dog has commandeered my chair,

  O wondrous weed! You gift of gods

  Sand whispers in the whistling wind.

  She I wed I hold a riddle.

  Silver mirrors catch the sun

  Small purple daisies near timberline

  Some folk conclude

  Summer boys in Speedos tan

  Tell me tales of pirate ships.

  The ancient Greek and Roman poets told

  The bees and dragonflies are sleeping.

  The daffodils are in bud.

  The darkness of hearts

  The dogs are at the groomer’s and the cat

  The eastward peaks are white with snow.

  The irises are blooming now

  The ladies took tea one afternoon.

  The laughing boy

  The lemon tree and orange tree

  The long night ends in scarlet dawn

  The lucky boy finds love one time.

  The lusty youth surveyed the room

  The poets of old

  The river flows west

  The sea wind blows the mist

  The sky is grey with smoke from fires

  The small rain down may rain.

  The sun and clouds play tag across the sky.

  The thin bark peels from eucalyptus.

  The time comes ‘round for the year to renew.

  The tinkling music spills

  The weather gurus promise us

  The west is red with ending day.

  The winter sun shines thin today.

  Three dozen dead,

  Today the skies are grey with ocean’s mist.

  Tonight is for the stars in heaven

  We cooked and baked ahead

  When the rain falls from the sky

  You know the sailing ship

 
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