POEM: A Rainy Day in the Dry Season

Rain sidles up in a commanding cloud

-- early --

And so it waits in its cloud,
like the awkward party guest
who sits in his car,
waiting to be fashionably late,

but - not having decoded 
what "on-time" really means -

arrives early, nevertheless.

POEM: Snowy Street [PoMo Day 14 – Prose Poem]

I walked a snowy street, quietly as the falling snow, a snow that melted under foot, not one that crunched - compacting. Everything was deadened by that not-so-cold snow, a snow that swallowed sound, a snow that would have shunned light -- had there been any to shun. But it was night, and I was walking in the snow.

POEM: Moonlight Mystery [PoMo Day 13 – Ghazal]

I saw a silhouette in the moonlight,
a man who plodded snow that glowed moonlight.

I was mesmerized by the vagabond --
a night-owl nomad moving by moonlight.

What'd take me out into that night's cruel cold,
seeing only what shone in the moonlight?

A deadly urgent case must be afoot,
a riddle solved solely in harsh moonlight.

But maybe there's no beauty like the moon,
and maybe no light flatters like moonlight.

If so, the cold must be some puny stakes
against the milky glow of brisk moonlight.

And so I pull on boots and tug a hat
to venture out amongst the pale moonlight. 

And seeing night as did that wanderer,
I know the virtue life finds in moonlight.

POEM: Nimbus

Anvil-shaped cumulonimbus cloud. Pike's Peak, Colorado - NARA - 283883
An anvil crawls across the sky,
of soft shape but steel gray,
and I wonder when to expect 
the inbound tempest fray?

When comes the lightening and thunder,
the shaking window sills,
the neck hairs standing upon end --
herald of lightening chills?

Will it pass by rumbling distant
or strike the local spire?
Will it rain so hard that it puts
out its own blazing fires?

DAILY PHOTO: Scenes from Lincoln Park Zoo

Flowering Mountain Garlic; Summer 2018, Lincoln Park
From Lincoln Park toward the Belden-Stratford and Conservatory Buildings
Solomon Island Leaf Frog
Giraffe Portrait

POEM: Cyborg Days

I feel it coming, cyborg days --
locked into the machine.
My program playing out the code
of some new subroutine.

To know it can all be dialed in,
with such fine precision,
the love and loathing that provide
the root of all decision.

And will I be a mindless drone
on a robotic ride,
seeing life like Doctor Jekyll
while living as Mister Hyde?