Thursday, May 18, 2006

Iris



What is it about irises
in the garden
whether blue flag or yellow,
deep purple, white with red
why do they catch the attention, the imagination
more than lesser blooms?
A certain allure
that Georgia O’Keeffe didn’t taint
a beauty that draws you in
to ponder and marvel on
a delicacy that is real
but a perennial that wears well
the seasons in New England too
bitter cold and short summers
a herald for the Spring
whether in bog or flower bed


May 18, 2006 6:51pm


All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 37,940+ of my poems at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.

A Beat in Concord

I was sitting there in the traffic, waiting for the light
the heat and humidity building in the van,
one window open to the moist air after the flooding

I saw a character, a caricature, a man out of time
on the sidewalk, under the underpass, half in shadow
He was a beat,
not a Ginsberg, no he wouldn’t Howl,
a modern day Kerouac, or someone who aspired to be

It was his walk, his gait, his hair, his clothes
a slouched walk, bath sandals that had been worn outside too long
hunched shoulders, time spent in dim lit libraries,
before glowing computer screens, shaded lamps
an oversized blazer from the thrift store
over a frock prom shirt, frilled and with cranberry edging

I could sense the latte on his breath
smell of clove cigarettes in the wool of the coat
too warm for the day around him
a mop of coarse black hair
that hadn’t seen a brush or comb in days
sunken eyes, and a certainty
he’d written lines far darker than these
words that would confuse and provoke
the unfairness of the mundane, the bleakness of his bourgeois existence
unaware of his place, his role in the intelligentsia

A yawn at the coffee house, or maybe a demigod
hard to say across the street, as I was
driving by his path for those few moments
before my light went green and I went on down the road
away from the college-aged, but no longer in college beat
on the street in Concord



further edits June 30, 2012
further edited June 6, 2012 (with edited by Elisha and Marshall Burns)
http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2012/06/beat-in-concord-v2-2.html
edited June 6, 2012
http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2012/06/beat-in-concord-v2.html
written May 18, 2006 5:59pm
http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2006/05/beat-in-concord.html
written about someone I saw under the Exit 14 underpass, Concord, NH


All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 21,710+ of my poems at http://www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Butter Melting

She marched into the kitchen
all purposeful and proud
stepstool from the bathroom
in her four-year old arms

“I’m going to watch the butter melt!”
she proclaimed to all the world,
or at least to me at the sink.
Two sticks of butter in the clear glass bowl,
not yet ready for their joining with the other ingredients
for a planned batch of cookies
sitting on the counter defiantly not melting,
since she made that statement, I’m sure

What a wonderfully exciting life you have…
I laughed to myself to her left
watching butter melt…
and then she said, “I can see it melting!”

I wonder if she really did,
if something in the child’s mind
could grasp the infinitesimal movement of the cells, the molecules
of the butter
in the bowl, on the counter
waiting, maybe wanting,
to be something bigger than itself
to meld with the rest

To tickle her tongue,
once the frosting, the sprinkles,
and the special “wham” from her older sister
sealed in the goodness



===============
edited March 8, 2018
Butter Melting – v2
May 17, 2006 6:47am
Butter Melting

All of my poems, photographs, and videos are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, and 2018. All rights are reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss (raymondafoss@gmail.com)  for usage. See all 46,460 of my poems at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.

butter, melting, baking, anticipation, waiting, childhood, innocence, purpose, Shanequa, Shyanne, wonder, physics, heat, molecules, science, cooking, child, God, poem, poetry,

#butter #melting #baking #anticipation #waiting #childhood #innocence #purpose #Shanequa #Shyanne #wonder #memory #physics #heat #molecules #science #cooking #child #creator #faithpoetry #frost #God #laugh #life #poem #poetry #PoetryWhereYouLive #praisepoems #praisepoetry #RaymondAFoss

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Tulips in the rain






All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 21,710+ of my poems at http://www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.

Monday, May 15, 2006

A Neoprene Monk

Not a Gorton’s Fisherman,
no he doesn’t have the hands,
the weathered brow,
the smell of fish,
or the sound of the rocky Maine coast

Mustard yellow hooded,
bearded and bespectacled,
a neoprene monk
looked back from the wet car window
mirrored in the rain in the church lot

A bumblebee, a lady bug, and a yellow princess
in tow, coursing across the puddles,
‘round the courtyard,
burst through the door,
ready for the moist greetings of pastors and friend
commotion in the narthex
before the race to the coat rack
the clamor to the classroom
Sanctuary and refuge
on a rain soaked morning
in May


May 15, 2006 11:49am


All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 21,910+ of my poems at http://www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.

Capturing the Sound of Rain

Listening to the timpani
the rhythm of the rain
the rap, the tap,
the ratta-tat-tat,
the staccato of the drumming
on the roof of the van

The storm raging ‘round us
in the stillness of the parking lot
trying to drum to the beat
on laps and the steering wheel
keeping time with the chaos
the randomness of the clatter

Too few drummers for the task
capturing the sound of rain


May 15, 2006 9:58am




All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 21,910+ of my poems at http://www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.