Punk Waka - 6 small poems

Honey flushing birds
while ukulele sings our
small front porch pursuits


Schoolyard hoops shooting
ball soars sky-high, swish no net
lucky Converse shoes


Moody's choka
 

Santa Ana winds 
ignite winged SoCal wildfires 
down Horsethief Canyon 
via the Espinosa
trail
 and once used by
thieves to herd stolen horses
before heading for
the brute Mexican border
 
and now the mad rush
(an old pro at this) the fires
 
will come as sure as
the tides so be ready to
hit the gas and get
out with your goods, circumvent
 
dry throated panic, 
the parched hills kindling fast while
distressed coyotes 

run to safer ground, ash sears
sight and puddles form
 
a lace canopy.  Pitch plumes
flick the horizon,  
canyons scored with scars, quick pack
blonde Samsonite bags 

grab ukes/guitar case treasured 
vintage and poems;
 
on edge, nervous dog moans low 
while I close my eyes
compose a sultry wish of
longing blown down South to you.
 


Stetson flies free in
cruel winter blast, encore of
rage of time of loss;
stiff glacial back stalks away,
it's always hope that dies last.
 


Disguised by twilight,

Hells Canyon hoof beats ring high

as the wildest wild

horses wade Cheyenne River

to drink cross the broad divide. 


Frilled crinolines fluffed 
out over lacy yoohoos - 
giddily feline... 
a braless Ms.Steinem turns 
militant flips in her grave.

 

Sissy Buckles