Poppies

Solar flares of poppies
Bouquets of opiate infernos
Burn creative fire

--bam

Stones

Stones

Stone cairn marks the

path down to the bay

layers of gray

laid one on the other

tell tales of ancient seas and

primitive swimmers.

--Barbara Malcolm

A Fish and A Wish

Once when I was walking, I came upon a man
a-setting by the roadside, cooking in a pan.

I said, “Hello, man,
what’s in your pan?”

“A fish and a wish,” said he,
sitting under a shady tree.

I asked, “What kind of fish is that?”
He replied, “A channel cat.”

“What sort of wish?” I begged.
“Why don’t you guess?” he egged.

“Do you wish for a car?”
“No, I don’t live very far.”

“Let’s see…for a lot of cash?”
“No, and don’t be brash.”

“It’s a very simple wish, you see,
I wish for company.”

So we set
And we 'et,
That man under the tree
And me.

--Barbara Malcolm

(I was kind of channeling Dr. Seuss when I wrote this one. Sorry.)

The Music of the Reef

The Music of the Reef

I thought it would be quiet lying there on the sand,
two hundred yards offshore and ninety feet
underwater. I assumed it would be silent except for
the rhythm of my breath. Once I settled
motionless on the bottom, the mechanical click-
whoosh-gurgle of my breathing receded and the
music of the reef swelled. Around me I heard the
click-whirr of my dive partner’s camera, the pop of
tiny shrimp claws snapping to subdue prey, the
crunch of parrotfish eating coral. A rhythmic chiming
captured my attention. Nothing I saw moved in
concert with it. One glance at the surface gave me
the answer. The music matched the march of the
ocean swells. All that distance from shore, so far
beneath the surface, I heard the enchanting melody
made by broken pieces of coral rolling in the surf--
ocean chimes tinkling like glass in the breeze.

Faulty Thinking

Faulty Thinking

The fault line…
where the Earth cracks,
where continental plates
grind, rub, slip, climb, and sink,
mountains and canyons are born,
insurmountable barriers are created,
chasms plunge beyond imagining.

The fault line…
blame is placed, fingers point
teeth grind, hands clench,
whose fault is it?
Yours? Do you admit it?
Where do you draw the line
at someone else’s faults?

Don’t draw it too deep,
you might
fall
in.

--Barbara Malcolm

Foot Loose

Foot Loose

Single shoes
(sandals mostly) washed ashore
by waves born off Africa’s coast.

The waves gather the orphans
floating in the Atlantic
(pink, black, used-to-be-white)
collected by some sympathetic
hand, lined up in a diminishing
row of abandoned little soles.

Where are their mates?
And what happened to that naked foot?
Was there another pair to replace the lost?
I imagine a forlorn face looking
at the orphan sandal
sadly consigning it to a burial at sea.

--Barbara Malcolm

Five Spring Haiku

Near the path, yellow
ladyslipper orchids await
Cinderella's step

~~~~~

Paths through birch trees
luring eager supplicants
to discovery

~~~~~

Striped chipmunks race
cheek pouches filled with seeds
dreams of winter cold

~~~~~

Mossy rocks under
dappled shade shelter hidden
gnome universes

~~~~~

Cedar cloaks the limestone
leaf coins dance in breezes
Clearing souls

--Barbara Malcolm