fog
on this foggy morning
my heart is working
its way back to you
my mind along for the ride
fingers of fog all around
when I could use a clap of thunder
a driving rain to clear the air
let us start over
somewhere in this fog
I see holy
what I mean to say
is fearlessness, probably
Photo by Owen
LITTLE BOY
will open his eyes
and see through
any guise
Photo by Owen
ice cream cone
takes a licking
and
keeps on ticking
GPA
distills effort
to
a decimal point
right brain
goes fishing
with
imaginary pole
chair
wishes to rise
up
and kiss ass
daredevil
faces off
with
with the devil
Photo by Owen
Eyeglasses
take a point-of-view
and
change it
Money
makes a man
madder
than he already is
Housekeeper
sees the world
with
nit-picking ease
Rainbow
can do a
backbend
without cracking
Wisdom
can be found in aisle nine
at Walmart
unless they moved it
Photo by Owen
I cross those tracks on
the old gravel road
imagining box cars of hobos
passenger cars carrying faces of party dolls
kids with suckers
grandmothers with train cases
salesmen, students, and soldiers.
The headstrong engine tugs and pulls
picking up steam
until I am the caboose
growing smaller down the long track
a dot
on the horizon of a lifetime
-by Kathryn Gahl
new hand-breaded chicken
tenders and wrappers
barbecued pork melt
cheesy popcorn
Chicago-style hot dogs
and caramel chew ice cream
push and slam in the mosh pit
while those free-flowing cousins
named glucose fructose and sucrose
crowd-surf and flail
causing riot police to be called in
to quell yet another
disturbance of
gastroesophageal reflux
-PostCardPoem by Kathryn Gahl
Photo by Owen Zylstra
and me having the mind
that I have
thought you said
what I wanted to hear
thought you thought
what I thought
about philosophy
and cognitive psychology
you being cognizant
of my mind
and me of yours
having a mind of its own
the girl with the single-strap
black dress tight in the right
places wears gold loops and sky-high heels
black and backless ones, open-toed, strapless
when she approaches the dance floor
tottering toward a measure of taking him
for he is tall and thin and glad
a reed in a hot clarinet
a rendezvous, his body
catching the downbeat in a flirtation break
if only she could master the contra body
(a rumba dip similar to Tango)
if only her peek-a-boo bosom
could rollout-to-attack
the importance of form dawning
on her pogo-stick frame
if only she’d kick off those
as they say high-heeled sneakers
and let her feet find the beat.
Photo by Owen Zylstra
I set the parking brake, crossed to get the mail
Then turned at a faint wail to witness the parking brake fail:
The car backward sailed until the aspen it nailed.
When husband came home, I felt like I was in jail
Though he said, don’t rail–we still have each other to hail.
Researchers report
that a man can detect
the smell of tears.
A chemical in tears
causes levels of testosterone
to drop.
There you have it.
Please cry responsibly.
gahlstone 