Afghan Downpour

The horizontal rain of mercury
Spatters the dry rocks, gouges the desert.
A sharp clap!
The air animates with arcing flashes.
A sudden shift of the ground surface
As striking shafts of light explode.
And then the wind, the furious, confused wind,
Starts up, whipping earth, whipping faces.
All is slick with life, thumping
From the sputtering, drowning soil.

Red-Light Lamp

Soft glow on the blank wall, subdued
Mood blankets my five-year-old face
Along with all the toys, rocks, sticks, pennies:
Items carefully placed into the pocket,
Then carelessly removed at the end of the day.

Red:
Makes me sleepy.
I sometimes wear red shirts to work.
I answer the phone and say quite
Politely, “Visitor Parking. This is Gabe.
How may I help you?” in my fancy
Red shirt.

I am
Eye-searing
Mind-blinding
Tongue-twisting
Eardrum-beating
Yellow.

Lake Scissors

Inspired by “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” by W. B. Yeats

An image of a lake slices my thoughts,
Halving my inner psyche.
Pristine coolness pours, permeates deep, deeper,
Longing to be freed.

Thirsting after the lake wedged within my mind,
A gritty feel between my toes.
My spirit separates from corporeal cares,
Floats on a liquid breeze.

Suddenly wake up drowning in tidbits of ripples;
The biting edge of want snipsnipsnipping away.
My body fights the flooding flow of pure yearning;
My brain gasping