Quill #74 - Solipsism, Or Reverse? (2010)

When my husband sleeps
His body drifts away.
I can turn over in bed
And pound the mattress on his side.
I strike nothing.
I can stand and look for him,
Even moving the covers,
And he doesn't exist.
When his work calls for him,
Because he hasn't yet arrived there,
I can honestly say he must have
Already left because
He is not in bed.
But the moment I call his name,
He wakes, reappears, and answers,
From the very spot I was hitting,
Under the covers I moved to seek him.
And he's frustrated now
Because he must hurry,
Speed everything up,
Or the boss will not believe us again,
The next time he disappears.

Quill #48 - Gnome, Sweet Gnome (1985)

The days pass sunless ever on,
No beams to blind me underground.
Yet all the star-souls in the sky
Will shine forever in my land.

We pick them lovingly, every gem,
Then polish all with care,
And place one on each treasure made.
They twinkle everywhere.

No seasons mar our handiwork,
No weather comes within,
No storms to frighten little gnomes
Of flashing knives and din.

Familiar streets are all I see,
No crowds nor traffic jams.
There is no point to hurrying
When time is in your hands.

Whatever happens on the top,
The famine and the war,
It need not bother us down here
If humans cannot share.

Quill #41 - Space - topic exploration (2010)

My family visited at an aunt's house.
All my cousins were there, my grandparents.
Suddenly everyone was rounded up,
Pushed into one tiny living room,
Children seated on shag carpeting,
Parents standing around in every space,
Grandma and Grandpa in recliners,
But not reclining,
As we all breathlessly watched a black and white screen,
And a helmeted man descending a ladder.
The strange thing was,
I thought we'd already been to the moon.

Generations of boys, sometimes even girls,
Have grown up believing that anything is possible.
Space travel sounded glamorous, slightly dangerous,
But always something we could strive to do.
And now,
When finally a dark-skinned child can be the president,
Now, when the "impossible" has happened,
An entire dream is cut off,
And this one wasn't even impossible.
Our final frontier is not space, not reality,
But a fantasy of travel,
"Star Trek,"
Going only where men have gone before.

-----

Astronaut or president?
President or astronaut?
The boy who could be anything,
Do anything,
Used to have a much harder choice.
Now it's easier to be the president,
No matter who you are,
Than to travel the stars.
The machines have stolen our jobs,
Even in space.

-----

Into the earth,
Into the ocean,
Deeper than ever before,

Nowhere to go,
No way to stop him,
Mankind must always explore.

Take away space,
Stop funding science,
Where will our brains take us then?

Overrun planet,
No other outlet,
How long will Life contain men?

Quill #21 - Buster Daddy (2010)

"Smash his face!" I thought,
Rooting for Marlene in this play.
She swings a crowbar at him a few times,
But the physical is not her realm.
He gets a sore toe and feelings of loss.
She gains some bruises,
A new life, and love,
Harmonic resonances,
A re-gifted son,
A better deal all around than even Roosevelt's.
This generation, one of the first to understand
Why help was needed,
Still has too many voices
Sounding out the praises of abusive corporate partners,
Feeling trapped and unequal to the demands,
Unable or unwilling to leave,
Like battered spouses everywhere,
Downtrodden,
Lacking even a cast iron skillet for weaponry,
Afraid,
And betrayed,
By their own loyalty and lack of options.