In dreams and memories
I receive his visits as if
he never passed ten
years past
After this
last dream, I am tempted
to deny him
visitation rights
Sure, he
spoiled me with his hearty
grin, graced me with
a jovial hug
The joy of it.
But then he botched the moment,
faded away to find
the closure of a noose.
A noose.
Sometimes inside
ourselves death is costumed
as comfort, other times
as rancor.
How many of death’s
disguises must we endure?
Father and I forgave
each other the hurts
we imposed,
so even this capricious visit
was a feast of
connection, nourishing
and even lavish
Copyright 2010 by Tom Flynn
Eight arms dangle in dozens
of directions, undulate with a
flotsam grace, her soft unprotected body
pumps blood through three hearts
and she hides in the gutters and
cornices of the coral reef
Each trespasser is treated to
squirts of ebony ink,
a venomous cup of tea,
a scuttering of limbs,
a simulacrum of life
Copyright 2010 by Tom Flynn
Trees alongside the two lane
highway blur past the car windows,
the realtor’s sign difficult to root out,
the amazing beach property
en route to Port Gamble remains
undiscovered.
Thoughts dart faster than
the cars passing us, drivers glaring,
blood drained from my whitened knuckles
by our failure to find this Shangri La,
the car ride now wafered over in thin
swatches of desultory silences.
“Are you happy?” I ask.
No reply.
I keep sneaking timid glances,
scan left, scan right,
the rear view mirror,
the side view mirror.
But we are lost.
She poses the same question.
“Are you happy?”
I hesitate.
Still searching the blacktop
for the mile marker nearest
that idyllic waterfront,
I say, “I’m a little
distracted right now.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Let’s talk about happiness
later.”
Copyright 2010 by Tom Flynn
Lovers nudge the campfire
with branches of cut willow.
Reddened cinders serenade
the two as sparks stage
an airlift, flowing up and into
a twilight canopy of cedar and fir.
With wine-soaked giggles,
the two wobble to standing,
and set off with covert footsteps
to a rickety dock, where a bright moon
teases white reflections from
a calm mountain lake
Each lover undresses, sheds
dusty clothes into a scattered pile.
Spurning warmth for desire,
the couple descends inch by inch
into the black mirth,
splashing and sputtering with laughter,
and turn to embrace
their lover’s bare body
to stave off humanity’s
most ancient cold
Copyright 2010 by Tom Flynn
The maples shot out
their tiny leaf buds weeks ago,
but the oaks stand
bare and skeletal.
Rhododendrons still hide their
magnificent flowers in pregnant buds
and the bright daffodils
died many days back,
their green skeletons
scattered bent and limp
over mounds crowded
with tulips bearing
the cold weight
of Spring rains.
Under a sunshine
filtered through
thin and delicate clouds,
Spring struggles to shed its
dark cocoon, a desiccated
husk of aging that
elbows aside
each thought of youthful joy.
Copyright 2010 by Tom Flynn
