Morta's Hired Hand

The blacksmith's anvil

hammer roused

defeated before dawn.

Pendulum punisher swings 

his ball-peen hammer, 

hammering anvil's snout 

sounding round after round.

B.F.M.

Being Mr. Fix-it

I have a friend 
I'm sure I can fix
with a screwdriver and wrench.

B.F.M.

Affair

Work and distractions are your true loves.

I'm the mistress, the aquarium kept Gila Monster
proving your fondness for all things....
reptilian.

B.F.M.

& So We met

Enter you, hailed by a dusty god 

telling you: "go here, not there."

B.F.M.

Monday Morning

After morning coffee is brewed, headlines and inside jokes, she does the Monday morning departure. After smoothies are made and bread toasted loss comes whispering: ”now what?”

B.F.M.

Misunderstandings

Air, heavy as language 
carved from a quarry
falling on a big toe.

You walk away.

B.F.M.

Procreation

A prickle pear 

loses a limb

to mother 

another prickle pear.

B.F.M.

Offering

Under the paloverde, 

shadows 

dance for us all.

B.F.M.

Morning Shadows

Laughing Hyena? Bullet Ant? Paper Wasp? Western Diamondback? American Alligator, yes, that's it, alligator!

Then the sun rises revealing a house finch flexing his wings. I’ve defeated myself before the day begins. 

B.F.M.

Paperwork

My besieged dove, 

oh that a thousand

origami hands 

would turn your paper flood 

into a fleet of ships 

and sail you to me.

B.F.M.

Cheers

Pedaling, pedaling

up a steeple grade, 

a crowd of lupine 

waves me on. 

Churning, churning 

against the wind, 

while a mustard field 

cheers "go-go-go."

B.F.M.

Molotov

I know fondness, desire, coupling, 

jealousy, abandonment, fear, 

a blundered icy cocktail 

with a warm and fuzzy back burn.

B.F.M.

Lute

Cavern dripping stalactites 
pooling aquamarine and black. 

Here, the pen dips into ink pots. 

Here, the wind plucks water reeds 

like a lute vexes skin, bone and chromosome.

B.F.M.

Obtaining

On the last night,

three crickets will chirp, 

and that other world...

will turn its shirt right side in.

B.F.M.

phd.fail.ed

I tried to be someone extraordinary: Jerry West. Then tried to be Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg rolled into one. Dreamed of being Robert Plant, David Bowie or David Byrne. I tried my hand at graphic and web design, then business. Fail.ed.

Being too temperamental, I was never voted most likely to succeed. Tried to be loved, but never learned how. Tried marriage, failed twice, but today sitting in my peach colored box I successfully envied the riders of the Tour de France.

B.F.M.

Pacemaker

Death came, yet 

the leaf clings

hoping tomorrow

will return.

B.F.M.

Relationship 4

Accelerating while
stepping on the brakes.

B.F.M.

Affections Come then Go

Yesterday I climbed to the top branch of the everlasting oak. Today’s sorrow the branch breaks and I come tumbling down thwacked about by each branch I triumphed yesterday.

B.F.M.

The Real and The Imagined You

The Real and The Imagined You

She, Him, Them, It

Doubt: An anchor that drags across their sandy bottom towards a shoreline cliff.

B.F.M.

Catch & Release

The flawed tics of a clock are perfect in measure, like cold creek water slipping through cupped hands.

I once had a perfect moment: a train heard miles away, tiny sparrows chirping, no dumbbells squishing my brain. Then like a slap to my head, I looked up and saw a 747 landing with its 747 anxious passages waiting to get off. 

It's the same way love turns into a dagger or yesterday's beauty veers tragic locked in a cage plucking out its own feathers.

B.F.M.

Rearranging Rooms

I watched two robins discuss the placement of a particular piece of blue yarn.

He thought it better inside than out. She thought it better lost than found.

B.F.M.

Casting Runes

What will I become 
after Autumn's last 
leaf falls?

B.F.M.

Falling Ash

I was doing nothing,suddenly
Pompeii ash everywhere.

My heart, my lungs covered and coated 
I'm unable to breathe.

B.F.M.

Crow's Song

Her sorrows racked across 
her shoulders heavy and barbed,

from his leaving and his leaving and his leaving and his leaving and his leaving...

like a crow's repeated caw stuck in a belly
burdened with stones.

B.F.M.

Craning

I worry about the crane

flying north towards 

winter's edge

the same way I worry 

about my C average self,

right half the time.

B.F.M.

I row & row

A little rower 

in his chipped blued rowboat

pushing and pulling words 

into 

and 

out of 

a barren sea’s 

slapping waves.

B.F.M.

Rough Edges

Even the barrel cactus
with its wicked hooked spines
blooms to give nectar.

B.F.M.

Mirror Mirror

Out of the horror – the mirror darkly –
no Phoenix, nor Lazarus will rise,
instead
slithering shadows 
that should crawl not walk.

B.F.M.

Life & Death

The coffee pot 

emptied.

B.F.M.

Bowl A beggar

A beggar 
holds out his bowl,
I climb in.

B.F.M.

If I Could

The wall switch controls the hall lights on and off.

Those close to me wonder why I walk in the dark.

As if I knew the latin root for switch, which as it turns out, is perhaps Middle Dutch – swijch

B.F.M.

Being Dark

Click on image for larger view

Fukiya

Love your work, but

have you ever read: 

The Iliad?

The Divine Comedy?

The Golden Ratio?

The field guide to birds - Arizona & New Mexico;

Fermat’s Enigma?

The Wise Heart?

Pain Free by Peter Egoscue?

The Wild Iris?

Anything by Basho?

B.F.M.

Gathering Material

Each morning I hang

yellow sticky fly traps

hoping to catch a few

and write down their

last dying breaths.

B.F.M.

Gathering Dust

Some lives pass

like an abandon

pink mobile home 

where

the Sonoran wind kicks

dust through creaking

doors then slams it shut.

B.F.M.

Blight of How To's

I've read so much

I've forgotten how 

or where to sit

in the morning's light.

B.F.M.

Dove Aria

Ten thousand mornings

pass and my dove claims

to have birthed each one.

Cooing from her perch 

like the passing sun

"Wake up you buffoon."

B.F.M.

Editing

Burn every word.

Scorch every sentence.

Return tomorrow

to read the ashes

like one reads 
tea leaves. 

B.F.M.

Fear & Love

A new series of work.
Diagraming Life.

Title:
Fear & Love, balancing act.

Contrails

In flight

the dove 

murmurs

my love, 

my love.

B.F.M.

Birdsongs

Striving to be bird-like

I’d sing only 

when I have something to say.

B.F.M.

She’s So Smart

Does the owl

get it’s wisdom

from the entrails

of her victims?

B.F.M.

Earlier Bird

The willow grove 

hoot-hoots 

before the cock crows.

B.F.M.

Coup

Dried pin oak leafs

wither till spring

when old regimens

are ousted by 

the brighter green.

B.F.M.

A.M. Guessing Game

Each morning I think: I know who I am. 

Then stumble into the bathroom,

look in the mirror and wonder:

where I got this awful wig.

B.F.M.

Shards

After I kissed you good-bye,

I made my ritual strong coffee, 

watched the sun crest the ridge,

watched her define clear cut 

but empty shadows.

Shattered ceramic shards

cut at my feet.

I cried over each fragment:

the handle’s curve in twos,

the bottom’s foundation in fours,

the walls that held in eights.

Bloodied, I did what I could, 

I got up did 
laundry, sorting, hurting.

B.F.M.

Amazon

From it’s high crested

bully pulpit, Amazon

makes recommendations:

Why beer Matters

&

Charming Shrew.

B.F.M.

5 Comedies

A machine that rakes sand traps.

A prayer offered to god.

A letter out of place.

Under estimating an atheist’s spirituality.

A machine that painting greens green.

B.F.M.

Burned Once

How will go for me 

when

stove top

gas burners 
are 

flaming high

and grease 
is 
all that I am?

B.F.M.

Assessments

Robbery:

defining someone 

with a words.

B.F.M

Ordinary Life

In the land of mumbo-jumbo

the spider reigns supreme.

Though his crown an awkward fit

everyone calls him king.

Webbing fates with tiny streams

our fates go unseen.

B.F.M.

Old Man Walker

I watch the old man

afraid of gravity,

shuffle with his eight legs.

I’ve never seen a spider 

move so clumsy, so slow.

B.F.M.

The Strike

This beautiful evening's sitting 
is better suited for a monk.

The quiet a paralyzing 
venom slithers 
away all good intentions.

B.F.M.

Status

Of the thousand quotidian
words to say, all I can
muster is an anaemic
smiley face.

B.F.M

Giddy-up-pony

I like when her hands 

slip into 

the small of my back

like a giddy-up-pony

at the county fair.

B.F.M.

Tether

Once, I was sure, but lacked 
leaf's courage to let go.
Now, I fear the wind.

B.F.M.

Cookies in Action

Beautiful mature women

looking for honest,

wealthy man. 

Click Now it’s OurTime,

before gout sets in.

B.F.M.

Not a Haiku

Words comma
  comma
  comma
  comma
word word period

Yes, I am fully aware that this has been done before. Think of it as a page, a meditation, a reminder on your calendar that says stop...forget your formulas, read the words. Then forget the formula of forgetting the formula forget the words. Crawl out from under your rock. Notice the shadows you cast and try not to stuff them into a bottle. Try not labeling the bottle.

Write 
word word word
return some words comma,
more returns, morph clever
verb nouns semicolon
return word. Pity.

B.F.M.

Aokigahara

Awakening doesn’t mean 

a lifetime of day lilies,

sometimes it’s an unbearable 

dense forest. Where 

pine limbs jerk under duress.

Heavily fruited bodies 

swing 

twist

swirl 

toiling to liberate 

bedeviled shadows

who’ve seen behind

the veil.

B.F.M.

All the Pretty Girls

In a mountain college town,

I, the elder, pose 

in a coffee shop,

a cliche scribbling 

notes for Mr. Poem.

B.F.M.

Bryers Cherry Vanilla

Emptied after two days, 
its creamy contents 
stales in
the whales belly
and he wonders why
he can’t shit.

B.F.M

Campaign Speech

He opens his mouth 
spewing 
a mosquito swarm 
that morphs 
from one ameba shape 
to another;

the harried cloud 
scampers toward 
Frog Creek
where
The Faithful gather 
smiling 
at one another 
awaiting this evenings 
amuse-bouche.

B.F.M

Betrayal

Though you say
the morning cock crowed
I was miles away.

B.F.M.

Love Poem 22,314

Mosquito bastard
loitering, piercing,
diseased, delirious.
Love.

B.F.M

Jealousy

Brown goo, 
sepia seeping 
under currents
squeezed between
teeth.

B.F.M

Abandonment

My rime formed
in formative years
is meant to keep you at bay.

My slick craggy shores, 
lack kindling or foothold
is meant to keep me distant.

My charm: 
trapped coolness;
glassy particles;
seething–hatred–remorse;
thick tarry dark matter;
belief in a Simoom fairytale.

B.F.M.

Black & Tan Lament

Click on image for a larger view.

Black & Tan Lament
16" x 20"
Digital prints available.
2012


Black & Tan Lament
Hollowed, on a barstool, 
Gladys offers you
the black & tan.


Remember what mother said: Share

Tipping Dominos

Losing morning after morning,

hermetically sealed inside a

windowed room 

crowded 

with ten foot wooden ladders

he rants his Poet-ness

atop a 

plastic footstool.

B.F.M.

Expectations

Betwixt two maypoles
light contorts, yet
I’m to walk up right
without support.

B.F.M

Earlier in the day I posted and image from my notebook, the before. This is the after.

Click here to see the before.

Before

scribblings. a look in my notebook; the birthing of a poem.
B.F.M.

Click here to see after.

Sunday Rain

I wasn't crying
then the rain came,
and we both wept in sheets.

B.F.M.

The Sky is Falling

Click on image for larger view.

The Sky is Falling
16" x 20"
Digital prints available.
2008

Artist: B.F.M.

This is a large olive befalling one after too many dirty martinis. Cheers.

Remember what your mother said: share.

Trail Map Lament

I found 
an old trail map
of yours.

The one with polkadots
and trails highlighted
in bright star pink.

Yet no matter how closely
I followed it, 

it

never 
led me 
back to you.

B.F.M.

New Bike Dreams

Click on image for larger view.

New Bike Dreams

16" x 20"
2012
Digital prints available.

Artist: B.F.M.

Okay, I've been jonesing for a new road bike.

Remember what your mother said: share.