SUNDAY AFTERNOON ALONG NORTHWEST BRANCH

Grilled meat carries on the spring breeze.
Families gather around picnic tables.
Children run in playgrounds
and in the grass along the river,
pick dandelions, skip stones.
There's a baseball game on one field,
soccer on another.
People stroll on the bikepath.
It's an all-American scene
with faces that are Mayan, Pipil, and Lenca.

IN THE CHURCH OF THE CYCLIST

I bow over the handlebars
in earnest contemplation,
the whirr of the chain my hymn,
the road my text.

Legs turn the cranks; rhythm
and repetition bring solace;
movement is reason.

In the toil and sweat of the ride
there is purpose; catharsis in the ache
of muscles straining for greater distance
and revelation of what one is capable.

A Routine Bomb at New Verse News

My poem, "A Routine Bomb," has been posted at The New Verse News. The poem was written after an unexploded bomb from WW2 was unearthed in the city center of Munich.  Unexploded bombs from WW2 are fairly routine in Germany and to a lesser extent in other countries in Europe.  The posting of the poem is timely as another unexploded bomb was found in Berlin earlier this week.

Many thanks to my friend, Petra Noble, for making me aware of the bomb in Munich last August and for thoughts and ideas that went into the poem.