World Cup Sonnet

It was the summer of ’94 and

I remember it because it was the

year the U.S. was hosting the World Cup –

and up in Palo Alto the Brazilians

were dominating the games to the

rhythm of their metal drums & djimbés

and we could feel the energy coming

down from Stanford to where I lived in San

Jose, in the barrio and farther south

into Los Gatos – they were dancing &

celebrating : the pulse of the salsa

and the hard hard rhythms,

and the futbol.

And I would stay up all night in those days

& stand bare-chested on my balcony

overlooking El Salvador’s house and

he, waking up early, drinking canned beer,

watering his plants & shouting up to me,

Did you see the game last night? Beautiful!

In Los Gatos – all night, man! – the women

and Brazilians wearing the yellow and

the green – the colors of true champions

Palm Springs Sonnet

Originally published in Tule Review, Fall 2013 – Copyright © October 2013, Sacramento Poetry Center Press

Quest for the Holy Grail: The Sunrise in

Palm Springs, it seems so odd to me, by the

time 8 AM rolls around it feels like

one o’clock in the afternoon – All the

sun dresses and short skirts, low cut blouses

open-toed sandals and bare white ankles

I’m blinded by the sunlight streaking be-

hind the mountain range, rises so quickly

placing shadows in the queerest angles –

Suddenly the manicured lawn becomes a

dry and empty desert choked of any

moisture, save what they can steal from the north

to keep those golf courses green, the Devil

speaks in backward rhymes, It’s on the level

Billy Collins Read

@bcollinspoetry: @billywcollins

Billy Collins read

my tweet, this sun-filled Portland

day is now complete

#haiku

8 May 2013

Exhausted, or ... Why I Was Absent from Class, Sick Like a Dog & Was Even Forced to Quit Smoking, Sleeping 36 Hours in 2 Days, the Week of 9/11/01

Originally published in Reed Magazine 2002, A Journal of Poetry & Prose, Vol. 55. Copyright © 2002 – San Jose State University

timeless sleep, with rash

and fever, too much smoking

New York toppled me