First posted on August 5th. I am grateful to Mae Foreman for providing the awesome reading.

A sentence begins with a word 

or a condemnation of action 

capitals and gavels quickly fall 

emotions follow swift in step 

as bailiff's impassive approach 

begins a period of deep reflection

Narcissus gazed at water’s reflection 

unable to hear any Echo of Nemesis’ w...

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Raking autumn leaves 

the color of sea stars 

mottled on moist ground 

I watch them fall 

spinning slowly through blue sky 

as if the breeze was a tide 

ebbing and rising 

the rake feels like a paintbrush 

collecting color 

muddied by mixing 

into a fall palette 

a still life with fruit 

pears and apples still unblemished 

on branch attached 

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Today is not a good day

Today affirmations do not affirm me

Meditation is not mindful

Breath is not counted

Thoughts are not observed and gently let go

Today I am holding on to pain though

Misery is not strength and

I am not strong

Today doubt is king

Insights are blind

Realizations forgotten

Today is not a good day

There is blood on the window

Splattered lik...

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You know the way sound

carries across a field

at a park

where whistles signal

and balls bounce hollow

on ground and plastic

on paddles

and there are 30 conversations

"My daughter"

"Let's have dinner together"

"Hahahah"

a woman laughs deep...then a child

"Loook at meee"

and 12 geese rise and honk and wheel

and a little princess with a unicorn horn

scampe...

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and then there was the room 

and it was bare

and the bulb was bare that lit it 

and in the corner the man was bare 

his back was turned 

and he sat 

and he held his arms over his head 

crossed in front of his face 

and you could tell he had sat there 

for a while as you breathed

that scent of stillness 

that nothing had changed 

that time was empty 

like a ca...

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I hadn't thought much

about that one...

how the shadows

early morning

through the window

would change

if flat wall

were covered

with dark curved wood

but I watched

the leaves dance

on the grain 

of the gentle arch

and though they

were less vivid

lightless silhouettes moving

across heart lines

and life lines

of the gentle hand

of an old oak g...

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The maple leaves

have not yet changed color 

but they hang disheartened

limp and ragged 

their points all face downward

towards the earth,

scouting their destination perhaps.

The tree was in the shade

behind it bright morning son lit the firs 

whose needles had no future plans 

secure in their attachment

their community of coniferous contentment.

But the maples ...

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There is a certain light

which sits just on the edge of a cloud

more nuanced by the hues of blue sky

then the paler palletes of the further horizon

And you have seen the yellow flame dance

on the log 

whose sparks

rise and twirl into the deep 

crepuscular and cerulean blue

of summer’s twilight

And you have seen the golden 

grasses’ halo 

glow and circl...

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Why is the creation

not a story of tears

birth is pain

creation grief

the made is always unmade

the end waits

baleful and patient

There are two eternities of darkness...

The before

Before conquerors enwombed their seeds

shaped like the tears of women

and un-entombed lay the gray

detritus of the fallen

before ancestors were driven 

from hearth stu...

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The rain soaked vine
intertwined
branches and leaves
weaved
with fruit bunched and bark
dark

Scissors poised near bunch
munch
a few that pop
drop
in the bag the rest
the best

Soaked to the skin
grin
crouch down to see below
glow
of wet purple blush
lush

Buzzing all around
sound
not alone by the fruit
"shoot"
carefully with scissors clip
"snip"

Yellow and black strip...

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And if i said

that the breeze

lilting and chill

brought more evening peace

even than the quiet pools

of your orange-rimmed irised eyes

that the wasp buzz

near silver rim cider

hummed cool fermentation

of celebration more joyous

even than shower songs

wet and resonant

on love struck Sunday

that legatto triads

of birdsong

chippered away

at melancholy d...

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After the tall yellowed grass 
of late summer is mown 
white-bellied swallows 
Ta chi ci ne tas
pour from mud-daubed 
barn rafter nests 
to feast 
wide-mouthed in motion 
blue green backs
        shimmer-skimming 
with streamer tails 
         along insect trails 

We'd seen their babies 
stubbly bald heads 
raised above nest's lip
with flap-open mouths wide
three or four waiting 
...

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Bunch of shit, it...

wish I could quit it

Sucking in wind, it...

try to unhit it

Burning all round, it...

find what is lit, it.

Bitterness fills it...

trying to spit it.

Greediness grabs it...

wanting to split it.

Stealing from time, it...

the law is writ it.

Writhing in pain, it…

teeth on the bit, it.

Coming apart, it...

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One night in Seattle

listening to the blues

dancing with my friends

nothing much to lose

I'm not much for scripture 

but saw a heavenly site

danced my way over 

asked her if we might

she look me up and down

seemed to think it over 

I'm not looking for love she said 

but sure could use a lover

We danced until they called last call 

the band pack...

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If lights should smile from shadowed face 

whose eyes were darker still 

Would all not called to hallowed place 

watch with breath and thrill

If from within an armament

A flower petals drawn

would that not be a silent hint

of sun before the dawn

if silence were the loudest cry

we ever wished to hear

would all the tears that never dry

lend to us all some c...

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Words have power

this is what we need

I say words have power

this is what we need

we need

remeaning microaffections to fight

demeaning microaggressions

attention not detention

inclusion not confusion

acceptance at the school dance

because whomever you are

you are a star

with a seat at the table

you will go far

I can't find hate on the flip side of any...

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Heat lightning flicker flashed

paparazzi in fog drop draped dark

flash bulbs pop thunder

distant and static then

Morning rain rhythms

metal merengue

roof rumba

Rain is silent as it falls

until

pooling puddle gulp

leaf drip plip

splish splash splosh

at the end of its drop

We wait unknowing

the sound we'll make

after our descent

it's ech...

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Day's over time is done

We've done our work had our fun

Now it's time to rest our weary heads

I laid mine down 

To close my eyes 

I listen to the gentle sighs

Of wind and rain 

And big dogs on their beds

I think about tomorrow too

Of all the work I have to do

The lonely  time I won't see you

Except for your picture on the wall

I'm wondering if you think of me

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Thick sticky dark earth from the dumped 

worm bin

lay unfinished on the old plywood

top

whose holes had let in the rain and

rat

I saw scurry into the Blackberry vines and

thorns

Stuck into the tar were cracked brown

shells

eggs whose casement was not easily turned to

compost

A hundred or more glisteny thin-walled

cups

cracked on counters or on hot edg...

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Before the before 

full fleshed 

flashing unflaccid

truculent and succulent

fully operational

green lights go 

full steam ahead 

cloned and cloning 

Retro-ductive

Simply synchronously

spawning creativity

exponential explosion

generator of generations

ideas and art

multitudes of melody

rapturous rhythms

amorous harmonies

symbols crashing away at

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Do you want..

No

o.k.   

What now?

If you disappear

How do I know you’re o.k.?

I'm never o.k. Even when I'm here

o.k.

There was a white snowflake

And another

On the black wool sleeve of your jacket

And they nestled there - thin black fibers like eyelashes

resting over the now liquid edges

Can I…

I don't think so.

What if …

Not right no...

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I used to think...

"I really should"

"If only I could"

"If only I would"

I used to wish...

she liked me more

I wasn't poor

I was more hard core

I used to dream...

that I could win

hang with the crowd that was in

and of course

be strong and thin

but all I dreamed

and wished and thought

filled the room but couldn't be bought

they left no...

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A translucent blossom 
caught in a last sunbeam 
sang softly to me …

of dewy morning 
when rain bound droplets 
slid along arched anticipation 
of winged visitors 
that brush softly 
past sticky stamens 
the pitch of their audible flight 
rising and falling 
as beating wings 
gauzy in motion 
buzzed gently 
against alabaster anther...  

of high sun heat 
when colors blend 
and...

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Have you ever noticed

how the moon punctuates the sky

brings attention to nuanced expression

of cloud and star and changing light?

OOOOOOO

Full moon declarative of periods of definitives

Of war of love of crying coyotes and coppertopped men

Of midnight beaches caressed by silver tip waves

Lit forest trails leading to open glades

Where deer dance while

fairies ban...

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We are

waiting in Winslow wondering 

if the crossed wires

arcing across the way are metaphors

for miscommunication.

If when we said, “Left at the roundabout,”

as a desired direction

a pedestrian intention

not a strictly mechanical turning

of automobile's wheels

whose irrational ratio

of covered distance to perceived measure

goes on without repetition

If we ha...

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green...

the moss, the grass, new spruce shoots,

 feathered leaves impossibly delicate against their rocky base,

the brush in river valley,

the lime painted passes 

below the scree seen 

from far away…

contour and shadow, sun and cloud

outlines of ridge lines

above grey above green

holding islands of trees

and swaths of unmelted snow

colored by pink and dripping...

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What lessons are taught by landscape? 

The teachings of texture

A Curriculae of contrast.

Granular granites

Seamed and cracked

Reflecting only the light but not the color of sky.

The heat of the fire

The crush and lift

Immersed in ice

The endlessly becoming less

Pulled down and discarded

Mined, shafted, abandoned

Hollowed by others

Landscapes of loss

Waiti...

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Standing next to the lectern

listening to the clear soothing rumbling

of the Creator's voice, God of that story,

thought carefully crossing the intersectionality

where lines of truth and arcs,

arches of perspective

entangle to create a visual rhythm

in which other stories

circle and circle

back to beginnings

of desire of destiny of dedication

Hearts are heavy ...

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When I travel I tend to count things

Plaza de Mayor arches

Miles and hours

Money spent and 

Potential penury

It is not that the number matters

I see the difference in liminal light

Hear the lilt and length of the language

Unfamiliar tastes eliciting pleasure

or the firm conviction of non-repetition

But I have always counted

Comforted by the finite

A li...

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We want the country back.

America feels like a cornered rat

trembling savage

desperation spilling

like rabid light

from frightened eyes

gone flight now only fight

time stopped

avenues of escape blocked

so

desperation becoming bullets

fear becoming cages

heat waves of hatred

trapped in terror

paralyzed in pain

America feels like a cornered rat

...

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Every song has a river 

every boat has a name 

every being has a purpose 

each purpose is the same

When I said I'd die for you 

I was really already dead 

those tears cried of sadness

were tears of emptiness instead

When you said you'd write to me

the writing was on the wall

I'm not really waiting

silence on a deaf ear falls

When I said I miss you

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A sentence begins with a word 

or a condemnation of action 

capitals and gavels quickly fall 

emotions follow swift in step 

as bailiff's impassive approach 

begins a period of deep reflection

Narcissus gazed at water’s reflection 

unable to hear any Echo of Nemesis’ word 

unable to accept any lover's approach

as arms became petals no action 

was taken and so ste...

Read and leave comments (6)

When in the pool

Eyes closed curled foetal

Slowly releasing bubbles

Sinking as the empty cavity

Of lobed life

Collapses in absence 

Internal pressure released

Perhaps humming to hear

The amplified sound ripple

Away Into heartbeat and silence

From that weightless state

One feels the joy of plankton

That never ask the currents

Where they are bound

But are ca...

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What if a color was lost each time a species became extinct and the myriad palettes that fill our eyes in gardens and deserts on mountains beneath water jungles no longer held that one unique vibration of chromatic energy as though the hued gradient of beauty surrounding us was a reflection a tally of diversity nourishing the potential for immeasurable evolutions within the countless revolutions d...

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A circle starts somewhere

Primordial and ecstatic

A spirograph of hidden design

A Mandala of movement

And we dance

Hopscotch and double dutch we dance

Fractal orbits we dance

Following the songlines of creation

We dance

Concentration, inspiration, presentation

Musical intonation

Counting with our heart

The sound of our feet

While the always int...

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I listen to the news but I got confused

I remember the frogs were dying and the sea stars Banda Aceh Fukushima Haiti Lennon was shot I saw pictures of men on the moon there is a singularity whose picture I missed along with the Taliban Boko Harum Joseph Kony there are geriatrics in Guantanamo who need to pee often and spit yellow phlegm into cups that can never be made sharp Castro died and rai...

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Because I think...

Folks want communication

Not figments of their imagination

Two dimensional, unfinished in creation

Draining their appreciation

Painful to their hearts implication

Bringing to what could be simple

Needless complication

Low level consternation

Endless perpetuation of some

Wordless penetration

Of what should be celebration

They want real tou...

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If a butterfly decided
that it wanted to be a caterpillar
that it regretted its metamorphosis
that it would trade its powdery winged symmetry
for a few more hours or days of blind gluttony
arboreal mastication
that it did not want to flutter gracefully
admired desired
but to slowly gelatinously contract 
precariously 
along rough barked branch
to be more slug than swallow
more mundane ...

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someone died again 

next bed over

light spilling across the sill

and spread 

voices in the hall 

softer than the TV blaring 

across the breezeway 

no flowers in the vase 

on the cheap dresser 

someone long ago painted 

green vines and red berries 

no picture frames of smiling children 

now gray who recently visited 

again introducing themselves 

again...

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I wish there were some way

 some other way 

some day 

some other day 

when the streaked lines of tears 

blown like raindrops 

slanting across yellow street lights 

were acts of abandon 

tumult of tumbleweeds 

scattering of schools of multicolored fish 

notes from a flute 

chasing their tails 

like kittens whose yellow eyes 

closed with perfect contentment

...

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the long-legged shadow woman
strode 
then suddenly stopped
and waited
to be dissolved in darkness
where she could peel away 
her black stockings 
to reveal and revel
in her naked invisibility
and dance without limitations
of time or dimension
dream beyond the flat surfaces
which so often held her form
forcing conformity
to their inclination
desire the depth of rounded space
orbits ...

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a little brown and white garter snake

lay on my brick floor

brought in by the cats

I picked it up to take it outside

and it lay still

it's markings were southwest woven

rugs from painted desert roadside stands

smooth and cool on my hand

tiny cloverleaf head

ended two spiral curls

of cool gauzy beaded rope

there are no signs of life

in small brick-baske...

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I had a poem

elemental in emotion

wind was anger

waters were tears

something precious was lost

like a necklace in the ocean

it was the work of time and pain

words said that couldn't be unsaid

unspoken thoughts that burned

not like embers but walls of flame

pondered but not ponderous

almost whimsical

like that remembered perfume scent

I had it in my pocket 

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Out the Door Medicine

First goldfinch of the season flushed 

from unmown grass 

along with other finches sparrows

and chipping chickadees 

southwest they mixed 

ones with steady quick beat 

and the gold with her push and pause 

push and pause 

as though she were giving birth to flight 

and the berries not black 

still mixed in with blossom 

green with brown...

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The feathers on the house are owl's

silent striated wing feathers

tucked into tile and rough cedar siding

the house is nocturnal

windows wide-eyed unblinking

sentient while others sleep while

full moon also wide-eyed unblinking

sees gathered clouds passing over

the moss on the roof is thick and quiet

bathing in rain and mist and fog

gathered clouds are also quiet

i...

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