Sunday, December 09, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (9) 


The tree's
long shadows

point us
towards

the light.
It's winter,

yet there's hope.



RANDOM DECEMBER (8) 


Water-color sky
hard as iron,

cold, unforgiven.
All the light

hidden. Morning's
meaning is

left unspoken.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: These Are My Footprints 


These are my footprints
I'm following back
to the house. You go
out, you come back. What
the wind takes returns.
What you give, you get.
Go out and come back.
Find a way to home.



CALL HIM STRINGBEAN 


Call him Stringbean,
crow on the road

with offal dangling
from his beak. One

foot, then the other,
his strut, meaning

"It is what it is.
Let's eat."



Saturday, December 08, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (7) 


How the evening
comes, sullen --

light gone out, like
a dead man's face.



RANDOM DECEMBER (6) 


On this
winter

landscape,
cardinals

spattered
like blood.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Such a Loveliness 


Such a loveliness,
wind in the grasses,

the soft rim of hills,
a heart like that pond

full to overflow.
If you can't find it

here, you won't.



THIS HAWK  


This hawk is
every hawk;

this mouse
every death

everywhere.



Friday, December 07, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (5) 


All their leaves
gone, the trees

have nothing
to say to

December.



RANDOM DECEMBER (4) 


Where stones
the snow

melts. Heat
of summer

in them yet.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: The Morning 


The morning
winds down

beneath
a lowering

wind. I have
done nothing

to deserve
any of this.



HIGH WIRE 


High wire act,
the poet working

without a net.



Thursday, December 06, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (3) 


Autumn
packed up,

a sad
accordion.

Winter's
music is

otherwise.



RANDOM DECEMBER (2) 


Does the sun
sometimes wonder,

as I do,
is it worth it?

Another
grey day.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Poetry at Wishin' Jupiter 


- for Karl and Suzanne

Out here among these soft hills,
the poems will write themselves.

When you can't think what to say,
listen to the sky, the grasses.

Listen to the cricket. Then,
if you wait, patient, the wind

will tell what you need to know.



IF THEY TAKE NO POET 


If they take no poet with them
to Mars, who shall keep their memories,

who shall make and say the poems
they will need like oxygen?



Wednesday, December 05, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (1) 


December.
The light

comes later.
Snow

will follow.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Nothing I Say 


Nothing I say
to the grasses will
make a difference.
Everything they say

to me, somehow, will.
And the wind speaks
through them, and the wind
means business. It says:

You are smaller than
the sky. You are smaller
than the cricket. Smaller
than this grain of sand.



OUT OF A WEB 


Out of a web
of which the words

say themselves.
The poet bolts,

surprised, for the door.
All the way home

the piggies going
Wee, wee, wee.



Tuesday, December 04, 2018

from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: A Pair of Hawks 


A pair of hawks
white of wing
underneath,

taking the wind
where they want
above these

grasses, looking
for the hills'
hidden creatures

or simply looking,
as I am, again.



EVERY MORNING 


Every morning
this morning.

Somewhere to be.
Something to do.

Grey sky. New snow.
The wind and everything

slanted. Disregard
the omens

at your own peril.



Monday, December 03, 2018

from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: You Go 


You go
far enough
the world

goes away
and
the world

comes closer
than you've
ever seen it.

You just
have to go.



WHERE THE HAWK HIDES 


Where the hawk hides
in this greyed light

is where the poet
finds his hope.

You can't pretend
it doesn't matter.



This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?