Tuesday, November 20, 2018

Random November (23) 


You cannot
see the wind's
blindness;

you can only
hear it.



Random November (22) 


Cold
November
rain, a

prayer
for the
dying.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Dead Cottonwoods 


What do trees
trees know of

being dead
except for

giving back
what the earth

has taken?



THE POET 11-12-18 (7) 


The poet like a man
with a hammer cracking

rocks. Sometimes he finds
it's only common granite.

Sometimes it shines like
sun in all directions.

You cannot know until
the stone is broken.



Monday, November 19, 2018

Random November (21) 


Oh, yes,
the water

still loves
the wind

and will
until

winter
chills and

smooths it.
Then the

wind will
love what

water
has become.



Random November (20) 


November's
code, something
secret

from the sun,
grey, of course,
lonesome.

We worry
we have lost
too much,

yet we don't
know what, or
when, or

what it means.
We don't know
whether

we should
even begin
again.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: What Measure 


What measure
but my stride,

the ravens'
dark flight,

the cottonwoods
holding to

what they know
of water.



WHAT IS THIS 11-12-18 (8) 


What is this
that we cannot

say, out beyond
where words are

uttered. Not
silence, not

emptiness,
the fullness

of wonder.
As if love

and loss live
at the edge,

with hope
between them.



Sunday, November 18, 2018

Random November (19) 


Where darkness
gathers

in the corner
of the stairs,

where the cold
collects,

and the tired
ghosts.



Random November (18) 


The monarch
butterflies

crossing
the border

south of here,
how the wind

has loved them,
how they

love the wind.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: October Moment 


Even with snow
on the ground,

the last grass-
hoppers of hope.



CHINESE LANDSCAPE IN WISCONSIN: NOVEMBER 


All the grasses tend to bend
the same in wind -- no reason

not to. Bending is the choice
to make when you have the earth

to hold to and the power
of wind is only passing.



Saturday, November 17, 2018

Random November (17) 


Remembering
the tree

heavy
with apples.

Too late now,
once again.



Random November (16) 


A knife
which knows

the vowels
of blood

is sharp
enough.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: The Poet Examines His Method 


Not movement,
the moment.

Stillness opening
the world. Being

there to see it.



NIGHT. DARKNESS 


Night. Darkness
wants to take

this old house.
Cold abounds

now, in late
November.

Wind pushes
at the eaves.

What assures
is knowing

this is what
we've chosen:

the warmth of
light shows out

the window,
tells the world

this is so.



Friday, November 16, 2018

Random November (15) 


November
rain, as if

we're not
good enough.



Random November (14) 


The others remember
sitting on Gramma's lap.

I remember sliding off.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Sounds 


The sound of a jet
overhead, of cattle

in their pasture.
Wind in the small grass,

you can hear that, too,
if you listen.



I SING LIKE 


I sing like
a crazy man

and the wind
sings with me.

Neither of us
knows any better.



Thursday, November 15, 2018

Random November (13) 


Again
the old pine
in wind

saying
an ancient
prayer.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: And Shall I Walk? 


And shall I walk
this walk tomorrow?

And shall I see
the world still shining?

Will I hear
the birds, the sound

of water moving
towards winter?

And if I don't, I did.
The birds know,

the water knows.
That's enough.


MONKS CHANTING 


Monks chanting
in the distance

almost as if
they're calling

Come home,
come home.



Wednesday, November 14, 2018

Random November (12) 


What the crow
knows he keeps

low. The grey
wash of evening

takes him home.



Random November (11) 


The grey sky knows
nothing of distance.

We are on our own.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Chance Upon 


Chance upon
the river.

Chance upon
the dead cow

the coyotes
have opened.

Chance upon
the moment

when truth
kind of stinks.



OLD POET SELF-EXAMINATION 


Even after
a lifetime
he doesn't

understand
what it is
he is. And

how can he?
He's always
last to know.



Tuesday, November 13, 2018

Random November (11) 


The grey sky
knows nothing
of distance.

We are on
our own.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Somewhere Coyote 


Somewhere Coyote,
old Crow's brother,

thinks this place is his.
I ask, May I share? 

As is his custom
he says nothing,



NOVEMBER WIND WITH GEESE 


Dark geese fly
against a dark

sky, the evening
darkening. Hard

wind pushes them
back, holds them

motionless.
Not the end

of the world,
yet they stay

as if it were.



Monday, November 12, 2018

Random November (10) 


A monk
banging his empty cup,

the poet
wants his coffee.



Random November (9) 


A poet
drinks his wine.

The evening
doesn't care.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: I Can Show You 


The rim of soft hills,
the river. We have sky

with clouds. We have
cottonwoods talking.

Otherwise the silence.
If you cannot find God

here, I can show you
where the thistles are.



LAST NIGHT'S DREAM 11-5-18 (11) 


Last night's dream,
more than

you imagine.
Your body

smooth like oil,
joy

in the morning.



Sunday, November 11, 2018

Random November (8) 


At
the end of the day

the end of the day.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: All I Know 


All I know
is nothing

when it comes
to speaking

with the red-
tail. Kii, he

says. Kii, ii.
The sky knows

what he means,
yet here I stand,

lost for words.



NIGHT SKY POETRY 11-5-18 (12) 


If you still
wonder

what it means,
look at it

again.



Thursday, November 08, 2018

Random November (7) 


A cold, grey Sunday.
The old poet
bakes his hard bread.



Random November (6) 


The holy grasses
wait for heaven.

We wait with them.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Things Are 


Things are what
they seem and

a deer trail
shows me the

way out and
back. You can't

ask for more.
Yet you can

still get lost
if you want.



WHAT THE POET HEARS 11-5-19 (13) 


Silence
in the stones 

where art
breaks his heart.



Wednesday, November 07, 2018

Random November (5) 


From the bottom of a well,
the whole world is stars.



Random November (4) 


Petals falling.
The last flower

forgets the rain.



Random November (3) 


Even a
bitter kiss

is a
promise.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Snow Begins 


Snow begins to
cover the world.

We are not
ready yet.

Not that what
we might want

will ever make
a difference.



HOW TO UNDERSTAND THE POEM 11-5-18 (14) 


Don't talk
about

it: just
say it.

Say it
again.

Listen.



Tuesday, November 06, 2018

from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: At Sunrise 


At sunrise,
light and wind.

The surprise?
That your soul

is older
than you know.



POET'S MIND 11-2-18 (7) 


Whatever loveliness
takes you, go.

It may not come
tomorrow.



Monday, November 05, 2018

Random November (2) 


The rain has
nothing to tell us

yet all night
we listen.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Mist 


Mist. Neither
off nor on.

The slow sky
holding it-

self mostly,
just this edge

of wetness.
You can see

where you're
going, but

you can't see
farther.


POEMS WALK 11-2-18 (8) 


Poems walk
sometimes

and I can
catch them

if they're
not faster

than I am.
God bless

the slow ones.



Sunday, November 04, 2018

Random November (1) 


Evening
takes silence,

leaves us
dreaming.


from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Who Shall Speak 


Who shall speak
of morning

this morning
except these

cottonwoods
and small birds

flashing on
and off like

signs of hope?



THE POET'S WORK 


The poet's
work is rough
copy, not

exact. This
world wobbles
in the wait,

blurs. And
mystery hides
in plain sight.



Saturday, November 03, 2018

from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Such Is the World 


Such is the world
that the trees know
when to let go.

Such are we that
we don't. To every-
thing there is a

season. The soft
hills in the distance
know. The cranes

know. Overhead
the sky promises
winter. Even

the small dark birds
will tell you: Let go.



LATE LIGHT 


Late light
against

the clouds.
The color

of winter
coming on.

You can
turn, you

can't run
from it.



Friday, November 02, 2018

THIS LIGHT 11-2-18 (9) 


Not every
day, but now,

which is here,
and in an

infinite
number of

universes,
there and there

and there, which
is now and

then and then,
all of them

shining.



SOLACE 11-1-18 (7) 


Solace is
slow and
sweet like

honey
on toast
at breakfast,

like light
opening up
the sky.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Oh, Yes, Beauty 


Oh, yes, beauty,
the blind sky, trees

losing their leaves,
light on the snow,

here and there grass
and dirt showing

through. You might think
this is enough

but the world has
just begun.



Thursday, November 01, 2018

from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Read Things 


Read things
for what
they are.

A hawk
is a
hawk

and its
hawkness
is all

we need
to know.



A TREE SPEAKS OF ITS FELLING 


You think because
the axe loves wood

I love steel. No.
Pain is why chips

explode each chop.
The distance to

the ground is a
slow eternity,

long stories I tell
while you wait for

the moment when
you think this stops.



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