Tuesday, December 18, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (25) 


Winter
wind

against
the house.

Light and
darkness

in this
moment.

Something
ancient

seeking
entrance,

something
ancient

pushing
back.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: When 


When
everything moves

nothing does.



THE MYSTERY 


The mystery is
out there, in

a universe
beyond my

understanding,
not here in

this home-made
thing, the poem.



Monday, December 17, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (24) 


Long light, this
moment; then

evening's shadow.
Dust or snow

on the wind
all the way

to morning.



RANDOM DECEMBER (23) 


The last
star, a

long
way past

zero.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Not Perfection 


Not perfection
but patience.

My eyes follow
the coyotes

into the trees.



TO TELL AS MUCH 


Well, yes, I want
to tell as much
truth as words can

carry, yet truth
itself knows
only as much

as the grass
in hard wind
can offer.



Sunday, December 16, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (22) 


A slapping winter wind.
How cold it will be
when the stars come out.



RANDOM DECEMBER (21) 


December.
I cannot
remember

summer sun
in her hair,
the color

of its light
towards evening.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Not Morning So Much 


Not morning so much
as the sun off

Buffalo Creek
in my eyes with wind

and the tears which
come from loving

this world too much.



THAT SUNSET 


That sunset,
the horizon
far from that

farm grove.
All these years
not knowing

what I wanted
is beyond
understanding.

Some of it
this side of
what is seen.

Some of it
the other.



Saturday, December 15, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (20) 


The sun is behind me,
the wind in my face--
a December thought.

I have nowhere to go.



RANDOM DECEMBER (19) 


Wind chases the shine
of sun off the ice

on the river. Deep down
something loves darkness.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Oh, Yes, Our Friends 


Oh, yes, our friends
the coyotes are

methodical
taking her apart,

the dead cow
along the creek.

Blessed Lord,
they say, thank you.



ONLY FOR 


Only for
so long

the silence
between

the notes.
The song

demands
the song

go on.



Friday, December 14, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (18) 


December wind.
The poet being true

has no time to
catch his breath.



RANDOM DECEMBER (17) 


The wind makes sense of dust
and of leaves in the trees.
Water makes sense of mountains.
The light knows all, without
the need to think about it.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: The Cricket 


Ever so
lonely
against

cold autumn
the cricket
stops as

I pass.
We know
the end

is not far
off. Yet
these tears

are wind,
friend, not
sorrow.



MYSTERY 


Mystery is not
hidden. It stands

as naked as
its skin allows.



Thursday, December 13, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (16): AFTER THE SNOW 


Listen.
The streets

are saying,
Don't go!



RANDOM DECEMBER (15) 


Old man
aches. He

thinks
he no

longer
knows

what ache
is not.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: You Can Say 


You can say
you saw seven

coyotes cross
the field, Tom,

but who would
believe that

a hawk went down
on something

right this moment.



THE LINE 


The line
is what

makes the
poem

believe
itself.



Wednesday, December 12, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (14) 


Who walks with
God walks alone
in this snowstorm.

The world goes down 
to its oblivion.



RANDOM DECEMBER (13) 


Without the darkness
we would not know

the return of light.
Nothing is given

that is not blessed in
a turning season.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: The Coyotes 


Some things
looked for

can't be seen.
The coyotes.

And then
two of them

come for you
out of the

blindness of
your side-eye.



WHAT STARTED AS A CRITIQUE OF MS. ROSE'S POETRY 


If every poem
has cicadas
you've got a

problem. Though
I admit to
wind and darkness

in very many,
and birds and grasses
and hope for light.



Tuesday, December 11, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (12) 


Tracks in
the snow.

Even
the birds

are walking
today.



RANDOM DECEMBER (11) 


Harsh sky
and snow.

Everything
today.

Nothing
tomorrow.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: The Poet Goes To Work 


Almost like a priest
kissing the stole,
putting on holiness

for the moment
in these hills with
the coyotes, with

the cottonwoods who
yesterday let go,
leaves everywhere,

and who, today,
let him let go.



EVERYTHING / THAT RISES 


Everything
that rises

enters that which
wants to take it.

Morning is as
morning does.

Each moment,
the sun

coming up.
Touch it.



Monday, December 10, 2018

RANDOM DECEMBER (10) 


Glitter of light
in the ice
on the window,

the wandering
souls of all
the lost fireflies.



from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: What I Know 


What I know is
that I don't
know anymore.

Everything
I see tells me.



CROWS/FLYING 


Crows
flying flat.

Sun, yes.

Wind
at their back.



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.



Sunday, December 02, 2018

from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Who Walks These Hills 


Who walks these hills
knows wind and sand,

knows the grasses,
the sound of cottonwoods

in the distance,
the small birds singing,

the chirp of crickets,
what God meant, saying

Let there be light!



ONLY FOR 


Only for
so long
the silence

between
the notes.
The song

demands
the song
go on.



Saturday, December 01, 2018

from The Wishin'Jupiter Poems: The Old Man Climbs 


The old man climbs
a sandy hill.

They are brothers,
this man and the

sand: they are
both stuff of the

same dead stars,
but reconfigured

somewhat differently,
at least for now.



IN THE SEAMS 


In the seams,
the creases,
at the margins,

what we know
we cannot know.

The silence
of wisdom.



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