Monday, April 22, 2019

SILENCE 


Silence
is a choice
you make

and noise
never rhymes
with promise.



Sunday, April 21, 2019

POEMS / ARE NOT 


Poems
are not

broken
birds, are

not dead
coyotes

along
the path,

though the
best of

them might
keep such

scents.



Saturday, April 20, 2019

MY WORDS 


You think
my words

don't know
they can

only
point at

things? That
is what

they love,
pointing

at things.



Friday, April 19, 2019

POEM AS WEAPON 


Stand back!
he says.

This one
might be

loaded.



Thursday, April 18, 2019

PUSH 


Push, says the one
in front of me.

We are marching
on a cliff and

facing the sea.
Push, I say,

as I am
supposed to.

Push, says the one
behind me,

and I do.
Push, says the one

behind the one
behind me,

and he does.
This is how it

ends, and how it
will never end.



Wednesday, April 17, 2019

IF WE WAIT 


If we wait
and are patient
we are

given to
know: as evening
brings its

sharp darkness
extinguishing
the stars

our breath will
catch, yes, in that
last hard

moment the sky
undoes us.



Tuesday, April 16, 2019

THE FIRE 


The fire that light
is was a piercing.

Let us be blessed
with that again,

that first imagined
star, its brightness

undiminished.



Monday, April 15, 2019

ALL OF EVERY 


All of every
creature, Lord, God,

if you are, there
you are, and

there I worship,
lifted by spider

and fly, snake
and all the crawlers,

orioles, cardinals,
the lowly sparrow,

the squirrel up
and down my tree

and the hawk
which would take it,

the mouse, the owl,
the wolf, coyote,

and all the dogs,
the cats big and small,

lions and tigers
and bears, oh my,

elephants, and whales.
Follow these, I say.

They will lead us
to the only

heaven we need.



Sunday, April 14, 2019

A STORM 


A storm
rolls through. Soon
a slow train

will come
from that same
direction

working
just as hard.
These days are

like that,
repeating
patterns each

different
and the same,
shaped, re-shaped

empty
containers
waiting to

fill, and
waiting for
us to fall

into
the awe the
world offers.



Saturday, April 13, 2019

SILENCE IS 


Silence is
always

where
it was,

I said,
meaning

that, though
we move

from here
to there,

the heart
does not.



Friday, April 12, 2019

IF YOU FIND ME 


If you find me
in the sounds I make,
or don't make,

then you know my father
was tight-lipped, not
given to wasting

breath; and you know
there was a grove
and west of the grove

hog chores, and west
from there, the sun
going down on

a terrible
longing, a wanting
more than chores or grove

could settle. One
could not, standing
in it, know what that

wanting was. So,
if you found me
in the sounds I've made,

then -- please, I ask --
tell me what it is
I've been looking for.


Thursday, April 11, 2019

PROPER SUBJECTS OF POETRY 


Love and
loss, the
only

proper
subjects.
With love

it's a
song of
praise for

the world's
goodness.
With loss

more an
unresolved
chord

waiting
the last
right note.



Wednesday, April 10, 2019

THE POET'S WIFE SPEAKS 


That's all
he does,
she says.

He plays
with words.

They play
with him.



Tuesday, April 09, 2019

RED-TAIL 


Climber of sky,
watcher bird, high

and lonely flier,
winged death. Like

the poet, speaker
of what must be

spoken, you are
doer of what must

be done to make
this world our home.



Monday, April 08, 2019

WHAT DO WE LEAVE 


What do we leave
and for whom do we
leave it? Words are

all they are, just
words, though some of them
tug the heart when

set just right. If
you've been moved, you are
one of those for

whom I've written;
and if you keep it
you may find your

way beyond the
darkness. For this is
what I leave, a

promise there is
more than this, more than
this emptiness.



Sunday, April 07, 2019

THE TRAIN 


There it is
again, the train
working

its way from
sunset to sun-
rise, horn

a warning
to anyone
who might

want to cross
the night in front
of it,

who might have
business on the
other

side in this
long and lonely
darkness.



Saturday, April 06, 2019

THE POET'S WORK 


To stand
inside

the shadows,
he says,

hoping
to find

some hope.



Friday, April 05, 2019

NOTHING FLIES 


Nothing flies
in this long light,

or shadows do.



Thursday, April 04, 2019

HOW IT BEGINS 


How it begins
and how it ends
is easy enough.

The hard part is
what's between.



Wednesday, April 03, 2019

SOME POEMS 


Some poems
are cups

you fill;
some are

clay you
shape to

cupness.



Tuesday, April 02, 2019

HOPE 


Hope
is the cup

you put your
wanting in.



Monday, April 01, 2019

POEM 


Sometimes words.
Sometimes wind.
Sometimes nothing
but silence within.



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