Wednesday, August 21, 2019


three peaches sit upon the dining room table
waiting for something ....
four & twenty blackbirds?
plucked, frozen tender--a winter's secret
a peach crisp?
i heard recently that a true poet does not use images, photographs, pictures... art
that seems vapid somehow
damn, i am not a poet
as if i could write without fingers
the sound of this south-east breeze
to lay down words bereft of what it was that lead me here
here here here
i think i'll settle on the crisp
the birds won't settle down
three peaches sit upon the dining room table
          something ....
for a landing
a invitation
a room with a view of our wabi-sabi
oven warming to 350
clouds obscure the sun
as does liberation's smoke
can you smell it from here?
the peaches, not the smoke from fires burn
ooh sweetness rising
blue jay's summer passing
stolen naps with hundred year old quilts wrapping
time & traffic pressing in from windows dusty with choice

three peaches sit upon the dining room table
i am waiting for something

from a dream

The time she woke herself....
somnolent stirring of lash & limb
five thirty-two 
trembling with the weight of who she was 
with him 

echoes of blue jays--rain weary day 
stormclouds mask the dome of everblue
love drifts away 

sureness lies bare 
exposed to this hazed light 
no lingering of his amber ghost remnants 
truth softens the night 

golden the moment 
intimacy's grasp 
holy the bind 
release the clasp 

awake to fire
'neath willow & briar
drenched in August
becoming the thunder...

Monday, August 12, 2019

after the perseids on the plains

eastern sun upon the curly willow
green to green
as blue jay song lines the rising
a cool breeze
wakens trembling soothes the summer haze
a marked stillness bridges
from here to there from there to here
wakens trembles soothes
shimmers in the green to green of day