Apr 13 2017

microcosm

busy
and the days grab me away
from the paying attention
to that color, that lilt,
that perfect light

one breath

one moment

take it in

notice

this is what matters

this one fleeting second
of pure, silent beauty

remember

.

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Apr 12 2017

the geese are on the move

and i am still right here

these are the words
that ring through my head
on a hamster-wheel day
when running in place
feels just as exhausting
as covering distance
and all i really
want to do
is fly

.

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Apr 11 2017

soldiering on and
other maladies

in the garden there is a tree that leans
oh so far to the right
(from where i sit)
and i smile at the audacity
of this refusal to break
this will to survive
this pugnacious affront
to convention

i write poems about age
(or simply think them)
understanding that crooked
is a different kind of tenacity
and the temerity of youth
is just blossom

mostly i remember
the silence
of a morning
meant for forgiveness
and the stars on that night
we walked to saturn

the birds eat berries
left long on winter branches
gone sweet with the yearning
to be free

.

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Apr 10 2017

calyx

spring comes and the birds start singing

and that’s not poetry
it’s truth in a dress
made from hope and hybrid dancing

but we wear it on days
when the swamp
spills over
and
every tiny miracle
understands the word survival
and thrive becomes the promise
of tomorrow

less season
than rebirth
perhaps even
a holy transformation
or simply life
refusing
to go gently

but the birds learned all this
long before Plato
and that
in a word
is
poetry

spring comes and the birds start singing

.

.

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Apr 9 2017

just sing

of your outrage and your joy
your frustration and your ploy

your glad-to-be-alive
or about-to-take-a-dive

the mystery of light
and the hollow of each night

your complaints and your praise
of survival and spent days

the youth that was lost
and the parody of cost

just sing

.

.

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Apr 8 2017

snow, drop

clinging hard to the dance of dawn, delayed

and you can lie
belly up to the cold grey sky
letting go of all fear
til the hawk comes tapping
on one shoulder

nothing between us,
no shield,
no field,
nothing filling the corners
with debris

just these bold
reflection curves
and mist-mirrored
smiles

holding court
in a forest
of fancy

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.

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Apr 7 2017

where we are going,
where we have been

and are they
one and
the same?

the questions roar
and the answers
take flight

and the trees just
stand there

growing

.

.

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Apr 6 2017

the way you stand so tall

in the mirror of everything
sky raining down around you
in a pattern of potential
with the fortitude of grace
dripping cold from
squared-off shoulders
as if sunshine
could be ordered and
magnificence
presumed

.

.

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Apr 5 2017

before the sun

the dog begs for food and i
warm my hands on a first cup of tea

it’s quiet here, in that pause
just between night and day
and the tulips grow
into all things unspoken
with pursed lips and
petty promises
i’m forever
falling for
because
dawn and now
are not the same thing
but when petals whisper
of hope and holler
who would i be
not
to listen?

.

.

.


Apr 4 2017

tunnel of light

or if velvet could fly

and the way i watched that hawk
yesterday
brushing a new painting
of sky

as i tried to write a poem
that was not about death

and smiled at simple
impossibility

.

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