bigly

Sometimes we rest quiet
as a pebble in river mud
or a ladybug pausing
in the course of her
windowsill wanderings.

Sometimes we roar
or yawn like the male lion
jaw-wide on the savannah
and from a distance
it matters none which.

Sometimes, when the stakes
are big, we act bigly.

Image result for male lion yawning

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sedoka* : lost love

the anatomy
of memory is subtle —
the parietal cortex

is linked by neurons
to the hippocampus through
networks of lost love lesions

 

*The sedoka is an unrhymed poem made up of two 3-line katauta with the following syllable counts: 5/7/7, 5/7/7. A sedoka, pair of katauta as a single poem, may address the same subject from differing perspectives.

A katauta is an unrhymed three-line poem the following syllable counts: 5/7/7.

Into a Season of Wind and Rain*

We are woken by thunderclaps
into a season of wind and rain.

Our thoughts are blown eastward
where they will be spoken one hour earlier.

Tomato plants bend and shake
within their cylindrical cages

That are open to the empty sky.
And so we turn over the days like compost

Amid rumors of a dramatic increase
in the volume and intensity of loneliness.

These days are marked by strangled cries
of stray cats cruising the cusp of night.

 

*August 2016

10 July* Haiku

south of Covington
place names like stage directions —
Crystal Falls, Spread Eagle

a wild turkey hen
with eleven little poults —
get off the damn road

snake, a long muscle,
a twitching in the tall grass,
I want to bite you!

late June thunderstorm
blowing like a hurricane
r  u  o  k  jo?

Jim Morrison is
a perfect anagram for
Mr. Mojo Risin’

Waldo Canyon Fire
45% contained
smoke beneath Pike’s Peak

Poonac is a dog
who appears too dumb to be
useful, or a boat

you are my flower
pale, verging on translucent,
blushing in the sun

deep blue sky above
red car for sale on green lawn
north to Michigan

fill me up, my God,
in the place I am empty,
joy overflowing

 

*2012

Radiology in Winter Moonglow*

These long December nights
when the world is enigmatized
in snow and the eerie moonglow

makes me feel as though I am
on the moon myself, a strange
monochromatic sensation like

x-rays of my past and future
selves with all their worn-down
joints and collarbone knittings,

I cannot help but think of how
it would be if you were here
with me and we could see

each other in this light, skin
and bones and all the dark
and secret places made light.

 

*December 2013