A Few of my Poems
That Summer-
We dunked worms into the cool water
hoping as they dangled on weighted silver that the shadow passing under the bridge could be hooked and reeled We checked every minute or two to be sure- the worm still wiggling, the slightest jiggle an unsolved mystery We didn’t know that the hint of dark slipping through the rocks, hiding under the mossy underside of pilings was more patient than the nervous lines we cast. We thought our time was longer than the worm’s wait. Stand Still
said the river.
Watch this. I'll show you a magic trick I know. I'll teach you to see the world in little drops that plunk from the oak limbs. See? How they land one by one? Concentric circles that grow and grow? Then poof! They're gone. That's the world winking at you, then dancing away. On Van Gogh's Sunflowers
He must have held them in his inner eye, their petals on fire dancing in a heated swath around a center ring of deep orange and brown. He must have seen them pulsating in the field their eyes straining to an unseen distance In the dying light of summer, he must have tasted the hot incandescence of their flame, blistering to a point of coolness He must have swallowed the roving flashes of heat that ignited the swollen August air- uncertain where one burning ended and another began. (first published in Flashpoint) 
Wild Acre
Inside you there's an artist you don't know about
Jalai Ud-Din Rumi I knew you in the Wild Acre On slopes of wind, you were a feather Your eyes, like moss gathered on mountains The rhythmic rain beat through your fingers You were joy and you were sorrow Like a bird spread earth to sky (Poem first published in Parnasus) |
Nighthawks
after Edward Hopper's Painting
The big picture window of Phillie's Diner is a yellow welcome climbing out of shadow an island in the dream of three am. Phil is working the counter in white uniform, old as the place and polite as you please. You sit at the counter in your red dress, Your man sitting next to you- his fedora catches light on the brim- three am and you in your straight seam stockings and he in dress coat and tie. Late night conversation hums words warm as coffee contained inside of plate glass. This is the way it was- words liquid under glass, while the avenue was dark with stars. Hyacinth
Resurrected from under the skin,
the sweet belly of earth still wet with brown mud; when the last white bank is unveiled and green begins to seep into all the vines. Sweet fragrant buds, bells of lamentation that echo the cold petals of snow that had settled for so long underfoot. How they peal to the noonday sun! A remembrance of blood, the unalterable stirring. What you are Looking for
You can walk for miles,
walk until you wear out the soles of your new shoes, until you weave holes into both your socks. You can shop for hours in the discount stores that line the divided highway, buying toasters and yellow hand towels. You can carry these items with you for a long time and walk farther, more slowly You can watch the rose-colored second hand twitch under the watch face circling the glass dome You can watch for a long time and never find What you are looking for is already looking out from under the yellow eye of the sun from under the soft pearl moon and all of the stars, the tender Pleides, that hold your hand. |
Poetry by Poets Unbound
Available at Barnes and Noble
http://search.barnesandnohttp://search.barnesandnoble.com/Poems-from-the-Cranberry-Room/Poets-Unbound/e/9780595291557/?itm=1&USRI=poems+from+the+cranberry+roomble.com
Available at Barnes and Noble
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Poets-Unbound/Members-of-Poets-Unbound/e/9780595188413/?itm=3&USRI=poet%27s+unbound
