Wednesday, November 14, 2018

Eleventh November Poem

another attempt

dip one resistant
toe into winter
gazing out windows
to hypnotizing
scrim of snow pulled to
pulled fro by currents
that confuse cold with
whipping wind beauty
blossoming against
barren backdrop of
half-stripped sun-lit trees

Monday, November 12, 2018

Tenth November Poem

God Delivers Five New Rules

1. Turn the water off! It’s way more valuable and rare than you can imagine, in a world where a faucet’s turn can bring a controlled flood into your home.

2. Speak less, listen more. I was very mindful when I decided on the ratio of two ears to one mouth in most creatures.

3. More hugs. Again, much can be explained by your anatomy. Use both arms.

4. Sing, play, dance more. Music is a special gift. Many talented musicians dwell among you; no need to spend fortunes on tickets to get a little live music in your life. Breathe that poetry in and out as you sing along, dance inside and out, in a room where you are close enough to see the musicians as they play.

5. (Ha, I got this one from George Carlin!) “Take a fuckin’ chance. You need a little danger in your life.” There will be the occasional broken arm, black eye, pain and sadness, but most of your choices are not even that dangerous. Get up off your ass and enlarge your world.

Ninth November Poem


my enemy is
like a heavy
coat that I
take off and
forget about for
all those warm
months; then when
I put it on
in the fall,
I find the
rusty knife waiting
in the pocket

Friday, November 09, 2018

Eighth November Poem

In Other News

the winter storage shed
with its intervening black hole

cannot fix
duct tape and a pile of dead leaves
for me to carry dawn’s pink clouds

such a short distance

I could walk on the wet grass
take vitamins
count wrong
still the grass may never be dry enough

I resort to sleeping late
alert to the fact that
the store that sells ignorance
is always
going out of business

ten crows scatter themselves
like flames rising from the soles of my feet

among pin oak branches

the broken bowl and mug
go for new low sale prices

nothing is simple

I am unable to wear shoes
but there’s that

black hole again

Thursday, November 08, 2018

Seventh November Poem

Energy Lessons

I am willing
to learn from
energy coming
my way like a
tidal wave. It
looks like chaos,
but why would
that shock me?
Instead, I wade
into it, try
to flow along
toward trees
on the far mountains
of understanding.

Sixth November Poem

Mary’s Number 7

Smiling as leaf
color lights up
kitchen windows, I
sense the sleek
insistence of my
cat whose fur
is unrivaled: soft,
clean, wanting to
be petted. Outside,
chimes resound in
wind that tears
color from branches;
their melody overpowers
fear. Yes, winter
is coming, dark,
cold, but I
can gather friends
around hearth, break
bread, make music,
stretch a smile
through the season.

Wednesday, November 07, 2018

Fifth November Poem

Wet Dream

Since our bodies
are mostly water,
and our world
is mostly water,
we should just
flow from here
to there. Our
cares should melt
away into puddles.  
We could drink
them down, sweat
them out, piss
them away. Simply
float on our
sea of troubles
as rain drops
bounce off windshields,
whirlpools of woes
circle around drains
across the universe.

Tuesday, November 06, 2018

Fourth November Poem

More Like a Rose

Be more like a rose: velvety, fragrant, soft
yellow or pink. Not striving, but waiting ‘til all
is right then unfurling like arms opening to welcome
the cosmos. In time, petals fade in sun
and air, cells collapse, change color, each
more poignant than before. No mourning, no thought about what
is happening -- just happen -- ‘til petals release, happy,
willing, and he scatters them across my pillow.

Sunday, November 04, 2018

Third November Poem

Can’t Even Choose a Title

Leaving behind expectations like fallen leaves raked together, then swept by winds, I have no hopes, maybe only a few fears about whether this apple peel is really a snake, that shadow actually a bear. Some I should pay heed to, perhaps… so conditional, my myriad emotions, unable to commit to even a feeling about emotions. Not paralyzed, though, nor dried up, still flowing over the spillway, under the bridge. Take from what is too much. Give to what is not enough. Move the gravel back to the driveway. Balance, not control. Redistribute constantly, since wealth, like the fat envelope of cash, has no end. Take no credit -- no ties, no strings attached, no neat bows of store-wrapped presents. Focus sharply on what is most present: saturated green of new grass in November’s slanted sunlight and absence of chickens.