don’t worry, little red…
we don’t have those here,
we’re safe from all that.
wolves and lynx pad
the mountains anyway.
…tie a bow in your riding hood.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
the blonde strawberry
(a poem for B.D.)
At the coffee shop -
At the coffee shop -
fee find faux fumbles: pull out
your wallet quick: see who pays!
let’s buy cookies from Heidi
and feed the wild geezers.
your wallet quick: see who pays!
let’s buy cookies from Heidi
and feed the wild geezers.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
missed connections
he cocks a 14-carat eye at her (she of course
cannot) and then for fourteen seconds
a co-ed gang of Brewer’s blackbirds
settles by the fence. but don’t try to look -
you have already missed them – and already
with no drumroll at all, fresh-baked twilight
is coating the landscape. it must be time
to call it another day (for dawn chorus comes early)
cannot) and then for fourteen seconds
a co-ed gang of Brewer’s blackbirds
settles by the fence. but don’t try to look -
you have already missed them – and already
with no drumroll at all, fresh-baked twilight
is coating the landscape. it must be time
to call it another day (for dawn chorus comes early)
wake up call
it is the crack-the-windows-at-midnight –
but-burrow-under-the-covers season
and time to pull awake from dreams of
public transit and airplanes in wind shear
to slow the heartbeat and listen and notice
what’s here, what’s now, like who is talking
in the lilacs - “spink! spink!” - and to check out
the quarrels of starlings and the little
domestic sounds of water bubbling in a pan
and of tea leaves taking the big dive into
the mug with a poem on it. it is the crack
of midmorning and the cusp of leftover
winter storms; it is the exact center of
nothing much upon which hangs everything
but-burrow-under-the-covers season
and time to pull awake from dreams of
public transit and airplanes in wind shear
to slow the heartbeat and listen and notice
what’s here, what’s now, like who is talking
in the lilacs - “spink! spink!” - and to check out
the quarrels of starlings and the little
domestic sounds of water bubbling in a pan
and of tea leaves taking the big dive into
the mug with a poem on it. it is the crack
of midmorning and the cusp of leftover
winter storms; it is the exact center of
nothing much upon which hangs everything
A monsoon malingers on...
It started several days ago
with great fluffy flakes of snow
and has been interspersed with
"sucker holes" to lure the
winter-weary, afield...
Ranging from drizzles to
downpours to sleet covered
streets run slick with flows
my gutters are full of winter's
debris cluttering my mind.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
attitude adjustment
you know, you can
hear no speak no think no -
or you can choose
to gossip like a chickadee or
blather like a blackbird. so
here’s a suggestion: turn off
the news for once, and go
feel for your own sweet self.
maybe you can get a new lease
on your very own life! however
you decide, treat it tenderly -
don’t void the warranty.
hear no speak no think no -
or you can choose
to gossip like a chickadee or
blather like a blackbird. so
here’s a suggestion: turn off
the news for once, and go
feel for your own sweet self.
maybe you can get a new lease
on your very own life! however
you decide, treat it tenderly -
don’t void the warranty.
half sonnet for fish
down valley, another muddy overflow
takes over the stream, the field, the road, and
everything - or very nearly. so here's
the question: do fish wonder when the sun
will come again? do they whine about that,
never thinking of the anglers who see
it all, whenever it does? safety in silt --
and gritty clouds of Wallowa sluiceouts.
takes over the stream, the field, the road, and
everything - or very nearly. so here's
the question: do fish wonder when the sun
will come again? do they whine about that,
never thinking of the anglers who see
it all, whenever it does? safety in silt --
and gritty clouds of Wallowa sluiceouts.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
who pays? (half sonnet for mischief)
up there on the mountain the hired hermit stands -
boxes of cheap beads and fake bear claws
at the ready, dusty from being recently buried in
a nice dry hidey-hole. here comes a tourist,
a local, a friend, an innocent with no guile.
who gets the goodies this time? will they pay
in cash or credit, goods or services, this or that?
at the least, look 'round for a dollop of pure amusement.
boxes of cheap beads and fake bear claws
at the ready, dusty from being recently buried in
a nice dry hidey-hole. here comes a tourist,
a local, a friend, an innocent with no guile.
who gets the goodies this time? will they pay
in cash or credit, goods or services, this or that?
at the least, look 'round for a dollop of pure amusement.
Friday, April 8, 2011
not yet
in between snow flakes
signs of spring
stop go yield
to the sunshine or
the yet to be it’s coming
maybe in august
signs of spring
stop go yield
to the sunshine or
the yet to be it’s coming
maybe in august
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