Poetry & Prose
Wednesday Morning
Our day star has chased the night stars away. I sip first coffee. Caffeine rustles my senses, I hear a bird in the pine tree. So much news I must choose to ignore to briefly maintain this pleasure.
Presence
Don’t flicker about, about this, about that, linger hard, rest nearly close to completely, a sponge in the sea of the world, letting, like god in the first days, allowing what is to be to be e x p e r i e n c e d, a sign of inscrutable presence,...
Seems
"Let be be finale of seem." The Emperor of Ice Cream Wallace Stevens My life is fine, not bad, okay. Yet sadness heaves heavy. The surrogate world oozes deputized artifice. The real real is disregarded What seems is credited reliable. This is cause enough for grief....
Touching a Horse
Today I touched a horse. I haven’t touched a horse in seven years, then at a country fair, before, on a farm. I no longer live in the neighborhood of horses. The horse fly, who lives closely with his namesake, enjoys the intimacy of annoying horses. Over millennium...
SOME CONSTRICTIONS MAY APPLY
Have you noticed, as the world opens up we get smaller? Seems to be the case. Does expanding vastness scare the mind, causing attention to shrink back in fear. A wet wool sweater on a warm summer day tightens with comfort as heat wicks moisture away. The danger of...
Afternoon Stillheat
late afternoon stillheat gathers on the underside of grass leaves stillheat sinks in oak roots lingers in the labial folds of roses stillheat hides in bits of silicate shining quartz the ant carries the burden of stillheat on its back stillheat cools in the wake of...
BOXES
We live in BOXES. We BOX the earth, we BOX each other. We even BOX our bodies. We build a world of BOXES to contain - restrain – maintain – and then refrain – from climbing out of BOXES even when our BOXES BOX us in. Sometimes we think outside our BOX only to...
Vulnerable
The wren, nervous at the feeder, pecks looks pecks looks picks a seed of life and looks for lurking jays. feeding feeling not safe a jitter of glances.
Coming to Our Senses
“When coming to our senses, what senselessness do we leave behind.” Flavian Forte (1327-1242) The world of sense is nonsense, so the metaphysicians say. Yet when Plato felt a chill in the academy, he did not unroll a scroll. He put on a sweater.
DEEP
Everywhere you look is deep, the stone and flower are deep, as are the rambling ant and the menacing mosquito. On the corner of Elm and Main crossing traffic forces you to wait. You notice hands on a steering wheel of a car passing by another occasion for deep, seams...