poem 37

missing you        you in particular
[evolving brilliant microbe shoved
a hundred mile gap indefinitely]
returning late into our siblingness
how very much twinness we share
seven years and a brother between
still an elephant patiently waits betwixt 
our puzzling still math holds sanity none 
and one magic zero late comer making 
algebra possible alchemy of numbers 
potions we drink to hold onto ratios λόγος
fibonacci spiraling gears angling arcs
geometry of love

in midst of soul jarring sickness
death’s madness steps aside as you
ever so gently lift from the rich damp
black womb and peel back hardened
bean hulls [who else would dare] so 
sprouts beneath might stretch unfurl breathe 
outdated seeds or not you risk love
ere all else so much so that knurls of age 
release your fingers momentarily making 
joints supple enough to aid birth
between zero and one lives chance
mystery defines love as unquantifiable
infinity within infinity

poem 35

before sun climbs her ladder
and casts herself about
she sparks cresting oceans 
and horizons arêtes go gold
her red highlights illuminate
and call out churning cobalt
she defies pretentious shade
and night white mares go out
 

poem 34

wake late dull tightly conscious
reality constant slips in disrupts
startles characters at play
on my unconscious stage
who dash off into hiding fluttering
rim crumbles beneath the leaden
weight of the new neighbor’s
yellow porch lights on all night 
every night as if to ward off
what drove mother and wife 
to suicide mere weeks before 
desperate home buying moving 
in a dazed purple rush fragmented 
planting of new starts hoping
spring’s gushing blush grants 
green shoots push through fertile 
slate ashes sodden by myriad tears 
stifled violet sobs hidden away
in the silent house not yet a home

poem 33

things distract
tear apart fragile
ethers where muses
while away dreaming
                 april 24

poem 32

fire season coming
trees hug our home
i cut out dead branches
slash away tall grasses
catch poison oak while
love her shining glory
though flying specks slip
the safety mesh crowding
out spun up rock shards

invisible viral scourge
whips us and our beloved
grounds jets scrubs the sky
brings silence solitude
blessed animals freely wander
but our dreams go terribly wrong
horror greed pestilence despair
no safety mesh crowds
out spun up deadly shards

                             april 23

poem 31

digging mounds
rather than
making flat

planting round
pumpkins beans
climbing corn

greening gulch
holds us all
sacred bowl

        april 21

poem 30

four inch brown fiber pots
hold three perennial hopes
one young green artichoke
for each dormant ensemble

children instruments excitement
locked out as am i
our band room a silent
cold dark vacant block

baton hidden away
in a brown leather case
no cellos no basses
no violas no violins soar

no sousa no gershwin no zacatecas
no brass no woodwinds no drums
rouse the town echo in the elms
the stream and birds sing without us

                                                      april 20

poem 29

this spring belongs to honey bees
i have no idea how bee decisions
coalesce and come to fruition
i only know that the maples’
shimmering magenta petals
a buzzing confluence of bumbles
and wilds and tames and Anna’s
hummers fell
and that gestating seeds now deeply
sleep above fringy vibrant sprouts
last year’s bloomy hopes come
i only know I hear the low pitched
thrumming of swarms settling in
for long months of honey making
imagine birth coming to wings
in a dappled hexagonal universe
stretching spreading damp membranes
dancing at the hive’s mouth quivering
first flight how bright the sun
how wide the bowl of blue

poem 28

Bahman Mohassess. Untitled.2010. Assemblage. 
Copyright© Estate of Bahman Mohassess

blind egret at the beach longs
to sniff salt air but lacks nostrils

longs to taste scurrying red crabs
she lacks a mouth she’s deaf
to the thrumming of their tiny claws
to the rustling surf somewhere beyond
measure where eggshell sands merge
with flat horizons of shifting lapis seas

she cranes her tightening neck
her gray breath creaks crackles

she only senses the wind whisking
her feathers into scuffled ivory lace

she's never known any color
other than the touch of wind
northerly blustering cobalt indigos
dreamy cerulean westerlies
southern turquoise drenching rushes
and spinning cyanic easterlies

cracked slate fills her throat

like her     i with no warning stopped
by a viral slam crashing on my shores
...

with thanks to Rooja Mohassessy
for sharing the photo of her uncle,
Bahman Mohassess's art during
the 2020 Sierra Poetry Festival

poem 27

supposedly secure
carefully planned
birdfeeder hung
due diligence done
intention to thwart
lovely inventive
fluffy grey squirrels
gloriously fails

poem 26

set teaching down
a few hours empty

pothole on a rocky bend in a riven road

hoping
for soft rain


....
or in this form...
....



set teaching down

a few hours empty

pothole on a rocky bend in a riven road

hoping

for soft rain


....
or in this form...
....

set teaching down a few hours empty
pothole on a rocky bend in a riven road
hoping for soft rain

poem 25

mixed up beans sprout in a jar
too big for a one hand grasp
lays sideways on a white tile sill
under creamy orchid blooms
protected from rolling away
by a thick broad deep green
leaf draping her orchid self
over slim pale miracles
overnight in three days
teeny emerald leaves push
sunward even after my
clumsy wet hands nearly
drop them and their universe
to shatter in the stark
enamel cast iron sink
i chipped yesterday when
the resolute dutch oven
slipped from my wet fingers
[one thoughtless act
initiates another's demise]
I rubbed the nick as if
doing so could restore
purity perfection oneness
just how I rub my icy nose
as if doing so could make
young my aging heart
this tiny chip irrefutable
like the brilliant deadly virus
reminds me be careful be
daring be grateful be loving
be grieving be fair give life
give hope make right inequalities
even if only in tiny chipped steps

poem 24

tuesday day lost herself

Poem 23

sun drenched morning
leaves shining face east
buds blooms cradle bees
even hummers sip maple
nectar feather ones sing
oaks tassels sway toss pollen
mourning doves grey tunes
sink in    halts    reminds
invisible ones still grip
illuminating disparities
poor           rich
color          white       
crowded    comfort   
disease      ease

Poem 22

after seventeen turns
gifted tiny maples so slender 
i prayed their survival
thickening soulful trunks
branches unfurl vibrant
fill miraculous skies
bursts of miniscule magenta 
host honeybees
companionably share
tender nectar mist
while vigorously singing
humming vibrates my skin
when i stand beneath bows
fluttering crimson tipped
verdant stars caress
eternity consoles
pouring peace
on dark night fears
beyond moments
beyond years

Poem 21

these crowded times too many talking spurts
do not trust hefted shoulders puffed out shirts

look to weary wisdom born living truths
racist class chains choke poor sicken die first
living obscured in polluted jammed urban pools
striving desperate essential needs denied
food shelter water soap air life

soul rigored pale bloated suits steal cheat demand scam
safe and far from frantic efforts rainbows practicing love  

Poem 20

opened the cupboard
wishing for solace
for something different
for lost magic

a forgotten beloved cup 
has edged itself front and center
teetering now as if crashing down
from so very long ago

so delicately beautiful
so perfectly weighted
red and black
on cold white

Haida’s elder, the bear
stares at me and calls
from north and west
where spring now bursts

where i once wandered
the watery land of seals and clams
of herons and flounders and salmon
of berries and rainforests and deer

Poem 19

today an unexpected
simple kindness 
blessed me 

Ephemera 3

Been waking with this poem rumbling about when in half sleep—middle of the night, at dawn. It slips in while I teach music lessons (now online—a strange experience—making a living in this pandemic). This poem has oft appeared over the years, in remembered bits and pieces, but never daily or multiple times a day—day after day and week after week. So grateful for it, for Emily Dickinson's work overall, for waking up alive. Sharing it, because we need hope in ways none of us ever could have guessed. Sharing it not for the sake literary analysis, but for the sake of love of others. 

... 

"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all

And sweetest in the Gale is heard
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Emily Dickinson

Poem 18

today is biscuit day
oil not butter
[saving butter for joy]
on toast on noodles on rice on biscuits
    kneading as meditation
    baking as prayer
    eating for strength
    breathing gratitude

today is biscuit day
powdered milk not milk
[saving milk for joy]
on cereal in coffee with biscuits as nightcap
    opening as meditation
    pouring as prayer
    drinking for strength
    breathing gratitude

today is biscuit day
love not withheld
[sharing love as joy]
in silence in talking in housework in isolation
    smiling as mediation
    patience as prayer
    listening for strength
    breathing gratitude

today is biscuit day

Poem 17

two canadas
noisily careen
wildly crash
water mirror
ripples awake
glance away
two canadas
silently disappear
beneath willows
wavering bows

Poem 16

angels trembling
on the head of a pin
beyond calculus
the fallen numbers

Ephemera 2

Simply Haiku, a wonderful quarterly online journal is now archived so that poets, and those who love short form poetry, can read many, many Japanese short form poem genres (haiku, senryu, tanka, haibun, renku, and traditional and modern haiga), essays, and interviews.
http://simplyhaiku.com/

Poem 15

july lumes sleeping

bumblebee clings underside

star thistle bursting

Ephemera 1

less is more
—a meditation...a practice...a way of being
Emptying busyness allows a vacuum in which art might form or not. 
Fall into the abyss. Awaken looking up at the distant starry sky.

Excerpt from Part 3 of W,B, Yeats' The Circus Animals' Desertion

... Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

————

Perhaps build a ladder of bones tied with rags

Poem 14

hidden singers midst oaks
delicate tassels bloom
dream summer acorns
squirrels curling fluffs
warm enough content
with one more morning

Poem 13

before dawn's coldest hour
black rains drum raucous
verdant blooms burst
songbirds cheer 
daylong deluge
come light ravens play
soaring winds celebrate

Poem 12

four shards
obsidian on a white sill
four directions holding steady
unseeing hand casts one off
unnoticed until direction sought

years ago
pendant on a wooden sill
bear claw silver turquoise
lost in a solitary fugue
never warming my breast again

Poem 11

old school looms red
bricks slick storm swollen
angling eyes hollow
white bound

plum and cherry blossoms
bright on black twigs
droop above dented daffodils
yellow eyes blinking

distant dusky blue mountain
dark in her ruminations
bleeds fines from the bases
of three towers piercing

Suzan gone 
i miss you
the bright coppers  
of your soaring words

your wild raven hair   
thick as wisdom
luxuriant as love
luminous

Poem 10

the moon 
a sliver past full
tonight hope slides 
on breeze tossed 
lifelines

Poem 9

the cougar follows
i know this
our rigid neck hairs
uncontrollably quickening
breath heart pounding

you push close
tightly to my calf
your ears up rigid
we walk slowly
as to not wake chase
birds stop singing
no clip of doe or fawn or buck
all stand frozen
lifted noses quivering
sides dripping dew

i dare not turn to see
none of us run
knowing chase ends
in gnashing fangs
ripping claws