poem 61

how fine this rising day

yet unexplored 

full of night's blue chill

poem 60

verdant foxtails rip skyward
knowing within without doubt
that dire drought parches its way east
pushing whispy damp mare tails
too high for rain to fall
too high to wetten whistles
they know seedtails must germinate
and swell and burst full and fertile
and dry and fly and fall widespread
like the coming secretive fires refusal
to reveal searing conflagrations ahead

poem 59

this day i fell into awareness knowing holding realizing

a year of biscuit baking already slipped past

and only as i whisked almond and hazelnut and barley flours

with more cinnamon and nutmeg and raisins than seems decent

the quick flipping fork clicking on the metal bowl ringing anniversary 

closing the music studio the first batch of biscuits and disbelief

the first deaths already numbers behind the eyes dying on screen

boring jagged memory holes in my heart in millions of hearts 

this day honey bees return to tiny purple maple flowers 

and hummers to the red and white salvia 

and peas stretch a row of promises in green pods

like our broken hearts our voices made silent our dashed dreams

our loses and brokenness hope coalesces in breathdaring whispers

poem 58

tiny rose slept all summer as if dead

with stubborn dull twigs and stillborn thorns

but autumn cloaked her stiffness in red going green

on winter solstice she birthed a single white furl

somehow she refuses wilting and welcomes the new

year’s somnolent sub-freezing days and cracking nights

she embraces the icy sun’s slowly stretching yellow lights

poem 57

what’s the use of hiding

ubiquitous things beneath

wealthy sodden privilege

torn grey selves in a ragtag

coat of colors           [o joseph]

[what we despise we sell]

[our jealousies sated]

[enslaving only to find]

[ourselves enslaved guilty]

[hide it all away]

[as if by denial we are innocent]

toss all things on a cracked

creaking pine table

discover what lies

beneath that’s the bind

and rub isn’t it          [o mother mary]

                                [grant us mercy]

                                [behind locked white]

[doors dusky roses writhe]

[petals falling sweet crows]

[forgive our deceit]

[our grievous faults]

plundering hard red burns

softing blue intent away

what no longer asks

grieving questions

no longer cares       [o jason]

                                [give us a myth]

                                [a winged ram’s golden fleece]

                                [to cover our nakedness]

                                [give power and authority]

[ignore our sins]

[our murderous greed]

children and children's children

of fallen sweet crows

churning wings singed strong  

panoramic calling 

calling justice home

poem 56

i was once a girl alone

walking freezing dark streets

avoiding the broken men

crouching and coughing

by the cracking creek

unable to outstrip

myself

poem 55

Regret

Sometimes the long line knocks,
shoves aside the dusty boot holding
down the threshold barring the door,
where the other dusty boot scuffles acrid
stale billows—thought left behind—rolls
between wobbly, oddbodkin knees shaking  
with demands thought better of and set carefully aside.
...
 
REVISION

Regret

Sometimes the long line knocks on my barred door,
shoving aside the dusty boot holding down the threshold,
while the other old boot scuffles acrid stale billows
that roll between wobbly, oddbodkin knees with demands
thought better of and carefully set aside.



(Thanks to Bev Lyon for the great revision ideas.)