Blog Archives

Times Geography

8/27/2014

I don't write many love poems, and it is a stretch to call this poem one. It is from my self published chapbook Searching for Cranes

Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. - Henry David Thoreau

Behind the waterfall,
reds and blues sparkle and shine.

Behind the rushing stream,
the rainbow forms and dissolves.

Leaving the illusion
the droplets flow downstream.

I emerge from the river.
Stride to dry land.

A fire of driftwood warms me.
Logs burned cannot grow again.

I cannot cross time’s geography to when
I held you tight, felt the beat of your heart.

I collect my belongings from your carport,
Leave my key, and float downstream.

Homeward

8/26/2014

This one appeared in my self published Chap Book, Searching for cranes.

Clouds above a dark shadow
Swoop faster than the wind.
Talons sharp as knives
Snatch a squirrel.
Red-tailed Hawk flies homeward.

All too soon,
Feathers, flesh, and sinew
Return to dust.

Only bones remain.

Vernal Equinox

8/25/2014

From my book, First Day, available from Finishing Line Press and from me.

Roots of trees sleep as seeds lie dormant,

await the bloom of Easter Resurrection.

Leo rises in the East, with Regulus,

the little king, they light the pre-dawn sky.

Scorpion in the South rivals Orion

as Antares, its red heart rivals Mars.

I bask in golden sunlight, take joy

In healing, grow stronger every day.

Steel Jaws

8/24/2014

Green frogs sat in reeds
beside my uncle’s house.
Each jumped with a started chirp
as I circled the pond, that October day.

Beneath the water I saw steel jaws
with small round platforms and
the letter “V” engraved in metal.
Muskrat traps, I would later call them.

Focused in the mystery of my young life
I would have caught those frogs,
but they were too fast for me,
too small for steel jaws.

Regaining Light

8/17/2014

There is only one route down here

Far deeper than any root can reach

Any side passage is a false path

A dead end with one way in and one out

Someone unscrewed the light bulbs

Plenty of juice, but I’m in the dark

Cell phone lights the way

I regain light at each stop

Orphaned Stanzas

8/13/2014

I deleted these stanzas from my poem Alabama Highway 75. They are very nice Stanzas, and I am somewhat proud of them. They simply do not fit with the rest of the poem.

Somewhere between Henegar and Ider

A perfect yellow blossom tops the most robust

Prickly Pear I’ve ever seen. It’s covered with fruits.

I’ve eaten the fruit of a Prickly Pear Cactus.

Quite tasty, but you have to separate

Pink flesh from spines or get sore lips.

Farm ponds adorn the land along this highway

If I owned land that pretty, I’d put a pond on it too.

I’d stock my pond with bass and channel cat.

August 13th, 2014

8/13/2014

Nature is my muse.

I feel like a caterpillar

As I lash myself to a twig.

Collect no dust here

In my chrysalis.

My words burst forth

As a moth with feathered antennae

Leaves a cocoon.

Its life of a few days

Burns bright in my poem.

The Zen of Writing

8/11/2014

The pen and the writer are one.

The page and the writer are one.

The keyboard and the writer are one.

I am the ink I spread across the page.

Doubt

8/10/2014

Squash all doubt.

Retain an even temper.

Muscle tone returns

With preparation for the future.

Phoenix born of fire

Must smell the ash

And singed feathers

Before flying free.