Saturday, March 11, 2017

Quantum Wave Adjustment Kit



Being you is
Barefoot at 
Night rejoicing
Where beach fires
Compose wishes.
Being me is
Years ago noticing
How pliers
Look like fishes.







I have tinkered with this poem a long time. Posted it most recently seven years ago  and noticed it got shorter every time I wrote it. So this time I abandoned meter, which was getting troublesome, in favor of an illustration. Went out to the pumphouse and fetched my vicegrips, which are close enough to pliers to serve ably in a Quantum Wave Adjustment Kit. It also needed some anatomical labels, which meant attempting a webcam Geodoodle. Poetry is hard work!

Sunday, February 12, 2017

Earnest Squirrel


He seems so much in
Earnest, tries so hard
To say something in our
Yard --the woody end--
Where the creek begins
Its bend into the stars. 
He scampers, rests--
Under a message too
Large to bear-- but
Stays near, charged
By the universe to
Share what it wrote
In his mind:
Be afraid --I am afraid.
Universe is enormous,
Full of forces that form
Us --be kind, be kind. 
  

Saturday, January 21, 2017

Sub Rosa 2

Storm grows.
Two winds in
Colliding clouds
Combine above
A rose   --secrets
Retreat in shadows.

Thursday, December 22, 2016

Solstice



Oncoming rain.
Overhead a
Herd of clouds sails
From sunset and
Tree frogs sound
Like castanets.
West creek curve
Echoes a chance bit
Of blue between billows.
Something in me knows
Echoes and chance.
It sways me, I move.
Madam Earth, I believe
We have a dance.

 

Sunday, December 4, 2016

Travertine Revisited

When my longtime friend, Willie, read this poem 8 years ago, he wrote a comment that was a poem in itself and joined the one I wrote: "Why does this remind me of some of your... poems from some 40 years ago? Perhaps it's that focusing down through layers and layers of existence to what turns out to be the pebble."

Layers and layers of limestone sediment and time is pretty much what travertine is. But there's more. There's light and life and ages snagged in this mineral that is also a recording mechanism. You take old limestone and polish it right in a rockgrinder and you get snapshots of old forests --and, in imagination, scenes of prehistoric life. My favorite bit of travertine got doodled again last year and recently used in another blog. Here is the rock (upper left), with its real scene of million year-old tree trunks in it, and my doodle of imagined dancers below.


Here is the poem:

Travertine

Eyes of creatures long gone
And what they saw are
Caught under crystal
From solution--
Light of other days compressed
Into stone, deposited
Here and there--
Their tongues lapping
At the surface of waters
Long since turned
To desert.
Here, amid red,
Green, yellow are
Black veins in
Travertine that tell
Of seas, rivers, lakes
Come and gone,
Prairies carbonized.
There is much to read
In a pebble. 
 
 

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Back Porch Poem

Grampa's pistola,
A watch --gold-- a
Rule of folding brass,
A netting shuttle I
Watched, when I was
Little,  get whittled
From shingle under
A shady tree sees me.
Grandma's scissors parked
In Portuguese cork,
A box of pins,
This is how settlement
Begins: someone
Builds a shadow,
A shadowbox, and under
Glass each soul looks
Out, out of the past,
And in reflection
Sees outlines of
Things to be --like
Us, like you and me.

Saturday, November 5, 2016