Archive for the ‘2020’ Category

Dead Metaphors

Monday, April 20th, 2020

Four turkey vultures
riding thermals overhead
used to mean something.

2020

Mueller, Not Kerouac

Sunday, April 19th, 2020

City Lights Bookstore
I look for Jack on the shelves
Not as books, but air

(He’s there)

15 February 2020

When I Think I’m at Peace

Saturday, April 18th, 2020

Coyote loves digging me.
I follow him to the boneyard
again and again. In the quiet
I caress the bleached skulls
of my favorite mistakes.

I remember eyes moving
in sockets, lips, tongues,
each one very hungry,
headquarters of whole
bodies I thought were mine.

Arms and legs, fingers, toes,
vertebrae, hips all mixed up
as one. Guts are long gone.

He sits at my feet, panting
proudly like a lab who just
dropped a fat, warm goose.

Good boy, I say. This humerus
is for you. He runs away.

2020

Liver

Friday, April 17th, 2020

Life cracks you in half—
a stick for Prometheus
to bring you fire

2020

Normal Blues

Thursday, April 16th, 2020

I will mourn
the return to normal
when this slowing
this no going
is gone.

2020

Broken Trunk Aspen

Wednesday, April 15th, 2020

Broken trunk aspen
Gnarled hand parallel to earth
Offers fuzzy buds

2020

Crestone Mosquitos

Tuesday, April 14th, 2020

Thousands     hover             and crawl

all over           the sliding door

like alien         invaders

sniffing blood            through glass.

Tomatoes       are growing,

 Kale       and     mixed greens.

I will let them       go to seed,

held hostage              in my home

by mosquitos.

 They               gather                 in shadows

of rich                         foliage.

Armored         in full sleeves

and long pants          in the slow heat

of summer,                 I sweat,           reach in

to gather                    blooms.

I wince            at the whine                         a choir

of                                bloodlust.

I watch           a newborn’s mother

slap his head.                         His first

mosquito bite,            baptized         by a splat

of his own                  new blood.

End of July,    I can    finally

walk my dogs             without

mosquito net,        with bare       arms

and legs                under stars.

The                  stars shine          like the eyes

of mosquitos              endlessly

swarming       the night.

2020

A Juniper/Piñon Forest
Makes Its Case For Forgetting

Monday, April 13th, 2020

Dead branches, unneedled
Sprung early and low—
Trees’ oldest fond mem’ries
Suck vigor, spark glow.

2020

I am Handing Off My Children

Sunday, April 12th, 2020

I am handing off my children
to you. Yes, you.

Her burning lamps, fire hoses,
massive dogs, Deathly Hallows,
spring beauty, conch tattoo

His nose scratch, snowboard air,
peanut butter, Poe rib-quote, fractal dreams,
archaeologies of digital sound

His preschool tortilla recipe, flawless cookies,
sunset-from-the-stupa gaze, Mannaz ink,
poleless skis, dog whisperings

They have secrets you don’t know.
I can’t tell you. Earn them.

2020

Twelve Stay-at-Home Haiku

Saturday, April 11th, 2020

to honor my annual Poem-a-Day practice, one for each day I missed this month, plus an extra one for Dorell

How did I forget
National Poetry Month?
Better start writing

*

Phone plugged in, I sleep
No need to set the alarm
Work’s habit wakes me

*

Back ache, melted face
This couch my awful office
Thanks, Google Classroom

*

Delphinium grows
In plastic pots on my porch
They always stay home

*

Endless To Do clicks
Essays, artwork trickle in
Teach, reduced to tabs

*

Every other day
Shower or not to shower
I know by sniffing

*

State’s first phone alert:
Essential activities
Like walking your pets

My dog, Hank, agrees
Could have told me this himself
Without governors

*

Fauci, forgive me
I know now is not the time
To take up smoking

*

Cemetery trail
We walk, gun shots pow pow pow
Walking partners balk

*

Light one smoke a day
I tell myself, rationing
Then spark up stale butts

*

Speaking of stale butts
With so much time on our hands
We grab each other’s

11 April 2020

National Poetry Month?

Saturday, April 11th, 2020

Ten days in, ten feet from a friend, walking wide sandy roads out near the cemetery where ATVs and gunluvas tend to gather to shatter silence somewhere near dusk, I realized I forgot. How could I forget a ten year commitment to April’s Poem-a-Day practice? If you are here for some pandemically inspired, bored reason, join me in the challenge. It’s not too late.

National/Global Poetry Writing Month (Na/GloPoWriMo) offers great prompts each day. I haven’t checked them out, but I will if I get stuck. I’m not stuck yet, but it is only my Day One. I’ve gotta make up for lost time.

Here’s a link:
glopo2020button2-1

In the Study, with the Candlestick

Wednesday, March 18th, 2020

“How Parents Can Keep Kids Busy (and Learning) in Quarantine: as American schools close, parents are suddenly faced with the challenge of keeping their children occupied at home.” The Atlantic, March 16, 2020

 
Light catches in the dusty
window, crawls with juniper
shadows to night.
How slow we can go. How
many games we can play in one
day, week, months.

Cupboard forgotten cards
and pawns of childhood—
our own, our kids’—
sketch us just so, a study
of character, the revelation
and concealment

of hands, the microdistance
eyes travel to read motive,
intention, alliance.
Cardboard arenas of little
consequence: what we do, are
willing to do

to win, to lose, to anticipate
and thwart another’s loss
at personal cost,
to play and play until everyone
wins, everyone shouts YES!
at least once.

2020

haiku for my love
in the time of quarantine

Saturday, March 14th, 2020

love’s bright corona
our bed a microbiome
touch your lips to mine

2020

poetry is

Saturday, March 7th, 2020

reeds edging the ponds of my life

white blood cells fighting off my death

flock of black words dispersing in the distance

nerves netting a world of fish who can’t swim air

2020

Blindfolded

Saturday, March 7th, 2020

Wrapped up in ropey thoughts
on a sea rock
surrounded by swords

limber, limbic
in micromovements
of tension, relaxation

I inch my way out.

29 Feb. 2020