Category Archives: Poem
Reading poems– a bronkbuster, a recovered drunk, a morning iconoclast; all tell me: write something with velocity, not half fast. (Paul Zarzyski: Gordon Stevens; Richard Hugo: Hugo House; William Stafford: American Academy of Poets) Advertisements
My impatience robs me of my observance, but sharpens my pen. I slice my ego into quivering hunks of silvery fatback, sputtering in the skillet I heat with my heart. Shame fits me too well. I am only as good … Continue reading
Rain, rain, come and stay; all the green loves every day. Rain, rain, time to play. (iStock)
Pulled out of Tonopah at half-past last heading up ninety-five. Rocks were glowing—sand was blowing, saw absolutely nothing alive. Realized then: what did I know, is there anything real I see? This highway runnin’ in the dead of night is … Continue reading
A whirring tumble of notes; a small dark bird I cannot identify— no name where the song might hang. There is only sound. This morning arpeggio startles me. I find the singer on a high wire beak open, breath inflating … Continue reading
In what we call stink a wealth of information finds your active brain. (photo: *Toulouse as a youngster–jrs; *model for Bucket in Ochoco Reach)
We all want to shine– surely, the light from inside, each of us a star. (plant: imgarcade.com; person: alamy.com)
Low cloud off the sea envelopes everything, beading the dark stones. (shore: pixabay.com)
I think the word flit was invented by someone watching chickadees.
What is it about two o’clock, the bitching hour? Dreaded double-strike. The eyes snap open, no retreat from wakefulness– it’s just a poem.