Tag Archives: poetry
I believe: We are all miracles;Even the sun, someday, must die;The ocean is patient;Unfettered capitalists are impatient;All genders need love. Poverty doesn’t arise from a lack of ambition;Skin is a marvelous organ whose color is irrelevant to character;Forgiveness and gratitude … Continue reading
(for William Stafford) Your poems run the gamut;you have blessed us with musicof realization and understanding.Many of those poems were bornon your couch, lying on your back,looking up at your journal.Really? Their birth is asastonishing as their venerable lives.
The Road Takes a Break in Nakusp, B.C.
The breeze off Arrow lake sways the curtains in my room, robbing the ghosts of places to hide. The fan blurs the ceiling where peeled wallpaper casts vibrating shadows, like insect wings stuck to my leather. The confused air stirs … Continue reading
Here Poemy, here girl, here boy, hweet, hwheet, wheet… c’mon—atta girl, atta boy, c’mon. Bronkbuster’s muse is a dominatrix— demanding, abusive, beautiful, alluring, cruel, and dripping wet—smelling of sea and sagebrush. Mine is on cat’s feet, shifting shapes and sometimes … Continue reading
Under the Rug
Unbridled sadness sweeps me under the rug on the floor of oblivion, where cringing and standing tall are the same. My oceans are vast, my salmon are few, swimming with me under this rug; my heart is a defiant afterthought. … Continue reading
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)
A Poem Comes
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
Haiku: Rain, Rain
Rain, rain, come and stay; all the green loves every day. Rain, rain, time to play. (iStock)
Haiku: The Night Warms
Coffee sits swallowed at the top of my stomach; my brainstem is warm. (stock photo)
In the grey light before sunrise you examine the yard and driveway: sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff Snort! sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff Snort! The new light catches the focus in your eyes, much as it might catch the focus … Continue reading