Bad luck

May 1st, 2007

The window would have been the quickest way
were my double not waiting for me,
hitting back when I rammed the glass.

I was broken and scattered,
swept up and thrown out.
My double was caught.

They must have been after him instead.

(Poem)

May 1st, 2007

A bucket carried to the well
Might find no water there
Or find it poisoned like the air
After the first bombs fell.

Until the world turns its crust
Until it turns the waste
Until the world is replaced
Until we turn to dust.

But my surprise is joy each day
With water -clean- I fill
My bucket, crops, and family
until the last until.

(Poem in the manner of Emily Dickinson)

April 26th, 2007

As surely as the Daffodil
Doth prey opon the Bee -
As truly as the shaggy Dog
Will chase after the Flea -
As certainly the Termite is
Seducéd by the Tree -
So long the Days of summer to -
At last - devour me!

Limerick on Peter's

April 24th, 2007

The drive-in with hospital staff
Is the best place to eat greasy calf.
If you'd like some trouble,
Then ask for a double,
They'll give you two patties and half.

Sonnet on Peters

April 24th, 2007

Discovering our names had been defaced
Inside the Book at Narrow Gate, we cried,
But Peter Watchman would not find us space
Within and left us in the air outside.
Constructing there with rusty nails our shacks,
We raised a shanty town for souls unkept.
But hoping still for peace, unpacked our sacks;
We laughed and shared our dreams until all slept.

Awakened! Blinding angel builders come -
We cower, covering our ears in hands
For hammers deafen to convert our slum.
And hark! Hear Peter Foreman give commands:
"Aid, sleeping craftsmen, our advancing wall!
Make Heaven's suburbs; live in holy sprawl!"

(Haiku)

April 24th, 2007

Blood fills arms and legs
Warmed by the sky and awakes
The first mosquito.

(Rubaiyat)

April 21st, 2007

The day was broken east and over you,
And I imagine, broken in you too.
You darkened by the ash of your once house,
Your once friends sprinkled by the broken dew.

Sonnet on the deaths of passions

April 21st, 2007

In Oregon I saw a tree too bright
  To be a tree - it shined but shaded nought
  That I could see - of it I try to write -
  I seeking diff'rent places for these thoughts
Than memory which fades til glimmers cross.
  One story struggling for some fame, or peace
  When others fall back, not destroyed, but lost,
  So individually each is released.

Each failed hope about to die: return!
  To cauldrons where new passions are reborn!
  To fuel the ancient fires where dreams burn!
Know you're by nature's and by my truth torn
  And tossed into deep chasms to bestow
  Imagination's all-consuming glow.

Sonnet on the morning

April 18th, 2007

The sun's eye coyly peeks out from the sky.
  Imagine its lips forming flirty grin
  Reminding us it must soon leave again.
This dawn is just a tease - and I know why.
For tell me how this morning can be true
  If we see such dark deeds in this bright night?
  Prepare yourself for consummation's sight,
When only love is left of all you do.

The sun will truly rise high to kiss earth,
  Unblinding light consume the shadow's reign.
  Behind our eyes, beneath the rock and stain
Will break the one true dawn of nova's birth
  The first and final morning we will face
  Is when the sun extends this last embrace.

Rondelet on Oregon, in particular the Columbia River Gorge

April 17th, 2007

  This is enough
To pierce vision's rutted armor.
  This is enough,
That water's grass light shines the bluff
Above full barges. Be blind or
Shed these sights to see again, for
  This is enough.