Happy Thanksgiving!
Too tired thankful to write a poem today, but I should be back tomorrow. Maybe it will be Haiku Friday. We will see.
Category: Poems
Poem 20141126
i see her through a sliding glass door
not sure how or why
only i know
in the logic of dreams
and madness
and fiction
that she and i shared a moment
a passion
and that shortly after
she died
but there she is
on the other side of the glass
smiling
happy
alive even though i remember
seeing her buried
i open the door
aren’t you happy? she asks
i came back
Poem 20141125 b
You raised your arms
To do what
Slips my mind
But that shirt I like to see you in
Lifted up
A tiny bit
Two inches
Revealed
Just two inches of smooth
White skin
Between the swell of your hip
And your ribs
And a cool gray shadow
Across your belly
Poem 20141125
winter
the new sheets go on the bed
flannel to keep out the cold
but still you inch toward me for warmth
seek out my feet with your own icy toes
and shiver
against my chest
Poem 20141124
feel the weight press down
into your back
let it merge with the muscles
until you don’t know if
the strength
comes from your back
or from the weight itself
ashes ashes we all
we all
Poem 20141122
Purple and white
The buds nestle
Among green leaves
Waiting to open
Poem 20141121
Hey. it’s Friday. Let’s try a haiku.
Every teacher assigns these little jewels to their students because they’re just three lines, right? and you just have to have the right number of syllables. I know after reading them and reading about them that it’s not that simple to distill a single moment into something so compact. But I love haiku.
on this cloudy day
the hens loiter near the coop
while a hawk watches
Poem 20141120
these grey clouds
and cutting wind
make me think of summer
and hunger for something
hot and thick and heavy
i wish you were bread
and butter so I could soak you
in gravy
Poem 20141119
one summer
when there was nothing going on
my step-dad
needed help with his business
because things had backed up
he cut lawns
pulled weeds
with a bent back
hands knotted from arthritis
and a wheezing cough that
would kill him
in twenty years
he could hire a day laborer, he said,
(okay, he said Mexican),
but the last guy
had tried to unclog the mower
while the blade spun
and sliced a finger in all that wet
green grass plugging up the chute
don’t do that
he said
just turn the mower off first
so we cut grass
edged lawns
and the sun rose early and hot
and the grass stayed wet and rose high
and i got paid almost nothing
which was fair
Poem 20141118
These dark pixels
Resemble
Splotches of ink
Themselves poor substitutes for thick, heart-heated blood
These pixels
Dance down the screen
These blackened bits of light
Whisper into your ear
With a hand pressed warm against your shoulder blade
The fingers light upon the rise in your neck
With a tickling breath on your cheek
And a meaning that you can feel
Crawling inside you
Though you can’t make out a single
Word
