happy fat wet
he beats his wings
falls into the water
head dipping again
and again
the rain drew his
morning bath
and now there is enough
calm and sunshine
for a short break
From swallowing worms
so much joy in
so much joy from
such a small package
of feather
bone and
song
Tag: artist
drivel (20220403)
this space
intentionally left bank
n’est-ce pas?
the itch (20220402)
my gloves in my pockets
the mosquito an uninvited guest
another sign of spring
songs of twilight (20220401)
it’s me and the dog
we listen to
slow cold lazy
rain
drops
dropping
in the woods
the last birds sing
saying goodnight
and spring frogs
sing the evening is young
both unseen
not just because of
poor eyesight
low light
poor visibility
their voices
are enough
transparency (20220125)
i see through my reflection
in the bathroom mirror
and think that maybe
the wall behind me
could use a towel rack
having stood up
from throwing a spring
in the trash
an operation requiring
a bend at the waist
my head separates from
my neck
and my opacity melts
i live my life
with this same heart
beating in my chest
this same heart
that couldn’t get enough
oxygenated blood
up and into my fat skull
a single bar or a double bar
breathe in breathe
let the heart catch up
plan
rain and berries (20210819)
surprised joy at seeing rain beads
on my new raincoat
fresh sweetness of wild blackberries
tree swallow (20210430)
at first glance
you appear blind
but this is soot in your eyes
or more specifically
soot in the feathers
around your eyes
the how of your home invasion
interests me less than the what
of your search
i have been told
you build mud houses
in the chimneys of
other’s houses
(mine also mud, of a sort)
without regard
to updrafts of hot air
or safe escape
rejoice!
you allow me to release you
to cloudy skies
you shit on my hand
in parting
which is probably
the most common
way to say goodbye
to a savior
waiting (20210429)
we will wait
for the apple blossoms
to swell, pregnant and fat
and will not tire of
apple picking time
when that time has come
at last
there will be a time for pie
and even piemaggedon
will not slake my thirst
and when the last ones fall
the bruised
and insect ruined
the deer will feast
and thank us
with little piles
of presents
tide and time and fire (20210428)
the log on the sea
doesn’t remember the axe
but it knows the bitter cut
of icy salt water
the salty sea
buoys the log
and doesn’t know the petals
of flame within the wood
waiting to be released
at high tide
there is little chance to
to wash ashore
at low tide
it will be swept out
among the seals
and the gulls
maybe
another beach
haiku of exhaustion (20210427)
how can this month drag
with only thirty days
these poems need to end
Words and Feathers 