Sunny patch of grass
Glittering dragonflies hunt
Invisible meals
Tag: creativity
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
unity (20210426)
the bird considers the
worm
song
dew
grass
looks through the pane
of glass
me
this is an animal
and it doesn’t understand
that we are separated
by a window
i do not understand
that we are not
separate
goodbye message (20210425)
the retreating deer
leaves broken hearts
printed in the mud
what i saw in town during an evening walk near the water, but not too near as the tide was coming in (20210423)
horizontal haze
mountain obscurity
chopped waters
winds chiming
chained daisies and
freshly minted bunnies
bandages required (20210422)
blood
has memory
–i am told–
and holds on to old grudges
remembers the exact
temperature to begin boiling
–but has a few tricks
to lower the mercury–
rushes to the head
for the wrong reasons
thickens at the wrong time
turns poisonous and icy
and yet
still flows from every wound
the same color
the smallest
sharpest cuts
bleed the reddest
leave the thinnest scars
epitaph (20210421)
dead thing under the pier
i would mourn your passing
if you would identify yourself
you resemble an alligator
(but if so, you are far from home)
or some small, desiccated
formerly scaled dinosaur
washed up on the beach
luring my dogs under
the boardwalk
to roll in you
you are missed
ancient, stinking friend
and we are not so much
separated by millions of years
of evolution
as we are by a length of leash
and two lungs full
of salt water
web in the morning (20210420)
the morning sun
lights up a spider’s single strand
stretching across the trail
a filament bristling like glass
as bright as any fiber optic thread
it makes no sound
as i pass through
expecting the tight twang
of a snapping violin string
or the light bell ring
of breaking glass
filtered light (20210419)
i steady myself against
the rotten tree
it cracks
breaks
falls
carpenter ants scatter
confused by this
home invasion
domestic destruction
this kaiju of a man
breaking things as
he lumbers through
the woods
isn’t this always the way
loud
clumsy
bending nature either by
accident
or design
but never truly passing through
like sunlight
between leaves
