forlorn (20181028)

crow
in the yard
digs through trash
among words
i’ve tossed out

it finds one with still
a little life
plucked from the ashes
of other
dead phrases

i feel the crow disturb it
through a pulsing umbilicus
that runs across a cracked driveway
and fragrant rosemary
with impossible blue blossoms

it runs under the door

straight into my gut

the word throbs in his beak
like a thumb-size mass of organs
wrapped in a greasy membrane

he will unseam this word
tear out the stitches
pierce it with his black beak
devour the marrow

it will become his

it will become his word
and on his black tongue
it will be his song
as he rises from the ground

i throw rocks at him
my loud visitor
to scare him away from
the bins
but he eyes me with contempt
and with my hard work
in his glistening maw
he takes to the air

i do not
pursue

his feathers are so black
so very like the night
and this

paper is so

so

white

First Printing

IMG_5996

I like to do things besides write, and I know I’ve posted at least one picture of my sculptures before. I have more, and really intend to add them. But that’s for later.

The above untitled piece is the beginning of my foray into printmaking. I created the original image by combining found sources in Photoshop and then transferring the etching to a plexiglass plate. The first two editions were in black ink, this and a partner piece in red. The entire effort is very process oriented and really requires you to be present. It’s very different from any other endeavor I’ve tried before. And a lot of fun.

what we reap (20161106)

it all has to be cut down
the waist-high grasses we
thought were wheat
but turned out to be inedible

there was no chaff to separate
no flour to be ground
no bread to be baked
but the unleavened
hardtack of regret
and false hope

——

for
as everything turns grey
writing prompts by J.R.Rogue and Kat Savage
4. What We Reap

Poem 20160408b

you are petals
and the scent of petals
haunting the tips
of my fingers
long after i have touched you

you are the rose in the morning
just opening to the day

the greater periwinkle
so like a star
so like the word twinkle

you are the hidden flower
at dusk
never seen but always there
the ghost of a fragrance

——

National Poetry Month
NaPoWriMo Day 8
Flower

Poem 20150513b

recycle everything
squeeze the last drop out
like you’re rolling up the end of
a tube of toothpaste
or wringing out a wet dishrag
use a spatula to scrape around
the inside of the skull
and your finger when the spatula
isn’t flexible enough
collect it all in a pile
so that you can sort through
the oozing grey matter
searching for any idea or word
overlooked
or not used to the point of
frayed edges and
blurred meanings

Poem 20150513

swiftly moving clouds filled the sky
our hands were coated with clay
as we tried to answer the question why
before the ending of the day

this thing before us, so like a man
seemed all but to move, yet lacking breath
stayed still upon the earth–you began
to mourn a life that could not know death

since it had not yet been alive
these tears fell upon its eyes, washing them clear
it rose and and walked and began to thrive
and faced the sunset without fear

and you and i, still holding hands
watched it leave for greener lands