Like waning moons hiding from stars
Pacing inside shadows just barely ajar
Tag Archives: poems
The Chant
Dippity do dah
My oh my
Such a wonderful day
Speak the candle
Lighting your divinity
The Purge
I want to burn it all
The filth. The scum.
The self absorbed.
The haughty. The vain.
The rich. The sin.
1st Day of Autumn
Hope has given way to reality
Peace has given way to war
Bounty has given way to dearth
Dry has given way to rain
The Ice Beneath
Dawn tipped ice and snow bunches up
Drifts over and across, freezing in place
Like the way dust finds the sexy curves
Of history eventually finding settlement
The Shadow’s Playground
What secrets lurk twisting in a storm?
A place for shadows to frolic
Upon shores of abandoned lighthouses.
Labels
There is love.
And a million
words and labels
for the absence
thereof.
Crawling
Like rust falling off
from sickle, scythe, knife
and beyond
Beginning to Fly
The sky is cold winter
Wyoming wind wailing
Nestled in the purple
Choking vacuum of forever
Ready to Burst
Inflation rising
Debt market ballooning
Misinformation proliferating
Covid at a fever pitch.
Song O’ The Willamette
Seek ye sounds and hear the collective bugle calls!
O’ osprey n’ lumbering locomotive bawls
Hear its honking trombone plunger muted feature
Garbled warble like the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher
Galileo
Like all the famous
astronauts and astronomers
who spent days
peering at the heavens
I’ve stared too long at the stars
orbiting inside your baby blues
to no longer deny that God exists
The Drought of ’22
The body of missing teen found plastered over headlines
Barely mentioned, the lake and its 500 year low waterline
A society that buries itself in fantasy buying virtual land
Will eventually realize that our bodies cannot drink sand
Prosopagnosia
Night and day’s tied faces to the plainly hidden
Double helical wrapped Christmas morning gifts
Opened up like halos when street lamps kick in
My Town
I’m an erect middle finger to the puppeteer
In valleys full of folks sick of California
Doing their damnedest to make California here
Born Shy
I live on the wrong glassy frosted frame side
Of a Norman Rockwell doctor visit painting
And the museum security staff roping it off
Nostalgia Is Like Herpes
Nostalgia is like herpes
The more we get screwed
The bigger the chance
We’ll find a reminder of it later
If I can just get through this….
My Hands…
Grasped thumbs
Cupped breasts
Rattled shakes
Played with dolls
Bounced balls
Jumped rope
Reached for love
Clung to sun
Armistice
Work is just a nervous glance, and a .357 under the desk
And the wafting smoke snaking out from bosses’ mouths
Memorialize this armistice between slave and charioteer
Between the elite few riding and the multitudes run down
Good News
She fell upon my hardcover
book on the lives of caterpillars
from a wispy cedar tree burl
I scared away an excited robin
and some boys with fishing poles
I watched her crawl back and forth
doing a 50 leg two step on my arm
The Tigress Awakens 