Tag: poetry
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12 days in December
12.4 today harder than it has to be my disposition doesn’t help either 12.5 today a walk beneath the barren trees holding their empty nests I count plenty 12.6 today sixty years later Rudolf (the Red Nosed Reindeer) with them 12.7 today our Nutcracker tradition continues and g r o w s 12.8…
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Merry Christmas Darling
In the shower this morning I reached for the volumizing shampoo and there you were, clear as Chrismas in my mind. And it would be weird except for it’s December and tomorrow’s the 25th so, you know- you’re around. I decided beneath the steady stream of hot city water and rising subtle steam to sing…
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Ute 66
it’s labeled a highway, but it isn’t much of one- not really. there are no shoulders on the road and the speed limit is only 60 mph- 45 in some stretches even and it has just two single lanes; one running east. the other running west. it’s named for an Indigenous Tribe and that’s…
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Hospitable
I don’t think she’s dying At least not in the ways we think she is I think she’s letting us go Softly, surely putting some distance between herself and the human race one raging wildfire, one war torn country, one (L)Awful Democrazy at a time She does not need us not the way(s) we need…
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november signs of life
11.5 today america votes 11.6 today a gold heart on the inside and on the outside of a dumpster 11.7 today a young man rebounds with a viola 11.8 today more snow than serenity on steele street about this work signs of life is a daily practice in which I write a one line poem…
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PLAY (with words)
I’d prefer to mince them: like garlic; pungent and clumsy, fingertips sticky with innuendo and truth. the words might linger, might stay with you long after their consumption. but since you asked and honestly, I think it’s time you knew, I don’t play. and not for the reason you’re thinking, not because I’m a grown-up and have…
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the color of light
1. there are rainbows in the kitchen sink. I can’t explain them, except to say they appear there from time-to-time just above the slippery wet silver, arched + perfect. today I am self-regarding enough to wonder if the precocious prisms realize I’m here too: do they see or sense me as I see and sense them? their pulsing…
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ars poetica
is not coming in the door from an early morning walk with a paused podcast in your ear about anonymous people’s experiences with paranormal activity and leaving a voice memo for your sister-cousin because she’s clairvoyant and needs to listen to this last story about the woman who brought spirits home with her from Vietnam…
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lean to
like the backs of your hands I know these woods have lived them an acre each of the days before overstanding fundamentally what is amiss, at stake your hands frames of fine art their palms; a steady, silken roadmap I study to forget what I know (I am the lean-to and the wooded forest that…
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september signs of life
9.1 today tiny wild blueberries (and butter!) everywhere 9.2 today the first and the second pumpkin two sugars 9.3 today summer begins to fade about this writing september marks the beginning of the sixth month of my signs of life project! each day I write a one…
santos scribes 