late nights with fast reads devoured in one installment … now my eyelids drop
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All articles filed in poetry
saturday haiku
jonquils, gold finches
lazy outdoor afternoons
barefoot days at last
andrew wyeth
he always makes me think of the bones of the worldwith those flat planes and cold coloursa sense of seeing the underneath of thingsover our mantle hangsa print of pennsylvania landscapea huge sycamore in the foregroundsprawls naked across the whitened skydwarfing the farmhouse down the hillin the valley below the river glints brightagainst the russeting…
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the wood between the worlds
it was raining this morning the sort of slow, gentle soaker that requires windshield wipers and raincoats and encourages the grass to green but when i left the office in the blueing evening only one lonely puddle remained in the empty parking lot as i walked toward my car i caught a glimpse of tree…
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april, come she is
april, come she is
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i wish i could show you the spring
i wish i could show you the spring
the maple buds blooming red as cherries
to the worms in the garden bed
to the worms in the garden bed —
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ashes, ashes
ring around the rosey
pocket full of posies
ashes, ashes
we all fall down
on the brink of a barren land
here i stand on the edge
of wildness
on the cusp
of wilderness
on the brink
of a barren land
emmanuel
oh papa, the wolves gather round us
oh papa, the soldiers slay fast
oh papa, the prophets confound us
oh papa, how long will this last?
