david-hill - Hello Poetry

When my wife left me I bought wool socks and wind chimes and prisms to hang in the window. And an armilary. I've always wanted an armilary.

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Sep 19, 2025

Sep 19, 2025 at 11:24 PM UTC

david-hill

When My Wife Left Me

When my wife left me I bought wool socks and wind chimes and prisms to hang in the window. And an armilary. I've always wanted an armilary.

6

So, there’s this place in Colorado called the Black Canyon, because it mostly is, except for a chalk-white line I’ll tell you about later. I went there once when I was still young and cool enough that a guy in the parking lot lying on the hood of his Maverick asked me if I wanted to share a joint and watch the sun set but I told him no because I got high on nature. So I walked past these two old ladies who were younger than I am now who were on their hands and knees because they were afraid to stand on the edge because the Park Service didn’t put railings on the rim of the Black Canyon. I looked out over the Painted Wall where a friend of mine would later jump off with a parachute and land, broken but proud, fifty million years below. So, there’s this chalk-white line that’s a hundred thousand years thick. And I was thinking that’s longer than all of human history, and some day, everything we’ve ever done, the Panama canal and the Burj Khalifa and the Pentagon and all of Elon Musk’s rockets (but it was someone else we were supposed to hate in those days, I think it was Ted Turner) anyway, some day all this would be just another chalk-white line on a canyon wall, and I wondered if we’d forgotten someone else who might be in that chalk-white line like dinosaur people or something. Before I left, I scrapped my initials in the sand by the two ladies on their hands and knees who must be dead by now.

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Mar 31, 2025

Mar 31, 2025 at 5:22 PM UTC

david-hill

The Chalk-White Line

So, there’s this place in Colorado called the Black Canyon, because it mostly is, except for a chalk-white line I’ll tell you about later. I went there once when I was still young and cool enough that a guy in the parking lot lying on the hood of his Maverick asked me if I wanted to share a joint and watch the sun set but I told him no because I got high on nature. So I walked past these two old ladies who were younger than I am now who were on their hands and knees because they were afraid to stand on the edge because the Park Service didn’t put railings on the rim of the Black Canyon. I looked out over the Painted Wall where a friend of mine would later jump off with a parachute and land, broken but proud, fifty million years below. So, there’s this chalk-white line that’s a hundred thousand years thick. And I was thinking that’s longer than all of human history, and some day, everything we’ve ever done, the Panama canal and the Burj Khalifa and the Pentagon and all of Elon Musk’s rockets (but it was someone else we were supposed to hate in those days, I think it was Ted Turner) anyway, some day all this would be just another chalk-white line on a canyon wall, and I wondered if we’d forgotten someone else who might be in that chalk-white line like dinosaur people or something. Before I left, I scrapped my initials in the sand by the two ladies on their hands and knees who must be dead by now.

1

A world, Once serene, Blessed with dignified change At the pace of shifting continents, And eroding mountains. The epochs rolled on. Then came infestation, With its slimy tendrils. Every rock fouled by growth Every crevice dark with Rot and decay. Filaments grow upward and branched Giving shade for corruption Beneath their moldering feet. Some run across the festering plains Trying to rise higher and live longer Only to be rent limb from limb And sink into the ooze That strips flesh from bone The muck always wins And the cycle of death continues Until the sun, disgusted, Burns the world clean once more.

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Aug 17, 2024

Aug 17, 2024 at 3:00 PM UTC

david-hill

Infested Planet

A world, Once serene, Blessed with dignified change At the pace of shifting continents, And eroding mountains. The epochs rolled on. Then came infestation, With its slimy tendrils. Every rock fouled by growth Every crevice dark with Rot and decay. Filaments grow upward and branched Giving shade for corruption Beneath their moldering feet. Some run across the festering plains Trying to rise higher and live longer Only to be rent limb from limb And sink into the ooze That strips flesh from bone The muck always wins And the cycle of death continues Until the sun, disgusted, Burns the world clean once more.

23

The wind brought the smell Of aspen trees Down from the Rockies Clearing the smell of wood smoke In that town of Arab princes And Physics institutes And visiting Tibetan monks. My father settled his old bones On the front porch. “Son”, he said, perhaps knowing The staleness in my heart, “Why don’t you go to a lecture at the institute?” So I walked through the fragrant streets, As sunset lit the mountains tops Above the shadowed valley, To the auditorium crowded with far-seers. “What is the origin of supermassive black holes?” “What role does dark matter play in the evolution of galaxies?” And the staleness blew away with the wood smoke. My mind wandered across the universe As I walked home under the starry sky, Telling my wife, so far away, of my rediscovered awe. I looked up to see maroon robes And the gentle face from the posters: “Hear the Dali Lama speak.” With my android to my ear, I smiled. And he smiled. As the wind flowed down from the mountains.

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Aug 17, 2024

Aug 17, 2024 at 2:58 PM UTC

david-hill

The Dali Lama Caught Me Yakking on My Cellphone

The wind brought the smell Of aspen trees Down from the Rockies Clearing the smell of wood smoke In that town of Arab princes And Physics institutes And visiting Tibetan monks. My father settled his old bones On the front porch. “Son”, he said, perhaps knowing The staleness in my heart, “Why don’t you go to a lecture at the institute?” So I walked through the fragrant streets, As sunset lit the mountains tops Above the shadowed valley, To the auditorium crowded with far-seers. “What is the origin of supermassive black holes?” “What role does dark matter play in the evolution of galaxies?” And the staleness blew away with the wood smoke. My mind wandered across the universe As I walked home under the starry sky, Telling my wife, so far away, of my rediscovered awe. I looked up to see maroon robes And the gentle face from the posters: “Hear the Dali Lama speak.” With my android to my ear, I smiled. And he smiled. As the wind flowed down from the mountains.

29

You don’t sleep well in hospitals Someone always bustles in To bring your suppository. At night, they ship out the visitors Leaving flowers and balloons stirring in the air conditioning It’s dark Except for the light under the door And quiet Except for The distant beeping at the nurse’s station The balloon faces leer from the shadows While I watch Forensic Files marathons Waiting for the next dose. You feel good for three hours But the meds always wear off before The nurses will give you another. When they come, a quick pill in a paper cup, And you can sleep for a while The fourth hour is the hardest

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Aug 17, 2024

Aug 17, 2024 at 2:57 PM UTC

david-hill

Every Four Hours

You don’t sleep well in hospitals Someone always bustles in To bring your suppository. At night, they ship out the visitors Leaving flowers and balloons stirring in the air conditioning It’s dark Except for the light under the door And quiet Except for The distant beeping at the nurse’s station The balloon faces leer from the shadows While I watch Forensic Files marathons Waiting for the next dose. You feel good for three hours But the meds always wear off before The nurses will give you another. When they come, a quick pill in a paper cup, And you can sleep for a while The fourth hour is the hardest

19

Ten-thirty AM in the campground, Mourning Doves coo their sad sound, People air their damp sleeping bags Children swarm on electric scooters. (In my day, it was roller skates) Then, the diesels rumble to life. Wives with cell phones direct the backouts, Don’t run over the scooters! Speed limit: five miles per hour, (When are we going to go metric?) Yet the earth trembles As they pass by, single file. Above, old white men look down From their Plexiglas canopies, The last one towing a smart car. (To save gas, I presume) The rumble moves down the county road, The electric scooters swarm again, And the Mourning Doves resume their laments

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Aug 17, 2024

Aug 17, 2024 at 2:56 PM UTC

david-hill

The Departure of the Land Yachts

Ten-thirty AM in the campground, Mourning Doves coo their sad sound, People air their damp sleeping bags Children swarm on electric scooters. (In my day, it was roller skates) Then, the diesels rumble to life. Wives with cell phones direct the backouts, Don’t run over the scooters! Speed limit: five miles per hour, (When are we going to go metric?) Yet the earth trembles As they pass by, single file. Above, old white men look down From their Plexiglas canopies, The last one towing a smart car. (To save gas, I presume) The rumble moves down the county road, The electric scooters swarm again, And the Mourning Doves resume their laments

19

Red: The glimmer of Mars on a northern lake Sandblasting the old battleship’s belly War: Men in blue jackets line the railings Bloodless hands signed the armistice, Thursday: Too early for a drink after work White faces watched the stock market fall Blackboards: Teacher’s pets got to clean the erasers The sound of fingernails could twist your stomach Convenience: What a thing to base society on Driving down to pick up a box of hamburger helper Michelangelo: Woman’s ******* on men’s bodies Freeing the form from the marble Igneous Rocks: Lava flows melting the asphalt driveways Ocher glow on the bellies of helicopters.

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Aug 17, 2024

Aug 17, 2024 at 2:55 PM UTC

david-hill

Non Sequitur

Red: The glimmer of Mars on a northern lake Sandblasting the old battleship’s belly War: Men in blue jackets line the railings Bloodless hands signed the armistice, Thursday: Too early for a drink after work White faces watched the stock market fall Blackboards: Teacher’s pets got to clean the erasers The sound of fingernails could twist your stomach Convenience: What a thing to base society on Driving down to pick up a box of hamburger helper Michelangelo: Woman’s ******* on men’s bodies Freeing the form from the marble Igneous Rocks: Lava flows melting the asphalt driveways Ocher glow on the bellies of helicopters.

21

The melting snow Reveals the ruins of my city, Fills the *** holes, And makes the heaved sidewalks Into skewed mirrors Reflecting the abandoned storefronts. And the legislature just extended Daylight savings time. Again.

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Aug 22, 2022

Aug 22, 2022 at 10:34 PM UTC

david-hill

The Warmest Winter Ever

The melting snow Reveals the ruins of my city, Fills the *** holes, And makes the heaved sidewalks Into skewed mirrors Reflecting the abandoned storefronts. And the legislature just extended Daylight savings time. Again.

9

My parents used to fish On Castle Creek With canvas vests and wicker creels. They always caught their limit. And we had fresh trout for breakfast. Last year I drove my father Up Castle Creek, Alone and with knees too old For clambering on wet rocks. We stopped and talked To a fisherman With nylon gear and neoprene boots. My father told him where the fish were. Then I drove him home, Down castle creek, For the last time.

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Aug 22, 2022

Aug 22, 2022 at 10:33 PM UTC

david-hill

On Castle Creek

My parents used to fish On Castle Creek With canvas vests and wicker creels. They always caught their limit. And we had fresh trout for breakfast. Last year I drove my father Up Castle Creek, Alone and with knees too old For clambering on wet rocks. We stopped and talked To a fisherman With nylon gear and neoprene boots. My father told him where the fish were. Then I drove him home, Down castle creek, For the last time.

17

I saw a Muskellunge Snap a tiny Loon Out of its mother's wake Leaving her to circle The floating down And cry That primal cry That echoes Through the north woods.

0

Jul 22, 2021

Jul 22, 2021 at 10:06 PM UTC

david-hill

The Muskellunge

I saw a Muskellunge Snap a tiny Loon Out of its mother's wake Leaving her to circle The floating down And cry That primal cry That echoes Through the north woods.

9