grandma don’t remember much
but she looks at the picture on her
dresser
says she’s never seen joseph
hold mary like that before
ninety-one years without tenderness
i lie on the grass like jesus
ankles crossed and arms spread
hands open towards something
like tenderness
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 8:42 PM UTC
this summer i have been gardening.
it is something else new.
it is almost july and you would laugh to
see my hands in the dirt.
i have rocks under my fingernails
from scratching at the soil
to see what
it is like underneath.
i’ve seen worms and spiders and
spiny crawlers with squirming legs.
but my dear, i have yet
to come across you.
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 8:41 PM UTC
It's rainy all the time
where I live.
It's just the every-day.
It lives where I breathe.
It sleeps where I dream.
It goes unshaken.
I hurt, I pain,
I kneed my heart out in search of the source.
What is in there?
I tire,
as I have tired before.
It's rainy where I live,
all the time.
Jan 5, 2023
Jan 5, 2023 at 1:12 AM UTC
that i may return to the something greater
that i was a part of many years ago
and my flesh will become nothing
and my soul, everything
and this will happen
all at once
Oct 15, 2022
Oct 15, 2022 at 10:41 AM UTC
the way the words die on my lips,
the way my stomach flips,
when you grab me by my hips.
Oct 15, 2022
Oct 15, 2022 at 10:39 AM UTC
drown me
and breathe life
into me again
i beg of you
bathe me
wash me from myself
swell
and break
into my skin
curl around me
and take me under
Sep 28, 2022
Sep 28, 2022 at 4:35 PM UTC
I used to play
in a great big band,
I say.
the others laugh,
they can’t understand
what it was like
to yawn and stretch and
play
in a great big band
on a misty morning field,
just beginning
to feel
the sun in your bones,
a dose in your chest
of something greater,
a golden dragon high,
the euphoria of
a musician
with no grand dreams,
just
a great big band
and the Morning Sun.
Sep 27, 2022
Sep 27, 2022 at 10:42 AM UTC
and i'll read more poetry,
and take the dog on a walk,
watch Peter at his computer,
and the bird in the pine tree,
and i'll just continue,
doing nothing
important
at all.
isn't this the life?
isn't it?
Sep 21, 2022
Sep 21, 2022 at 10:41 AM UTC
crawling above me,
there is a bug.
he could be an ant
or maybe a small spider,
but he doesn't much mind
what I call him.
he's above me in the sycamore tree,
and I am below him,
and the sun is starting to disappear
against the horizon.
he walks furiously to and fro,
my unnamed bug,
and he seems to be saying
"look up! look up!"
"there is so much MORE!"
so I stare at the stained glass sky above me,
feel the wet earth pressing against my back,
the grass whispering around my ankles,
smell the eastern wind taking its nightly stroll,
and I turn to say thank you to my little bug,
but he has already gone.
so I say it to the sky instead:
"thank you. thank you."
"there IS so much more"
Sep 21, 2022
Sep 21, 2022 at 10:35 AM UTC
i don't much think about time until i am with you.
until i am with you,
time drifts by like lazy mid-summer clouds,
the occasional tardy spring breeze sweeping them
slowly across a blue sky in a steady handed brush.
it cruises in the right hand lane on highway 101
as the truck horns call out in unison
and i am impatient in the passenger seat.
i want the big things to happen.
i want to pass from one state to the next
at a hundred miles per hour
and i want to feel big enough.
i don't much think about time,
but now that i am with you,
i must because
your laugh seems to stir the air into
grey and shifting images that
flit and disappear before i have painted them,
and the car speeds up and we have arrived before
my tongue has time to form the word hello
and i always thought that time was my one true god but
it is clear now,
time doesn't hold a candle to you.
Aug 3, 2022
Aug 3, 2022 at 2:42 PM UTC