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Dec 2016 · 607
The Door of Inspiration
Steven Hutchison Dec 2016
It’s cold and dimly lit, this hall of everyday.
My fingers trace atoms, material and unforgiving.
I pause at the door, inconspicuous, but familiar.
Beneath it myth and whim cast shadows on the floor.
I can smell the gardens of wisdom and lore
and almost believe it a memory.
I don’t remember when I lost the key.
Good things are never seen going, but gone.
Aug 2016 · 385
Steven Hutchison Aug 2016
Raindrop rhythms
Lightning in the night
I heard a
Double pane brokers
Negotiate the storm
May 2015 · 808
Serendipity 30/30
Steven Hutchison May 2015
Strange enough to say that I am with you
Stranger still to hold you in my arms
The planets don’t align this way on purpose
I wonder if the moon surprises Mars
With serenades and unexpected flowers
With notes to say I’ll miss you while you’re gone
I hope you’re startled right into my orbit
Delight me every eve and every dawn
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
I know the tongue
Behind my teeth
And the skin across my ribs
I know the peaks and valleys
Of my protruding knuckles
And the hair behind my head
I know the rising
The falling of my chest
And the scarcity of my whiskers
I know the eyes
Open to wonder
And the callous of my feet

I do not know the fear
Behind my cowardice
Or the judgment in my eyes
I do not know the depth
Of my ego’s tangled roots
Or the necessity to please
I do not know the anxiety
Grinding my bones
Or the lies of my heart
I do not know the color
Of my citizen soul
Or its longing for company
Apr 2015 · 1.0k
Baltimore 27/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Bad blood
More blood
Bitten dust
Angry eyes
Lots of eyes
Story fires
History bleeds
Baltimore streets
Burn in madness
When asked how we should mourn him
Freddie didn’t speak
Apr 2015 · 938
Green (Terza Rima) 25/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Love is green
Life to spark life
From rooms unseen

Ever wide eyed
Song of our children
Strong as the tide

Hope for the risen
Making all new
Accepting the given

Color of youth
Branches to vine
Green is the truth

Truth is divine
Apr 2015 · 1.6k
Lavender Shortbread 24/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
at first bite
lavender blossoms
perfume the air
on soft sugar hills
under lemon suns
always one step above
the crumbling earth

and after
such presence
as to inspire memories
of the just now
of the longing
before I should be
Apr 2015 · 800
Wildflower Road 23/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Wherever we are
On this wildflower road
Leading where it will
Take notice
We will never return
We will always look back
Let this be a memory
We carry in our pockets
Now that we are
And what we are is wonderful
Naming the flowers at our feet
Apr 2015 · 380
Going Nowhere 22/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
stop with me
in the madness
of electric lights
and broken songs
in the chaos
of insecurities
take hold of me
go nowhere
with me
explore the vacancies
between breaths
treasure rooms
of mirrors
stop and see
with me
the home we are
Apr 2015 · 1.1k
Don't Speak 21/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Shells wash up on shallow shores
Sure and unashamed

Ancient treasures shed by shadows
The ocean ricochets

Patiently musicians wish
To share imaginations

Champagne fish and visions of the
Starfish constellations

They shout their cache of consciousness
Shivering vibrations

Sugaring the fishermen
With ocean incantations
Apr 2015 · 453
Repression 20/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
The earth unfolds
His rubber band tight
Spinning out of control
Never even flushed
But the ripple of a vein
Traces thoughts he forgot
To bury with the pain

Tectonic plague
He’s got electric eyes
High voltage rage
Wraps it all in a smile
That he’s sewed shut tight
So the magma doesn’t peek
When he says “all right”
Apr 2015 · 401
Call to Arms 19/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
I recycled a prompt from last April and chose to write a poem inspired by the first song that played on my Pandora station.
This song was 'Kiss the Sky' by Shawn Lee's Ping Pong Orchestra feat. Nino Mochella. I encourage you to listen.

There is war for the taking
For those with open eyes
The weapons are in waiting
For intrepid minds to rise
Some have fought with vigor
In hopes of skirting pain
But though the curse is certain
We do not fight in vain
There is peace for the making
It does not come by chance
The hallowed blood of martyrs
Gives feet to the advance
Now cradle your mortality
That fire beneath your soul
Love can win the battle
Though evil feign control
Apr 2015 · 457
I-35 18/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Verdant epidermis
rolling silk
farther than eyes
Veritable smorgasbord
twice removed
Coastal pull has
stretched you
bled you dry
forgotten plains
Do you still keep secrets
and give away bread?
Do you still keep God company?
Vested sustenance
true as earth
impervious to time
Velvet sodded canvas
I am moved
Apr 2015 · 910
The Borrower 17/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
How beautiful the borrower
How happy is her lot
Chains that bind to property
Are left behind to rot
How beautiful the borrower
Whose house is not her own
Who cares not for the daily bread
Except that from the throne
How beautiful the borrower
Who has nothing to give
But shares what she’s been given
By the Lord of all that is
How beautiful the borrower
What peace is in her mind
Without the need for worry
She is ever only kind
Apr 2015 · 732
Vow to My Poetry 16/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
I promise to respect you
No matter what’s revealed
In assonance and in rhyme
In form and free verse
When you look to me for courage
I will lend a steady hand
I promise to persevere
No matter the position of the moon
In syllable counting and soul scraping
In haiku and villanelle
I will cherish the time you lend me
In frustration and in ease
I will wait for you
I promise to give you my all
No matter what I think I have left
Innovation and exercise
In reaching out and introspect
I will keep nothing for myself
But give to you freely
All that the spirit and bone of me
Will allow me to give
Apr 2015 · 896
Blessed are the Meek 15/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
I’m holding far too much
In these anxious hands of mine
Compass and a tiger’s tail
The mask that I’m not wearing
And when I come to worship
The King of all that’s living
I leave too much the same
For this to be the true design
Blessed are the meek
Their hands are raised and empty
Open to receive the gift
Of Love’s eternal hope
I’m holding far too much
My hands are tired and heavy
My prayer is not for strength
Or a way that I can cope
But for hands that give you praise
In their receiving
Apr 2015 · 369
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
We write our visions in superscript
Headlining the ordinary with extra
Harvesting mystery from the visible
Coating assumptions with doubt
We live in the world of potentials
Loosed by the origin of shadows
From the trembling of the earth
We weave our melodies
Cracking the doors in the framework
Letting the universe breathe
Apr 2015 · 961
Nightfall 13/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
And a just-forgotten moon
Splintered the frozen time sky
Airplane sewing machines
Pistol rock candy
Violent as birth
What is this night?
Chrome wheeled interjection
Sparkle studded sister
If there are clouds they are whispers
In the euphony of sights
Nebula rising
The horizon drowns
Settle it to say
Red eyes are waking
The forest burns with appetite
The fields are full of fire seeds
The shadow houses wink and beckon
The smile of thieves is on the cusp
Swimming the Black Nile
Hoping to be enough
The fiddler is spellbound
As the candid universe
Sings a Martian sailor’s tune
Apr 2015 · 724
Magician 12/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
What will the magician pull tonight?
What mystery will come from the hat?
Through the curtain of wonder and what might be
into the dessert of blood and bone reality.
Apr 2015 · 372
Here and Forever 11/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Here and forever you are
Yesterdays and tomorrows
Filling the heights of what we imagine
Passing over our foolish ways
Greater still than all we can fathom
Here and forever you are

Here and forever you are
Yesterdays and tomorrows
How could I escape your boundless love?
Where could I run that you’re not waiting?
King of earth and skies above
Here and forever you are

Here and forever you are
Yesterdays and tomorrows
You are the truth, the way and the life
The only song worth singing
God of mercy open my eyes
Here and forever you are
Apr 2015 · 685
Nest 10/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Twigs and things
Sticks and strings
Patchwork fabric
Wallpaper of dreams
Rapture forever
In the eye turned back
Sweet cradle
Unsung in use
Robin’s loom
Of earth and tears
Sacrifice woven
Between the laths
Wallpaper sings
Children see magic
Robins see sticks
Twigs and things
Apr 2015 · 463
Scrapped Poem 9/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Everyone has ugly
We are blessed who do not see it
But when we do
We do
You did
And the words wouldn’t come fast enough
My story dried up
Leaving cacti in the silence
Sharp to ***** a wayward tongue
My head spinning with strategy
I was busy framing pictures
When you threw me away
It’s not that I lacked an explanation
I’ve just learned to tread softly
In landmine conversations
Your eyes were done with me
Far sooner than you admit
I lied to let hope live
I hoped the lie would live
But ugly is as buoyant
As you are gone
And lies are always dense
Prompt was to write a poem about the life of a crumpled ball of paper. I chose the perspective of a scrapped poem.
Apr 2015 · 590
Remember 8/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
When is a word of power
Holding the keys to time
Unlocking doors to limitless wealth
Amassed in the houses of centuries
Our future is naught without us
We are naught without our past
We are not without our past
Calamity follows the unbelieving
Those current keepers
Blinded by trend
Those content to exist on a page
Without ever reading the book
Memory is rite
Remembering is prayer
We are disjointed from our God
In a life purely contemporary
We forget more than we are living
Writhing in the deficit
Slaved to the moment
And the evils of its quarantine
History is sacred
To be held with gentle hands
Revered and cherished
For its honesty
Apr 2015 · 384
7/30 just for fun
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
I eat treetops
And moss covered stones
And the mist of spring nights
I eat most alone
I consume this world around me
One eyeful at a time
And when I am full I sit and wait
For poetry poopy time
Apr 2015 · 439
Home 7/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Blessed is the house
Whose walls pulsate with laughter
Vibrant eyes and flushed faces
Le joie de vivre
Symbols of security
We will ever call you home
A riff on an extended Tanka form (5-7-5-7-5-7-7)
Apr 2015 · 862
A Pleasant Memory 6/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Cool grass between my toes
Smiling at the sun
My shirt hose-drenched
And my mouth sticky melon
My hands hang open
Reading stories of the wind
I cannot see my eyes
But through them
I know they contain the world
Joystruck and wonderfilled
Careless with good reason
There is safety in their porch talk
And danger to be found
I am reaching for the spirit
With faith untethered
Breathing and I love it
Grabbing hold of the tactile earth
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Oh some ol’ day these bones, these bones will bid my body bye.
They’ll watch me melt into this earth like ice in mid July.
I can’t think of a reason or a rhyme for all the mess
Except to live a life that might prepare me for the rest.
‘Cause some ol’ day these bones, these bones will rise up once again.
They’ll dance like that ol’ prophet said and jump up with the wind.
And on that sunshine morning these ol’ bones are gonna shout.
Escape with God to glory, all the trouble here without.
Apr 2015 · 876
Sabbath (an allegory) 4/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
In the park there is a bench
Polished coffee metal planks
The inscription reads:
“In loving memory of Alan Seltman.”
And speaks its invitation
With arms wider than I can be
The tree buds are waking
And the breeze finds equilibrium
With the dimming sun’s kiss
I sit
If not for the grumbling of my feet
Or the fleeting picturesque
Then because Alan should be remembered
As one who always offered rest
Apr 2015 · 398
It Is Finished 3/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
Do not suffer the suffering to speak
Their words have a habit of earthquakes
Each syllable a fissure
Laying waste any doubt
The earth will groan her judgment
Justice only needs a mouth

Do not let the wounds of the innocent bleed
Their blood is a cornucopia of life
Each drop a fertile seed
In time will yield its song
The earth will spring up children
New life from where life’s gone

Do not attempt to break the broken
Their scars never seem to fade
And when they rise
For they will surely rise
And you meet them face-to-face
Your artwork bears their testimony
They have no need to speak
Apr 2015 · 1.1k
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
she wails
my unknown mother
tears on the Kenyan graves
i feel her from my corners
a thread pulled taut
from the web
of my citizen soul
Apr 2015 · 575
Shrugging off Spring 1/30
Steven Hutchison Apr 2015
He is a fool
who, when the sky is lit
in the morning dew,
scowls at Spring
and shrugs.
She is immutable.
Brimming with chances
and hard won charm,
not a tremor in her voice.
She is singing.
Always singing
that honeysuckle song.
He is a fool
who misconstrues his gravity.
Ignorant of his orbit,
trying to tilt the world.
She is unruffled,
and he will roll off her back,
smooth as the mallard,
washing his face
in the sunrise pond.
Feb 2015 · 427
Steven Hutchison Feb 2015
I look at the stars quite differently now
Dumbfounded by the heavens
I'm content here below
You're in my arms
and I've nothing else to wish for
Steven Hutchison Jan 2015
How long has it been
   Since you were held by more than your bones?
   Since you were touched by more than fingertips
      on their way to someone else?

How long has it been
   Since you warranted more than a passing glance?
   Since your charm and luster drew them in?
   Since you last felt romanced?
   Since you were judged by more than your title?
   Since earnest eyes, full of patient desire,
      asked you to tell your story?
   Since gentle hands last turned your pages?
   Since you gave all your secrets away?

How long has it been
   Since someone asked what you were worth?
And tell me,
   What was your answer?
Jan 2015 · 480
Steven Hutchison Jan 2015
What is there in a footstep
wanting to be discovered?
Surely they are dancing,
who move without question,
following none but a song
or whimsical sense of duty.
Surely they are determined,
who are pounding their heels
back into the soft earth
that is calling them home.
It has been far too long
since I trusted my feet,
since I listened to their telling
Jan 2015 · 1.1k
Steven Hutchison Jan 2015
I met a man who sells boxes
Big boxes, small boxes,
dark boxes, boxes with a hole in the top.
right there on the street corner.
selling boxes to whomever he meets.
The man was sharp with a Colgate smile
and eyes that searched your pockets discretely.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,
especially you boys and girls,
toothy wink
Now is your chance,
don’t miss the opportunity.
These boxes sell faster than a free lunch at noon
100% certified to the industry standard
and they come complete with a lifetime guarantee!
I see you second guessing the decision sir.
Let me just tell you, I’ve lived without a box.
It’s not a pretty place to be.
The elements of this world are cruel
and you can’t get back what they take away.
I tell you what, I’m feeling generous today!
I’m declaring that for the next 2 hours
With any purchases of a full size box
I’ll include a child sized box for no additional fee!
But wait, there’s more!
You don’t want a box without a secure lid do you?
Act now and I’ll throw in our patented dual-use lock
Lockable from both the inside and out.
Yes, you ma’am, and one for your daughter as well?”

I watched in horror as the gathering crowd
meandered through his maze of assorted boxes
crouching down and stepping gingerly
inside each one that caught their eye.
Nothing like that new box smell.
Some looked for boxes with head room,
some felt safer with walls to their noses.
A father was helping his son
pull his dreams from a big yellow backpack
filing down the odd edges,
pruning the extrusions,
so they would fit neatly inside
calling his son’s tears the fruit of naiveté
speaking with a voice he assured himself was reason.
The shiny suited man approached me cautiously,
his salesman polish dimmed,
“Have we met?”
He asked with incredulity.
“It’s been about 20 years, I’m surprised you remember”
“Oh, I never forget a face,” he said.
“But what are you doing HERE?
Was there a problem with the box I gave you?
You know there’s a lifetime guarantee.”

“I met a man who collects boxes
in a waterproof warehouse
down at the bottom of the sea.
He knocked on my box and asked the simplest of questions
‘Would you be free?’
My eyes began swimming and my heart shook to its core
as I sadly admitted I had somehow lost the key.
‘Would you be free?’
He repeated, and I answered.
and at once the lid was lifted
and I was lifted
and I was free.
And he set straight the lies that others had told me
And asked if I would give him my fear
my pride, and all the other strings that tethered me to the box
I had sealed myself in for protection.
And then, of all things,
he whispered to me a poem
and it’s that poem that I am here to speak.”
Jan 2015 · 855
Steven Hutchison Jan 2015

Black clouds are stirring-
White men gaze down white noses,
Seemingly immune.


Music in the air-
The sound of brass and woodwinds
Permeates fields;
Exercising their freedom,
Equality, and kinship.


Blood in the terra-
Innocence spilled under the
Cradle of a king
Now grows ironic flowers
Ignorant of unmarked graves


Black sky is waking-
Picket signs silhouette on
Pyramids of coal
A quartet of 2 Haiku and 2 Tanka
Jan 2015 · 613
Steven Hutchison Jan 2015
float my body over the sea of stones
the sharp cold nagging of the senses
grab me by the tongue and turn me inside out
set me free by way of the wind
Dec 2014 · 787
In Angst
Steven Hutchison Dec 2014
There is a forgotten woodland
or a bluff overlooking the lake
I was meant to meet this evening,
but I didn't.
And I can feel the ropes of fate,
elastic as they have proven to be,
pulling on my heart's disguise
in angst.
Dec 2014 · 730
Hungary - a nonsense poem
Steven Hutchison Dec 2014
Once there boled a harmistor
With yarler like a tom
He ***** and frissed, but after this
His murly belly pommed

Choe and choe, then choe some more
He criggled at the thought
That sumpty soon he’d choe the moon
And abend would be glot

What could bew the buggle?
He plawed his nomer friend
Harmistor, you silly mer,
The pomming ne’r will end.

And so the woddly harmistor,
Bezined and full of dee,
Proquined the shole, the land in foll,
And called it Hungary.
after the style of Jabberwocky by Lewis Carrol
Nov 2014 · 1.4k
Strange Pirates
Steven Hutchison Nov 2014
Strange pirates, we, who burry our treasure
In the land-locked hollow of a frozen November.
And the preacher's voice, thick with that solemn charm,
Is dizzying in our ears.

Strange pirates, we, who sail without anchor,
Wind-whipped and weary of the salty flavor.
And each swell that beckons with open arms
Is a reckoning to our years.

Strange pirates, we, without pillage or plunder,
Surround ourselves with natural wonders.
Each smile, each laugh, each body warm,
Is a borrowed blessing held dear.

Strange pirates, we, who, when our bodies grow cold,
Call out to all our kindred souls
And ask nothing more than to be remembered
As our memories turn to gold.

And each bell that tolls in a land-locked whenever
Will remind us of treasure for all our years.
In memory of Jim Gremminger, 12/7/1932 - 11/15/2014
May 2014 · 959
30 Haikus from April 2014
Steven Hutchison May 2014
Eggshells cannot be
the foundation of trusting
I’ve tried it before

eyes that mirror earth
hands that reflect the heavens
you are everywhere

You sing silently
I have been known to deafen
our song is the same

If I paint my body
colors of sincerity
would you believe me?

Look into the woods
and tell me you don’t see it
looking back at you

reaching into me
you may find gold or garbage
accept both or none

The clouds are empty
the ground is already wet
stop praying for rain

then she wants ice cream
I’ve never before tasted
a woman so sweet

There are seldom nights
when sleep will trump poetry
tonight is seldom

count the syllables
in the God-forsaken screams
of empty poets

distance makes the heart
double its normal volume
love is broken ribs

Up jump the boogie,
blood dazzler, piano farm,
what will I call it?

wind through the branches
spinning its propaganda
trees will always bow

brevity, my friend
is grossly overrated
buy low and sell high

When clouds are singing
the melody is raindrops
falling on my head

Carbon has big shoes
Standing on earth’s jugular
Cause of death well known

People always say
the news sounds funny. It’s just
rock and roll to me.

A question rises
amid the revolution
Where are the poets?

if the sunset tried
to be something beautiful
it would cease to be

They found him floating
on the screen of an i-phone
Poor young Narcissus

Sleepy hills yawning
Under a needlepoint sky
Just a stitch in time

Our hearts and our hands
Are far too often strangers
Unite with passion

Dandelion girl
Dancing, amused by the wind
Never taking root

Rain on my eyelids
Spring’s pocket always carries
A panacea

spinning in the queue
are we escaping the tea
you poured for Venus?

Parmesan crusted
cauliflower bites served with
garlic aioli

surround sound crickets
each with its electric voice
serenade the dark

I will always have
more things in common with a
mirror than with you

there is very little
a properly placed sunset
cannot remedy

cocksure and wanting
we are blind and we’re leading
this dichotomy
May 2014 · 2.1k
30 of 30 - Atoms and Silk
Steven Hutchison May 2014
I watch you in stop motion.

I probably
remember it
at all.

They’ve been trying for a while now
to anchor you down
tie you to the anvils of atoms and silk

I’ve been telling them for a while now
you’re extra-planetary
you won’t fit into their egg cartons

your first appearance
was marked by a fire
engulfing any earthly
binding or chains

You’ve been burning for a while now
with unlikely alchemy
with flames that repeat my exhaling

We’ve been missing for a while now
lost in each other
away from the world of atoms and silk
Apr 2014 · 571
29 of 30 - Diamonds
Steven Hutchison Apr 2014
There are
two ways of finding
a diamond

is to remove the

and leave
the carcass of a tomb
left behind

The other
is to remove what isn’t
a diamond
Steven Hutchison Apr 2014
Declare pragmatism a vulgarity,
a taste fowl to the tongue.
Embrace the long way home as
an integral part of healing
and swear by the virtue of art.

Decide that you will not be swayed
by flashing lights, airbrushed make-up,
or impressive displays of feathers.
Seek only the flower unseen
in a globe armored to the teeth.

Flea the baroque temptation,
extravagance will not suit you.
Confess to the heavens
your deepest desires
and find them in your own backyard.

Accept helplessness as a gift.
Stop wringing your hands,
for they will not wind the clock
in either direction you mistakenly feel
would be to your benefit.

Savor the precious little
any one thing can give you.
Scrape from each moment
all that is beautiful and velvet
and forget there is anything else.
Steven Hutchison Apr 2014
When gunmetal streets begin to fade into jazz
My soul walks cool, unafraid into jazz

There are dissonant holes in the sky tonight
The world seems at once to cascade into jazz

The old district buzzing with ambition’s jam
Each dancer's alchemy turns suede into jazz

And the city lights stiff with rigor mortis
Revived into blues, then swayed into jazz

Windows begin flooding unassuming streets
First timid, the passersby wade into jazz

Some to their ankles, unconvinced of the rhyme
Others shun inhibition and parade into jazz

Their excitement displaced by a mellow groove
Miles Davis lilts above, casting shade into jazz
Steven Hutchison Apr 2014
I thought that stars were for the sky
Muted lights beyond my reach
Until your galaxy flew by

I sang to them with no reply
Hollow nights and there in each
I thought that stars were for the sky

I could not find an answer why
And so rejection I did preach
Until your galaxy flew by

A mystery that dares defy
The laws of nature wise men teach
I thought that stars were for the sky

My sense of love in short supply
I was a lonesome owl’s screech
Until your galaxy flew by

Your nebula no gold can buy
Your gravity implodes my speech
I thought that stars were for the sky
Until your galaxy flew by
Apr 2014 · 1.1k
25 of 30 - The Baptist
Steven Hutchison Apr 2014
Inspired by Caravaggio's Saint John the Baptist in the Wilderness

in my dreams
in my waking
in the crunch of every locust I eat
in the sands of my resting place
in the dust on my feet

I asked
What shall I cry
in this wilderness so vast?
What shall I sing
to Jordan’s banks?
The voice answered,
and it rang in my ears,
and it rolled through my bones,
and at once I understood my father’s fear.
The voice of the LORD
is not a dessert rose,
but a knife
cutting ego from its sinew.
The voice left my father dumbfounded.
The same gave me words to speak.

in my step
in my breathing
swimming in my tired eyes
in the water I bury them in
resonating each fiber of life
Apr 2014 · 833
24 of 30 - Jitters
Steven Hutchison Apr 2014
There in the hole of a witness tree
He sits with teeth jackhammering
Chewing his regurgitated worries
Back down to swallowable size
His mind juggling coordinates
Of hickory, walnut, and acorn
Wearing one too many hats
To blend in with the autumn circus
Bushy tail pendulum
Synchronizing his thoughts:
Twenty paces south of the mailbox
All along the curb on elm street
Catty-corner to the sandbox
I didn’t bury enough
My mother was right about me
Will there be nuts in heaven?
Am I fit to enter
No one understands the freeze
Or the way it syphons your dreams
No one really knows for certain
If they can trust the promise of Spring
These jitters become seizures
Of collateral faith
He is pressing his bones
To hold back the winter
Shaking like a reed in October’s gust
Fretting in the hollow of a tree
Apr 2014 · 716
23 of 30 - Tepoztlán
Steven Hutchison Apr 2014
En los vientres de naciones
todavía huele a tradición:
denso y dulce como un higo.
Hay ecos de bailes
y susurros de dioses
tejiendo pacientemente la cosecha.

Niebla, siempre una niebla,
que desliza por la espalda
de montaña plagada por leyenda,
llevando con sí siseo de culebra,
llanto de cuervo,
y una canción bien embolsada.

Cama fértil pa imaginar,
árboles místicos han criado,
guardando mitos primitivos en sus anillos varicosos.
Hay poco que decir
de la ciencia ni el razón
cuando un trompetista conjura visiones del aguacero.

In the bellies of nations
you can still smell the lore:
dense and sweet as a ripened fig.
There are echoes of dances
and whispers of gods
patiently weaving the harvest.

There is a fog, always a fog,
that slides down the back
of the legend-born mountain
carrying the hiss of a snake,
the wail of a crow,
and a song in its pocket for safe keeping.

Fertile bed for imagination,
mystic trees have sprouted,
holding primal myth in their varicose rings.
There is little to be said
of science or reason
when a trumpeter calls visions from the rain.
Apr 2014 · 392
22 of 30 - I Am Here
Steven Hutchison Apr 2014
our deaths are usually
a collection of hours
and mundane decisions
uprooting our pushpin
from the place marked
You Are Here
We Are
until that fateful morning
or unexpected night
or plane ride
or gunshot
We Are Here
sharp as a thumbtack
holding together
the very fabric of the earth
we are writing this in stone
carving our paths
with each yes and each no
in glorious stride
inescapable end
we choose to push our pins
just a little bit deeper
each step heavy
exercising our freedoms
and with each the refrain
I Am Here
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