buzzard shadow
melts
in a two lane
mirage

in the dust of a
tractor's wake -
a churning cloud
of egrets


Tom Spencer © 2018

spring morning,
still dark -
mockingbird song
eager for dawn

Tom Spencer © 2019

caught in a web
of bare branches
- a flock of empty nests

Tom Spencer © 2018

before the stars
first flared

the ephemeral
becoming

the rising into
and slipping

out of being
is all that has ever been

an effervescent verging
pulsing on the cusp

between what was
and what will be

that place where we
experience

what is briefly
and beautifully real

but now
we have learned

how to package
even this

shrink-wrapping
and conforming

existence itself
into a virtual

and vacuous
commodity

a transaction
based on distraction

fleeting glances
gauged for profit

worth something
to someone

somewhere
a stalker browsing

for sleep-walkers
with available eyes


Tom Spencer © 2019

morning rain
spatters the porch

the alley cats
have eaten their fill

and linger
as they rub cheeks

circling
one another

a swirling eddy
of contentment

they drift
closer to my side

but warily
still half wild

in a few minutes
they will slip away

like rain
on a summer day

Tom Spencer © 2018

deep into winter
the last viburnum leaf

tumbles unbound
and nestles

amongst its scattered
bretheren

the sleeping prophets
of soil and spring

each a paling dream
gently yielding

to the ceaseless
rhythm of abundance

Tom Spencer © 2019

early autumn
a stiff north breeze

sweeps away
the oppressive heat

two crows
are nestled down

in the swaying leaves
below my window

beak touching beak
a brief inkling

of intimacy
before they rise

one after the other
strapping black wings

straining
then sailing

two exultant caws
cast into the wind

Tom Spencer © 2018

this morning
small flocks of
cedar wax wings
dashed into
and out of the fog
black flecks
fluttering
in a misty orb

this afternoon
yellow bellies
twisting through
a cloudless sky
they seemed
like schools
of glittering fish
streaming after prey


Tom Spencer © 2019

dangling from the
powerlines

crescent moon
and morning star

luminous jewels
suspended

above a blinking
stream of brake lights

crawling
into the dawn


Tom Spencer © 2019

false dawn
street light
a globe of mist
leaves drip
owl trills
my breath


Tom Spencer © 2018

slow stepping
through tall grass

the deer
navigates the meadow

by blazing starlight
head high, ears alert

stopping from time to time
to snort and stomp

sensing the unseen presence
holding its breath

a shiver amongst the shadows
of this leafless grove

Tom Spencer © 2019

underneath
the dripping ferns -
frog song


Tom Spencer © 2018

because I looked
I saw the hummingbird return

to the same bare branch
on-top of the sunlit tree

and noted its zealous
round trips to the feeder

on the porch
and because I listened

to the katydids calling
only half understanding

their urgency
but certain of it

this otherwise quiet evening
signifying nothing in particular

reminds me of everything
in particular


Tom Spencer © 2019

contrail slash
glows above the clouds
one moment kite string thin
next blurred by the wind

Tom Spencer © 2018

thinning clouds
drift eastward

fading light clings
to the trailing mist

in the sudden calm
beads of water

slip from the leaves
and are welcomed

by the thirsting earth
hibiscus flowers droop

ferns shimmer
distant thunder sounds

from the top of a tree
a mockingbird

celebrates this brief respite
from the summer heat

a neighbor steps out
and joins me for a moment

we fall silent
and drink our fill

Tom Spencer © 2019

***** mist
hiss of tires
wiper blades reveal
a jet black grackle
landing lightly
on the overpass rail


Tom Spencer © 2018

a bright morning
after a week of cold rain

roses bloom along
the highway overpass

no, it is just the blankets
of the homeless

hung out in the sun
to dry


Tom Spencer © 2019

leaden night
heavy, humid

clinging to a weeping
window pane

the spring peeper
greets its kin

with metallic
cheeps

and ballooning
chin


Tom Spencer © 2019

suspended
holding my breath

as the crow floats down
lightened

before landing
wing tips fluttering

talons extended
reaching

for the top
of the powerline pole



Tom Spencer © 2019

garden hum
yellow bell flowers
rung by bees

Tom Spencer © 2018

riding the top-most
branch of the tree

as it bows to the wind
the crow dips down

and then
thrusts its beak upwards

cracking
the black wedge

it calls out
and ***** its head

listening -
off in the distance

beyond the glass
unheard by me

it detects a response
and glances over its shoulder

meeting my gaze
for a moment

each other looking
seeing and being seen

and then it
launches into the breeze

leaving me sailing
in a black eye’s bead



Tom Spencer © 2019

a flurry of gold leaves
sails past

whirling into
and then out of

the sunlight streaming
between the buildings

everyone is in a hurry
eyes fixed on phones

headsets on
no one talking

only wind sound
and the dry scrape

and tumble of autumn
skittering down the curb

Tom Spencer © 2018

Bats dart in and out
of the gathering light
I glance up at the moon
so clear against the sky
- forgetting my task
the watering can
stretches my arm



Tom Spencer © 2018

winter
fence row
on the wire
and in the stubble
buzzards hunch
in a circle


Tom Spencer © 2018

vast
infinitely vast

soft spring sky
calmer than a waveless sea

swallows arc
with scythe-like wings

distant flecks
vanishing

beyond
the beyond



Tom Spencer © 2019

the sky is clearing
from east to west
illuminated
by the dawn
silver clouds
stream by
for a moment
the whole city glows
for a moment
even the grackles
fall silent

Tom Spencer © 2019

first car down the road
on a summer morning

scissortails and mockingbirds
scatter from the powerlines

rabbits bound ahead
and then dodge into the grasses

luxuriant and wild
grape vines

cloak the barbed wire
and smother the hackberries

cumulus clouds
still tinted pink and gold

rise lazily above
the freshly mown fields

with their stubble
and neatly rolled bales of hay

tires hum
leaves rustle in my wake

the heat has already
begun to pool

in shimmering illusions
that dissolve

on the blacktop ahead


Tom Spencer © 2019

crow's back
metallic sheen
strapping wings
scale the breeze
feather tips flutter
caw calling swagger
spring caw spring




Tom Spencer © 2018

day after gloomy day
black and gray clouds

smudge and smear the sky
rain followed by mist

and then more rain
the streams are choked

with mud and debris
autumn grasses bow down

in sodden ranks
water drips from trees and eaves

just a few weeks ago
the earth was cracking

confused by the change
redbuds are blooming

and amid the tangle
of mottled leaves and

slick black branches  
plum blossoms are opening

I lean in trying to detect
the lush fragrance

but the sky opens up again
and I splash back through the garden

my clothes are soaked through
spring will have to wait


Tom Spencer © 2018

leaves shiver
windows rattle

but no rain falls
waking to the

unsettled edges
of a skirting storm

I find myself
drawn once again

a visitor to this place
this precipice

very briefly
brimming full

of possibility
and promise

but instead
like an autumn leaf

I answer
the gentle summons

and drift back into
the well of dreams


Tom Spencer © 2019

two silhouettes
on the overpass

one head down
looking at her phone

the other waving
a plastic wand

trailing soap bubbles
in the morning light


Tom Spencer © 2019

after the rain
scattered petals
plum blossom path


Tom Spencer © 2018

after weeks of drought
waking up to thunder

and torrents of rain
flashes illuminate the darkness

silhouetting the trees
hail stones pound the roof

and shred the new leaves
lights flicker, windows rattle

as I peer out of the door
none of this compares

to the storm in my heart
your last words to me -

"I guess it is the two of us now"
yet, you are far away

and I am left thirsting
alone and uncertain

Tom Spencer © 2019

hot summer morning
fleeting sheen
of her bare shoulder
when the clouds part


Tom Spencer © 2018

plum trees in bloom -
yesterday floating clouds
today wind blown snow


Tom Spencer © 2018

at the breakfast table
with my father

the brittle bruised skin
of his arms

branded ninety years
by the sun

worn hands folded
as he watches the news

nearly deaf
to the engineered fumes

turning - his flickering
eyes fasten on mine

who does he see

the fevered child
in a burning bed

the graying mirror
the daydreaming kid

returning the gaze
of a closedmouth man

who works and worked
and still pulls his weight

who holds me still
in his awkward

embrace

a swirl of leaves -
shriveled fingers
clutching wind



Tom Spencer © 2018