20201130.0430

The little birds
Flittering about in their plumage
Proud of it
In its many colors and shapes
Each unalike to each
Twittering and chirping
Singing out as they flutter off
And, once again, I smile

20201129.0430

They flock to catch the flowers
No new weddings soon to come
While I
Content in my lengthening marriage
And the fruit that still grows from its bloom
Sit and smile just a bit
Not needing to struggle

20201128.0430

Uprooted too many times for
The roots to run deep
However much manure was spread about
The scrub cedar somehow survived the storm
Weathered the winds
Stood fast against flames
And the seed that sprang from it
Seems to have found deeper soil
And is making much of it

20201127.0430

Take their limbs
Hack away the hangers-on
Cut their trunks
And I will feast upon them
Ravening in my heat
To the delight and sometimes pain
Of those who look on me
Who seek to bring me forth
My speech cracking
My presence illuminating
The smith's helper and the cook's
Say what I am if you can
And of what food I speak

20201126.0430

Today should be marked by a feast
On the West Coast as well as the East
And lands in between
But that does not mean
That elsewhere, the joy should be ceased

20201125.0430

The branches pruned
The limbs cut back
The amputated boles stand naked in the evening sun
And whom such nudity attracts
I surely do not know

20201124.0430

Sitting at this distance is not easy
Closer would be better
But the building has to stand without scaffolding

20201123.0430

The Helian cerulean spray spreads no wider than
The unfolding Ouranian cloak
And if the one has a brighter jewel
Nobody went blind staring at the starlight at night

20201122.0430

Why should I hunger after breadsticks
Baked from depleted flour
Dried out under heatlamps or
Lacquered with
Some stale spread sprayed from a can
When I have a full loaf of
Good brown bread
Warm and fragrant
Dripping with butter and honey
All for my own?

20201121.0430

She stands there
Waiting to take her daughter in
As I have already done
Set the brightly colored flower to twirl without the wind
And I mark her presence
And she mine
But if her eyes narrow
It is not for the reason mine do
Because she is not facing into the sun

20201120.0430

The sun shines in
A clear sky, and
Warm breezes blow so
Butterflies dance on
Particolored wings but
I cannot enjoy it
Cannot be out among such things because
There is work to do and
Nobody to do it but
Me
What can I do but
Turn away from the window and
Try to refuse to see
What I cannot have?

20201119.0430

Forgetting how to rest
Taking time in the sun and breeze
Warm and cool at once
And not too much of either because both
To hunch over some meaningless task
Because work has always to be done
Even if to no end and less delight

20201118.0430

How long has the cypress stood
Beside the creek that has always seemed to flow?
Is its height the mark of age
Or should it be taller
Stunted by thin soil broken off
One tiny piece at a time
From the graves of swimmers long forgotten?

20201117.0430

Sitting on the outside again
While the wind is blowing
There is joy inside
But no heart to come in out of the cold

20201116.0430

Doggedly
I jog out my allotted laps
And if I break no records
Do not snap my leash
I am at least loyal to the task
Though it may well not reward me with
Even so much as kibble

20201115.0430

Eyes growing green as
They see so many laugh and play
Never counting the cost
An accountant whose ledger is
Always in the red
Not firm enough to be firm with others
Or to show them how
Soft lump too much self-indulged
Unfit for nobler times or harder
But suited only to the rot and decay
Of too much fat in the body politic
Going gangrene because bloodless
Hoping the amputation never comes
And laziness trumps vanity
Keeping the liposuction away

20201114.0430

I should long to
Throw myself upon the grass
But I always worry
The stains will never out

20201113.0430

Somehow
I managed to miss the fire ant mounds
The sticker-burrs
The yard raisins spread around
Presents from the bucks and does
Coming into season sooner than they'd like
If they were able to understand such things
And I don't even have a rock jabbing me in the sciatica as I
Lie upon the grass
A bottle in my hand
A butterfly perched for a moment on its lip
And keeping me from lifting it again

20201112.0430

Running along its jagged paths
And leaving its strange trails behind
So those that follow far or close
Find new things to keep in mind
The racer seeks to leave its mark
On the trees' pulped and bleached rind
And if it falters, those who track
Its course may pause; they may be kind

20201111.1111

Better pens than mine
Better hands upon better keyboards
Better minds behind them and
Better hearts

Have said what can be said of this
More than a century on
But I maintain
My old refrain:
Would that they had been right

20201110.0430

Once again in his prime
For the eighteenth time, in fact
Having run with us the solar circuit
He puts off Holst's Saturnian claim just a bit longer
Fitting enough for a man whose tool is not the sickle
And whose younger son regards him more kindly than that
Emulating him in ways his elder did not
He has more laps to run
And we look forward to him continuing on the track
Glad of his company still
Eager for more

20201109.0430

Do they think I breathe
With deep-sea diver sounds?
I rarely sit on a park bench
And the flowers' bloom is no madness in the spring
Yet I know that I must mind my eyes
Because it is not my intent that matters
But the effect that others feel
And I know from experience
I need not touch to repulse

20201108.0430

The newer singer sings
Somewhere there is
A place where all the things that live and breathe
Exist in harmony
But I have known
Harmony does not exist without separation
And too much closeness breeds dissonance
To which listening is productive
The tensions making new ideas
But too few are willing to be good audiences
For that sort of song
Unequal even to the attempt
Let alone the challenge itself

20201107.0430

It was a hopeful strain that
People everywhere
Have seen the light in what they found
But the singer then did not see
The light was from consuming flame
And it is not dust in the wind
But ash that blows
Smoke-sucked scraps all that remain
Dancing in the lonely wind

20201106.0430

Knowledge and reason change like the season
A jester's promenade
Prophetic lines from a song decades old
A pinnacle of achievement
Except not even so much dignity still attaches itself thereto
For a jester has a purpose
And the challenge to tight-held notions
And the words of the mighty
No longer find acceptance even in such abject guise

20201105.0430

They start so young
Twenty minutes late to class
And sad their teacher turns them back
But at least Mommy is not arguing
Yet

20201104.0430

I am going down the staircases again
To wit
But now I am stopped upon this one
Uncertain I should take another step
Or start back up

20201103.0430

I don't have a poem today. There is no need. Instead, I have this to say:

If you haven't, and you're eligible, VOTE.

What passes for regularity here will resume tomorrow. I hope.

20201102.0430

The shrapnel wounds became tattoos
Recovery and acceptance of the sacrifices made
But they read them instead as covering in shame
Badges they would never want to bear

20201101.0430

As the day draws near that many dread
As making to snap the remaining thread
By which that hangs that is now near to dead
And never was as hearty or as hale
As held the myth that for long did prevail
Because they lifted it with great travail
Who wanted to believe it, terror grows
From sources that the Stupid God well knows
Inasmuch as knowing acts in its repose
And it convulses, squamous, eldritch, foul,
Within the multitudes that are its cowl,
Puppets shaken hard upon its dowel
And joying in the rod applied behind,
Thinking its abuse is acting kind.