Month: February 2012

From the Water

Spin me into the story resting in your bones, Whirl the stormy past into sea foam until The moon appears inside your home. Spin me into life where memories are made. Put your pen to paper and your paper To my heart. Sign the…

Wash

She used to hate laundry days, the acrid smell of boiled water poured in rough tin pans, the cheap soap peeling away her red skin, and the clothes less than spic and half of span. The washing machine, a wedding present From a rich…

Beginning with Death

I wrote an earlier musing on poems ending with the word “life,” so I thought I would also consider poems beginning with the word “death.” The most famous of these is probably John Donne’s “Death Be Not Proud,” which John Gunther took for the…

Hidden

Under the bridge, the white morning glories rest from the work that has circled them in, that has pinched energy into rest, life into death, bloom into shell of that bloom. I run over that bridge, desire like wood splintering from me and landing…

Poetry Where We Are

When I see blank signs along the roadway, I usually think of a poem that would fit on them. That one would be just perfect for a Yeats’ line or that one could fit an entire Dickinson. I like signs that were once something…

Blind in the Hall

The way of this life is a tenuous one. My son flirts with joy at a cherry popsicle in the afternoon and that evening must stand his ground in the backyard, when he tells his new friend Stuart, I am not a baby. You…