I am not a poet.
I don’t understand poetry.
I can’t write a poem.
I am not poetic.
The mantra of negatives,
Half spoken truthfully,
Half intended to hide
The fact that Continue reading “The List, The Poem, The List”
Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry
Poetry of the People
I am not a poet.
I don’t understand poetry.
I can’t write a poem.
I am not poetic.
The mantra of negatives,
Half spoken truthfully,
Half intended to hide
The fact that Continue reading “The List, The Poem, The List”
It is not a chaste kiss
One wants from another
Who is the focus of drowning
Desire
It is not that
Merlin: a life of magic with no love
–only obsession at the end
yet
His empathy for Uther
His empathy toward passion
Propelled enchantment. Continue reading “Igraine’s Letter”
We wait for the crabgrass and dandelions and wild onion
To shuffle aside the fall leaves, our feet crunching
What has died, our attention focused on sun and wind,
The beauty of not-yet-spring, oh but almost, almost. Continue reading “Almost, Almost”
We parked the truck and stepped out
Onto the road that used to be a highway
Of my childhood, winding through Mayes County
To the Grand River bluffs, where my mother
Said hobos made cave camps and where a train
Ran a solitary line amidst the blackjack
And sawbriar. I am holding your hand. Continue reading “Holding Your Hand”
I came to you after the scars, came to your skin
In our fifth decade when it wears its past,
Two pale circles at the base of your spine
Almost glowing in the dark, and on the other side,
Your navel gone, taken in the surgery that almost
Took you. I am beginning to know your skin, Continue reading “Your Skin”
I am looking at you through a window
I work to keep open, through the world
At 50, and I’m seeing a landscape
I had not anticipated, a life waving
In this still image from the abandoned garage Continue reading “Abandon”