Monthly Archives: March 2010

Shelter

Clothed in woven words,
wintering over inside paragraphs,
the time tribe wanders
from youth’s dark season
to the roaring pyres of night.
A river glides over sun warm rocks.
Hours or eons go by.
A flint spear flies between steady breaths.
A catfish flops in the cheat grass.
No science impedes the trek
across skies and folds of bending matter.
A termite crawls up the highest mound in the afternoon heat,
following a relentless trail.
Lightning cracks,
a flash flood rolls down a narrow canyon —
leaving mere bones without
shelter of words.

Today’s Quote

“It would seem that nothing good could be accomplished without some vice to aid in it.”

Henry David Thoreau

Radio Summer

We rode the tram up
to OHSU hospital to see you today
over the backyard mosaic
of soggy daffodils
and wrinkled roofs

You were lying there
scattered like dry leaves
your words like wheels on gravel
one arm hanging
where they un-wired you

God, I’m glad
you could smile a bit
No more fishing
No skirt chasing
by the shipyard
by the newspaper plant
by the mother gone early
by everything wild
and hurting and new

Christ, I wish
we had one more
run up to Glacier Park
in the easy
easy radio
summer
gone
bye

Realization

Realization

Why is the tumor so dark in the pictures?
How long has it been there?
How big is it?
Does it have cousins?
What does it want?
Can I reason with it?
Why does it have the best real estate?
I have dinner plans on Thursday.
I don’t have time for this.

Response: “blah blah blah.”

This was not on the itinerary.
It is just unacceptable.
If my excursion is cut short,
I want to be compensated for the loss.

And I want at least ten extra column inches in the newspaper —
Above the fold.

Today’s Erasure Poem

Anew (erasing Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

The depth and breadth and height
of old griefs
when feeling out of sight
with lost saints,
put passion to use —
everyday Being turn
to breath and chosen Grace
and count the ways of love.

Bike Trail

Bike Trail

Canvasback ducks
way below me on the river
like a handful of black eyed peas
tossed on a blue quilt,
goes by before
I can stop
to wonder.