Categories
2020 Albuquerque American Place New Mexico Poems

Silent

1.
Silent. Snow
On the ground.
No noise.
Not wind.
Not Bird.
Only the
Occasional
Dropping of water
From the trees.
“Da-lop”
Large, heavy
Beads hitting
Deep beds
Of white.
Then suddenly
“Kur-plasch!”
A whole
Snowball.
Cold radiating
From the
Blinding ground
Steaming
From mid-day sun
Casting
Saw blade shadows
From cactus fronds
On the blank canvas.

2.
Silent!
Mountainside
No wind
Only the
Ringing,
Singing
In my ears
And the heavy
Drumbeat
Of my
Overextended
Heart
Palpitating
Out of my
Chest as
I stop
And breathe.
I listen
And hear
Nothing!
The forest
Still, until
The brief
Drop of water
That “blips”
And returns
To the white
Cold canvas.

Categories
2020 Albuquerque American Place New Mexico Poems

Look Down

To Ascend
To summit
To take to
The high ground
No shelter here
Only vigilance
Every footfall
An icy opportunity
For mass and gravity
To take swing
And change
Your orbit to
Down
“Watch your step”

Categories
2020 Poems

Orbits

I found myself
Gripping my pencil
So tightly that
My wedding ring
Was causing pain
To shoot down my finger

—breathe—

Stopped long enough
To pay attention
And relax.

Another estimation
Of my repetitions
Not sure if it
Is a descent
Or a final
Ascension to
New heights so
That I might
Get a better
Point of view
My circling
Routine must
Be leading to
Something besides
Its own orbit.

Categories
2020 American Place Poems

Dwelling on the Past

I saw the
Volcanoes 3
In front of me
History

I saw the
Heavenly Stars
The Light from These
History

I saw
The thoughts
In my head
The reflections
They said,
“History”

My Present
Human Being
Exists in
The Past

I build the Future here.

Categories
2020 Albuquerque American Place Poems

On thin ice

Whipping tail
Chassis loose
On the move
No control
Hope there’s
Nothing
Behind you now
Pressing forward
Counter balance
Brings you back
To straight lines
With a shimmy ~

Categories
2020 American Place Ars Poetica Poems

Ink Think

The only one
who thinks in poetry
is seemingly me.

(surprisingly)

Perhaps it’s you
who thinks
in broken lines,
metaphors and ink.

But to the rest
I must plainly digress
into lyric rust

For on the shelf
These prisoners ||\|||\
(pioneers)
must sit
until they’re unhinged \_/

Or read aloud
to a half-listening crowd
Seeking
Enlightenment?

Categories
2020 American Place Poems

A “song” is more than a title

So you wrote a poem
And you called it a song
Only counts if you can sing it
Come now let’s hum along

But if it’s just a poem
Then leave it as you wrote
For I don’t need your melody
To stick in my parched throat

But if ye be a singer
Then sing your hearts content
I like to Rage and Hammer on
And scream and bang my head.

Categories
2020 American Place Poems

At your service

What does it mean to serve?
To be in the service of another
To wash the feet and tender oil
To sit with the weak as they pass
To lend shoulder to grief with soft smile

Or do you help my day?
To be there when the toilet’s clogged again
To put my squeaky car back on the road
To come to my rescue in my grave hour
To bless my wedding or baptize my child

Or perhaps action’s calling?
To serve when duty beckons you to arms
To shield your brother’s harm from far away
To protect the unknown with your own life
To put back the pieces when peace finally comes

Or to relieve the woes of folks?
To social workers holding back the brink
To the nurse whose hour saves a child’s life
To the lottery winners who tip a grand
To those who help others with nothing asked
‘Cept
“How can I help you?”

Categories
2020 American Place Poems

What do we make of it?

I do not break,
‘Cept for the line,
The cobble stones
Removed by time

I do not build,
‘Cept on the theme,
A lasting home
For my family

What do we make?
With this poetry
Not castle nor treasure
Just memories
Just minuscule
Glimpses
Into the moment
Of the mind’s
Poetic I

Categories
2020 American Place Ars Poetica Poems

WCW (Metercratic Oath)

Got it right, got it right
William Carlos Williams
Got it right

The trick is in the meter
solid rhythm, perfect beat
Well balanced measure

Pluck the string elegan’ly
Don’t forget the tercet
A quatrain will suffice

Just keep it in just meter
Or the critics will complain
That you have made no mastery
Of what it is that Williams claimed

Yet me I like my brevity
And dabble in vain rhymes
But The meter,
O the meter
I will take
and
do no harm.