“We want to be
More than the tree.
A melody
For you
We sing and sing
Always hoping
Your Love to ring
As true…
Please, please sing back!
Tell where you’re at —
Let our song
Be for two.”
Lockdown
Quarantine
“Keep the door shut.”
Practice
“Social distancing”
Do not touch!
Wash your
Hands for
Twenty seconds
Swab and
Daub and Wipe
down surfaces!
Don’t forget
Don’t touch
Your Faces!
Though we
Won’t need
No toilet paper
For one
Or two
Weeks more
It doesn’t
really matter
‘Cause there’s none left
At
The
Store
A bird
A bird
A bird has rhythm
Listen
Listen
Listen closely — To hear
If you
If you
Listen closely
A whole
New Lang-
uage will appear
Repeat
Repeat
The melody
The beat
The beat
Is very clear
The words
The words
These Words may not matter
The music
The music
Is more than a mirror
She was
A sweet
A sweet blue bird
Named “Happy”
She would even
let you hold her
Her Eggs
Were aquamarine
With golden yolks
American
Ameraucana
“The Easter Egger”
Though she
Stopped producing
Early in life
She was
Well regarded
By the Garden Club.
RIP
Tic tic
Says the clock
As it counts off your day
“Where
have you been?” He says,
“Happy has passed away…”
Dirty work
This garden farm
On any good day, not much harm
‘Cept for
The mice
Who’ve come to barn
But today
You know —
Was different too
It was
The day…
That Happy died—
I need a break —
I need a break
I need a break from me
I’m swimming in
I’m breathing in
“I’m drowning,” sincerely
— John Doe —
I’ve stripped away
Prosperity
I’ve drunken down my past
I’ve left myself
No other choice
Lest this day be my last
In my head
You’re in my head
You know I see you there…
“Take a deep breath
Take a deep breath
Take in all of this air.
Make still your mind
Make whole your kind
Be what you think you should
Now let it in
Release your sin
And become what you never
Would
Gather yourself
And leave your things
It’s time to go on —Human—
Being”
Categories
this art is not yours
Stop it!
Why are
You do-
ing this?
Denying
Your Nat-
ure—you
Question
Your voice.
This Art
Is not
For you.
You must
make it
Work for
Others.
Without
Consumption
These are
Just words.
Without
Criticism
These are
Not poems.
Categories
Faith in art
Divinations
Of an un-
Kind Spirit
Isolation
When you
Get perspective
From above
And can see
Yourself
On the astral
Plane. Comp-
rehension be-
gins again
When you
Return to
What is
Real and
Whole to
You. It’s
Harder than
It sounds!
Categories
Footsteps in the past
These heavy feet
Burdened by ghosts
Of my grandfathers
Reminding history
Like wispy shackles
Dragging stowaways
On my ankles
Through my forest trek.
As walking in
Their steps of old
Ice cold conditions
Better gear for me
But me and my
Cold feet must carry
The miles of quiet.
My youngest son
Reminds me that
The 10 miles I
Journeyed were but
One day of 10
Miles for months
For the souls
Who took upon
The Oregon Trail.
I’ll keep my Coffee
Hot and my
Thoughts pastoral
And I will sleep
On my memory-foam
Mattress!
Categories
frond
Fushia on pale blue-green
Umbra to sage, or better yet
— cactus-colored…
The green of the desert floor
Giving way to disease and decay.
A brilliant burning out with one
valiant effort
The bright colors of its
luscious burgundy flower’s
fruit flaring away
like a New Mexico sunset.