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A Wish For Your Wedding Day

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to be happy in the rain

and look,
weather delivered
a deluge
left puddles big enough
for ducks to wade in
and you, laughing in white
with mud
on your
mint green heels,
you two, Paris-bound
storm-drenched and shining
and
happy in the rain

Evening Light

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She’s walking the skittish dog.
I ask about her husband.

The surgeon says they got it all.
We hope so. He’s tired right now.

We both look down at the sidewalk,
stand quiet for a minute.

But today’s the dog’s birthday, she says.
So I’m taking her out for ice cream.
To celebrate. We’ll bring him some too,
in case he can eat a little.

DIY Today

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sun and morning dew built it—
brief and vast, this field
fallow but filled with diamonds

 

Ebb to the Flow

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we have been
a chattering of happy squirrels
of dart and gather of
tucking scribbled words into
every pouch and corner storing up
for later
for sometime
words for where we live
numbers to reach us
Today, two cars—
one then another
became Traffic in my head and I knew.
Time. Time’s here.
to breathe quiet air, leave the
doors unlocked, unlatched
but time to sit alone, and crack open
black walnut, acorn, stone and notebook
Full of words I was sure we needed

Our Feat

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i write early while robins browse the yard
all of us low to the ground
attentive
to vibrations
beneath our feet

Road Signs

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Stuck behind a rattly old tractor
and too polite
to
honk
my
horn
I honk it
in my head
and hold on
tight
to
an
Irritated
Breath.
The tractor
turns in
at the cemetery
to mow between the rows of gravestones.
Oh, I breathe—I see it now
What I was following wasn’t a tractor,
or it wasn’t only a tractor, it was a tractor gently
steadily hauling its other self which turned out to be a poem

What I Might Have Made

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I might have made
the start of a poem
early yesterday
scribbling as I drove—
I know that should
Already be Edited to:
Scribbling at a Stop Light—
but anyone who knows me
knows there aren’t any—
stop lights, that is—
on my commute.
So
I scribbled as I drove.
I don’t remember
what I wrote but
I’ll bet it involved the view—
winding my way
through hills hugged close
by low, misty clouds
till the sun came up
and dried the sky, till those
clouds wisped away
and I arrived
to become
Practical
and Achieve things all day

 

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

The Sketchbook

MOSTLY MONTREAL, MOST OF THE TIME

Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Poetry Practice

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry