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small poem about the morning

The morning? Light
in the dark, dream
to carry you forward,
scent of rosemary and
words threaded through
this whole unfolding day

A poem makes a tiny announcement

a poem makes a tiny announcement
when she enters the room but quietly
quietly not because she is shy but
because this is how she begins
If you don’t listen when
she hums her way towards words?
The moment passes. Without words
the poem is quick and gone
on the smallest breeze even the breeze
of your mind clicking through today’s
List of Work To Do, even the breeze of
your breath, asking her to take a number
asking her to wait her turn

Pack Paperbacks

bring sunscreen
and flip flops
a new toothbrush
your old soul
and paperbacks
full of pages who don’t mind the damp
sea air and sand between sentences,
loose idle words, whole paragraphs willing
to drift at low tide unattached
broken free,
bindings open to the sun

Live Like The Beginning Of A Blizzard

Today, she said,
Live like the beginning of a blizzard.
Already the snow (which just arrived)
falls faster, gains confidence in its ability
to fall. All those winter hours,
centuries of seen and unseen snow
in open farm fields
on roof lines thatched or shingled
over deep secret forests.
Snow against castle walls,
long ago halls hung with thick tapestries
hunting dogs sleepdreaming by the fireside
Snow above high-rise offices where
expensive views of distant mountains disappear
in heavy snow. Snow with years of practice
like a nervous opera singer
a teacher a student a dancer a conductor
of orchestras or railroads.
Or like you. You, right now,
warming up, clearing your throat,
getting ready, getting better at this
the snowstorm of your life in this
weather driven world.

Reminder

on days when the light in other bodies
dims, when their glow is turned
down to a simmer, (almost) hidden—
consider the source

Home Workbench

This home workbench
not in a cellar or garage
not sawdust-scented
or filled with mysterious metal tools
No fuse box in the spider-dark corner
No jars of nails and bolts
screws and nuts and washers
Never suited for those jobs,
this whole workshop is tiny,
especially when folded. It is
spider-free and portable
A silver foil cover embossed with patterned
leaves, held together by a brown elastic
to keep the scribbled words from falling

Caution Signs

Be cautious of sadness.
It has grown too large when
birds avoid your yard, even
tempted with suet cakes.
If despair wears itself
paper thin, lures you to ignore
the complicated gifts
of age, illness, solitude
then even the birds sense it
and move across the road
where there is only
midwinter grass. So many birds
we lose count.

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