Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems

“Your soul is the king’s falcon,” sings Rumi
but here on the ground we are yelling at a cat
to get off the table, packing lunches,
untangling power cords, checking the forecast,
drowning out the soft classical guitar play list
fading the falcon into the background
on a groundswell of ordinary morning irritation.
Stop, breathe, remember who we are
each of us, as we both soar
and search for clean socks

Snow built a new landscape in the night.
Only natives recognize it now —
that wide white field?
It isn’t a field at all
but a frozen pond
favored by the geese.
How many similar secrets
does every village hold?
Every village (every heart)
waits for spring to thaw and show
what’s been hidden in the cold

Someone—a deer, a dog,
A small moose, a snow mermaid
Someone bigger than a bunny
In no hurry at all
Crossed the yard while we slept
Left a trail visible only from above
Masked by snow at ground level.
I study it from the upstairs windows
Like so much else noticed in quiet
This sounds as if it’s a metaphor
When it is just this:
The snowy truth

About every single thing in his poems,
she shook her head and said:
We don’t have those anymore.
trees, leaf mold, mountains
seashores, minutes, cows
weekends, candles, dictionaries
llamas, meadows, coffee mugs
coffee
All gone, now.

more time passes
I read another poem
(a tiny treatise on impermanence)
while the candles burn
the furnace chugs along
tea fills the mug steam rises
our whole house hums
everything committed to its
vital ordinary work
the walls and roof
hold steady the windows
windows who rattle a bit
humble and ecstatic in the throes
of framing this fierce wind

I like my notebooks
shrink-wrapped in clear plastic
and coated in cheap glitter.
It takes effort (time and teeth)
to catch and peel away
what binds those pages
Once free, the paper
sighs the tiniest sigh
breathes out a puff of loose glitter
so now your hands shine too

how would it be
to be one pine cone dreaming
at the top of one evergreen
on the side of one snow-covered hill
one of many among multitudes
all of us waking
below the bright white
winter sky

On a cold night
our kitchen pipes
froze. All the wise
man advice said
Keep the faucet open
so a tiny heart of water
could always trickle
As in the habit of poems
some read each day
written each day
keeps some hidden part
of our selves unfrozen
open, flowing

A poem from last year that I searched for again, as a reminder for the year ahead:

For the coming year, resolve
your self to attend the moments.
Give the sweet and still seconds your focus
rather than tending the buzzing bees of Planning.
But do not swat away those busy,
well-intentioned bees.
Instead, offer a kind suggestion.
Place a new thought into their rushing minds, their
quivering planning bodies so ready
to make honey, to store honey, to prepare
to make a plan for more honey to be prepared…
Stop. Breathe. Suggest gently
that perhaps along with the carried pollen of plans
each bee might settle for a moment
one quiet moment
burrowed head first
into the center of the blossom
of now.

still in bed early
wishing on the rising sun
through the east window

Wishing on the new year’s sun
as on a birthday candle
Peaceful hearts
Joyful moments a
Happy year
for everyone I love
and everyone they love
oh, feeling generous,
wish it for all alive now
on this whirling planet
circling the sun I didn’t see
which turned out to be
a streetlight through the trees
a mistake I’ve likely made before