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Category Archives: Nature

One Of Those Really Long Poem Titles, This One Concerning What Only Becomes Visible When You Cannot Start The Gas-Powered Monstrosity And Must Tend The Spring-Shaggy Lawn With The Ancient Wood And Metal Push Mower

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through wooden fence slats
sun paints yellow stripes across
the freshly mown grass

No Contest

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Which will blossom first,
clutch of daffodils in their brown pitcher
or you?
Together, whispers that voice
outside the windows
Lift your heads and blossom
to This World

Friday’s Trick

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you conjured
Spring for
one day,
conspiration
of blue sky local
crows last year’s berries
on the mountain ash.

Designated Driver

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Steering by headlights,
drive into darkness
into a driving snow.
Deer herd passes by
heads bent over whatever
remains to be foraged
from the stubbled field.
One doe, head up,
watches you, or watches
the road, the snow,
the moving
yellow lines, guardrails.
Houses pass with their lit windows
like headlights in the night sky.

In this driving snow
as deer study the stars
connections
to the planet shift.
The car stands perfectly still
While the world rushes by.
There, proof— reflective signs
warning of leaping deer.

Candle, Light

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Attend
How light shines
Through candle’s thin sides
Little bowl of Fire.

At the Darkest,
Coldest
Turn of the year
Thrill to something— anything
Lit up.

I see how it was
Back in the caves
How we believed
Fire
Was
Magic.

Though we learned to
Welcome it as
Warmth and Weapon
Our first love was
And always is
Light.

Maybe The Deer

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aren’t as innocent as they look.
Maybe they are plotting
long into every night
to destroy all cars.

In this world, thick with deer,
maybe even now they are
hunched together in the woods
spreading topographic maps
with velvet noses or sharp antlers,
holding the corners down
with their hooves
while they assign roads to patrol,
a mission for each.

Winter Hats

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Each
berry cluster
on the mountain ash
wears its tiny cap of snow
obediently. Mother tree says
that hats matter in the wintertime

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 Ronka Poetry Practice

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry