Puff Of Smoke Poems

Storm brewing stirs up
leaves and horses
scattering where they don’t belong
We go out, armed for our work
always the same
with rakes and reins
Gather them home

The new neighbor wants it Gone
because it places its gifts of cones in his yard
He being a squinty eyed measure man
rakes their fragrant selves together places
a pine cone mound beside the trunk
refusing all he’s been given
Do not be him, always turning away
Instead, be grateful for the bountiful
gifts this world offers— pine cones,
light to see by
and a venerable tree to see.

Before dawn, begin
by going for a run
or singing in the garden
if you happen to be
a frog or a cricket
or unwrapping a poem
delivered
like morning news
by the steady beat
of sneakered feet
and songs beneath
leafy darkness
out there
beyond the circle of
porch light.

They arrive September scented
in hot tight new shoes Everyone
still has a pencil and a schedule
clutched like map and compass
to guide them through the woods
where, Everyone Knows, the key
is not to look lost or scared or alone
or, worst of all, excited
In this way, they will reach
the edge of the woods and arrive
on the other side
Someday

Poem for the first day of a new school year–

All the books you never read
are stacked against you
one tall precarious tilt casts
a long invisible shadow over you
Shadow you will not admit exists
However
like gravity and oxygen it is Real.

This is our year.
I didn’t know you when you were
turning away or turned away
or never brought near the
world’s foothills and mountains
of board books, picture books,
easy readers, chapter books.
But I know you now.
I am offering now I am
handing out climbing gear and in
this world both
tools and mountains
are made of Words
Somewhere up there are stories for you
every thing you need to scale
any height you choose.
Here’s a great book.
Start climbing.

Autumn in the wings
wild geese above this quiet room
with its fresh paint clean and empty
waiting
all the laced windows open and fluttered
whole blue house mountain-posed

Stop listening so hard
to the talktalktalk of What If
drowning out
wind through the leaves
of this summer’s maples

Look here, this
white bowl full
of lemons
taut pebbled skin
holding a core
pure essence of
Bitter Sweet
sudden swooping nostalgia
on a sunny day
Life of pucker and joy

I prefer a sky
of tumbled puff clouds
tacked onto bright blue
above a field of wildflowers,
a few cows in the meadow
edged by forest with
its cool dark depths
beckoning.

Today’s forecast:
Sunny and warm with a
journey by afternoon.
Under cloudless skies
we’ll meet a
Missouri Fox Trotter
called Hero.
I’ve packed carrots
and an apple to feed
to your dream come true.