the lighthearted reality of not saying much is that, when you do say something at all, you’re generally expected to be profound, or to resonate a sense of worth within your words, when you may very well just want to be funny.
Category: Poems
-
tree
there is this tree,
towering, living
to be as shaded
reservoir of wind,
the subtle/nestled
shadow’s kin,
a warmth inverted,
deepened to the nerve
and thru, toward
skin’s
other layer, and
this tree,
holding,
lowering
itself
to me, holds
me up
and lets me
lie here,
a transparent,
meshed follower
of what
wind
may
grow.
-
when walking,
when walking,
carpet/
rice/
pebbles/trees/roots/
leaves/limbs/body/
grasses/mud/ground/
dirt/beetles/ants/worms/
are all, directly,
from you treated.
-
blades of the fan
blades of the fan
like lights, dashes
on a highway, speed
by on this edge-tipped
cd, “plea for peace:
take action,” and
slightly over
the insurance,
all-state, card
red-striped, white.
-
‘re there and
i’m here
you’re there
it’s not distance,
just a stare–
you see?
you see?not the step kind,
but i
might as well
to seeyou
‘re there and i’m
here.
-
Yes
“I have to get up
and move around. If I sit, I’ll
get up and go Psshhoo.”Grandma gets up,
standing,
wobbles
in her small frame
and catches herself
on the frame of the door,
walks toward the counter,
grabbing
chairs, one
at a time along her way,
to see the screendoor,
the damage done, and
I feel she fell
some time earlier,
is recovering,
and she does not want
to give in or give up,
even if it means she’s
really giving herself
a chance, though
she knows if she does,
she seems weak,
even if she is
the truly
strongest woman
I’ve ever met
and she doesn’t
even know she is
yet
I cannot tell her
for she’ll just
swear and sit and say,
“No, no, no– Honestly,
no.”
-
Mother
she sits
in a blue-mid, red-tipped,
“pansies,” on the chest shirt,
half-crying, half-CRYing
over the Mother, her daughter,
being so paternal, a knack
for the dramatic, and seeing
my confusion, a light introduction
of when she was the mother, her
Mother the child, grown, she
smiles, recalling the freedom, hers.
-
perceptioning
the voice of a young wind-piercer hints at seconds passing;
as though unheard, they find way from chin/neck to let known their being,
and they are, in all ways, known now.