Death in April

Slow slow

in the cold

night's unfolding

awake to a chill

in the breathless

morning's ending

.

Spray Not, Sickle Not

Antennaria neglecta (pussytoes), Aquilegia canadensis (columbine)

Roadbank facing south

protected from prevailing wind

rain enough

light enough

a daily show of wonders

with each passing

if we let it be

.

Drink the Last of Your Wine

The rain stopped and the wind rose tearing holes in the clouds

soarers floated into the valley and the night followed them

going and coming life and death it's all one and here's to that

-with a sentiment from Du Fu, 767 A.D.

Untitled

Alone in the one horizon

alone in the entire day

as a word is alone

in the moment it is spoken

with the world turning under it

the present like the sea

moving at its own pace

at the end of its radius

sailing in its own time

-with adapted lines by the masterful W.S. Merwin

Some Called the Late Snow Destructive

maypoles with their heads in the snow

we are listening for something

there are things we do not have to say

only our own voices make no echoes

.

Our Own Stories

we are taught in whispers

rain on the glass

beach grass hissing as the storm slips out to sea

for a while despite all that has happened

we imagine we believe our own stories again

.

Beach Primitive

Built by children as they ended a week on the sandbar

Children's

totem

to the wind

and water

to the animals

they know

are their elders

feather stick

and sand

sacrificed

to the tide.

.

Sane Wind

We want to

fall asleep

with the ocean

gnashing like

a chained beast,

and awaken

in a scrubbed

and reliable life,

wind light

and steady,

south

by southeast.

.

Atlantic

I have come to the sea to be with the lost

I have brought them with me and I see them

on the anniversaries of their dying only the sea

matches the churn and the shattering

the great surges dragging over the bottom

the toppling the roar of their blood in their veins

I walk the soft sand and I hear them behind me

the shouts of their joy and their surprise at living

I hear them behind me and I see them

running ahead of me they run through me

I am with them in the slipping surf

a ghost walking with ghosts.

.

Beach Sand

All things

hold the void,

look where

we stand,

on the wreckage

of millennia.


Take heart,

nature thrives

on reassembly.

.

North by Northeast

Worth a click.

Northeast wind clears the air of haze,

Clears the beach of people,

Blows the biting flies across the sound

And lifts the heavy birds

That hover, bank, and glide,

And lifts the thoughts of men

That hover, bank and glide.

.

Not Edited by Cicero

Trapped in a sinking sedan: "This couldn't be any worse!"

The wind swung around from the north

And the temperature dropped with the sun,

So I dressed in pantlegs and sleeves

And drove down the bar to the show.


Lucretius could wait, The Stooges were playing,

Eye-poke and head-bonk the nature of things,

Extravagant slapstick with babies as squirt guns,

And the orphanage saved in the end,


Good practice to laugh when we can.

.

Fishing Report

We all have our methods.

"A few anglers fishing, not catching,

But a pretty day to be on the beach."

– TW's Bait & Tackle fishing report, 4/17/12.

.

Self

The soul exists,

inwardness,

the psychological  "I,"

even  if its mention

makes you uneasy

in this age suffering

from loss of attention.

Do not be afraid,

Emerson said,

to take yourself seriously.

.

Beachcomber

"Find anything?" asks a father of five from Connecticut

as I returned from a long walk along the tideline.

"Oh, yes, " I say into the wind. "Peace of mind."

.

Dispatch from the Banks: Romance

Click to appreciate tattoo.

He was more

than an hour

late, but he

made amends

with an

impressive

display

of balance,

and she was

charmed.

.

End of an Eight-Hour Drive

Off-Season in Duck, NC

The wind

moans

in the bottle,

the ocean

sighs

without cease,

all this, this,

relentless,

makes for a

weary world

or is that

just me?




.

Neurons

Look long enough and lose your purchase

On the Earth there is no guarantee

Any of us will regain our moorings

Once we are lifted by the synaptic tide

And floating free beyond the guns and growls

Deep among the constellations of yellow violets.

.

Untitled Reflection

The young come to join us

As if from the core of the void.

Is that where we're headed then,

The universe empty and full

Of everything at once?


We hope they are even more stunned

By this world than we are,

Yet it seems we know so much more,

Just not for sure.

Illusions are costly only when lost.

–Under the sway of Wislawa Szymborska, 1923-2012.

Cindy Unmasked

Cindy Sherman as herself in the NYT.

Her 35-year retrospective runs at the MOMA through June 11.

Queen of the self-portrait,

distorter of her own features,

dresser in thrift shop costumes, 

wearer of wigs and facepaint,

pretending to be who she's not,

titling nothing, complex and dark,

like the rest of us, with this difference:

she has worked at one idea all her life

without repeating herself,

unafraid of her wicked imagination,

following where that leads.

.

Fiddlehead Triptych

A sectioned day,

       cloud, sun, warm,

               wind, cold, snow,

                        thunder, hail, sun on the ground where hope unfurls,

               cloud, again, sun,

       want, again, all

powers of three.

.

Corridors

Laurel Ridge. Please click to enlarge.

If the winds of heaven

Would only blow shut the doors

Of the corridors of the clouds,

I could keep these memories

For a little while.

–based on a poem by The Abbot Henjo, 8th C.

.

Attempting One Good Line

Click to wander in the boughs.

Click to soar.

Diaphanous spring, tender and finite,

mutable days and formless nights

when choices change and nothing's right

for those of us burning to be more

than flashing bright in a rainless wind,

grounded birds struggling for flight.

.

Succumbing to Time and Gravity

Among the strong and massive,

The fallen are beautiful.

Country Game in the City

Pirate shortstop Clint Barmes signs autographs on Kids Day at PNC Park.

Young

millionaires

stretch their

muscles in

the outfield as

younger fans

beg for ink,

all happy in

the realm

of games.

.

First Canopy

The first canopy opens in colonies,

Low growth rushing to flower and fruit

While the sun is still strong on the floor.


Come into the woods as it thickens around us,

The last canopy will cover us soon enough,

Make the most of the light while the light lasts.

.

May Our Senses of Humor Outlive Us

This was her favorite holiday,

Perhaps because of the emerging green,

Perhaps because of the story of salvation

And the idea that anything is possible,

Even finding tinted eggs in the yard,

Even hidden by a giant benevolent rabbit,

Even forgiveness.


Four years ago this month she died.

Feeling unsettled, I came across this URL

She sent me two weeks before she fell ill.

She can make me laugh still,

And there is no small miracle in that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BPb0po2jzfg

.

Beyond the Towers

I've lost my phone again.

Here beyond the towers.

Yet I have dishes on the roof,

And on the internet I read

Our government is tracking us

By cell phone emanation,

Which sure gives me the creepers,

So when they locate mine,

I hope they'll let me know.

I might be missing something,

But I say finders keepers.




.

Opener

Seasoned warriors, shoulder to shoulder,

survivors of the current fighting beyond seas,

marched the colors onto the field, and we stood

with our caps in our hands, and we sang

and we clapped and we considered for a moment

the horrors of war before the team took the field

and we, the red and the black, settled into our seats

to wish each other mayhem and misfortune,

being a civil people, but impermanently.

.

Moon Less than Full

The moon less than full

Comes up when it should

Whether or not

I've finished my work.


When I stop

I hear the owl.


This is the real world.

.

What to Do

Tell your mind and its

       agony

to the white bloom

       of the blue plum tree,


a responding beauty

       irreducible

of the one earth and

       ground, for real.


Once a year

       in April

in this region

       you may tell

       for a little while.

–Hayden Carruth (1921-2008).

Eventide

Dealings with my fellow creatures done,

The ceaseless gush of futile language ceased,

I go afield and feel the frost begin to grow,

Content with mystery simple and profound,

And that is peace.

.

Groundhogs

Click to go big.

Out from our hibernaculums, squinting in the sunlight, hungry,

basking in the afternoon among the succulents, famished,

we the sugareaters, pinking in the ulraviolet, praising the lord,

and the splendid sun, and the early buds, and the fried syrup.

.