Tornado Watch

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take what you want i bowed to the sea

but kindly take just what you need


i need it all said the ravenous sea

you must understand i've the storm to please


very well then i said an old ache in my heart

why should you be different than me

Shells

pewter gray the day and soaked with the sound of corrosion

the easterly wind cold and unrelenting off the disorganized swells

not a shell on the beach worth picking up and no one has called

bored by my own small thoughts and somehow unable to read

i walk again the wide hard beach no such thing as into the wind

wind in my left ear for a mile and a half then wind in my right

tells me some things like i'm still who i was four decades ago

still alert to astonishment but better acquainted with the night

with more words in my head which i've learned not to flaunt

with more need in my heart which i'll never admit

and there's more i won't say

i've learned to expect betrayal

oh but what colors under my feet

the shattered shells

                                               

Easterly

foam slipping west on a skin of saltwater

held back from the sea by the wind

petrols in pairs all angles and slant

all effortless speed and then gone

the sound of the sea

the sibilant churn and the vowel

sing me the sea let me hear it

no rhythm at all from the east

no meter or rhyme in this sea

but the heave and grind of the surf

but the salt and the madness of we

Rain on the Bar

rain runs down the panes in waves

beyond from where clouds touch the sea

waves run in toward the dunes

licking their lips with white tongues

days on the bar are a notch in the flow

a nick in the time that runs away

a place of clean lines and raw weather

miles up the beach from where the road ends

and only wind and love and gravity can find me

where only the roll of the earth

and the swing of the moon can reach me

give me your secret          i'll become it

say you and i will find our way

both of us arriving here in the extraordinary present

in the nick of time

—with two lines by Dan Chiasson

Yielding

giving in to the influence of wind and tides

with faith in the natural course of things

even as it overtakes us

Uncommon Senses

inlander

barefoot on sunstruck sand

you know what you must do

for the sake of her

the wind off the water carries the cold of the sea

As if the Sea Had Been Stilled

ceaselessly folding     the sea

to be beside it as comforting

as to lie in the breath of a sleeping child

except the sea never stops

that quiet          that empty

The Cycle Unintended

violets white join the yellow the blue

the woods fills up with gleaming youth

newborn down on leaf and stem

while in the fields of longing men

mistakes of love unfurl again

Vision

American beech

The rain knows when, moves in,

The wind shifts to a colder source.

Through air smudged with mist,

I see the clearest:

When men are the least to be seen,

I am most myself.

The sky will deepen, the trees

Will lift their hands and stand their ground

Around me, like family.

Creature of Light

shine down now

before the canopy closes


what happens in the mind

is our only reality

Red Planet

alert to the nearness of mars and drawn

red planet red in the evening sky above the trees

easy to say i feel its pull

so many red forces at work

raising the bloodroot up from the dirt

vermillion border of my wounded lip

pulsing and proximate

red planet red

Lorca Leads Her to the River

let's sit awhile and watch the storm come

let's be honest with ourselves and not pretend

we don't feel despair

take my hand this way to the river

we shall catch at the speed of voice

the dark rhythm of our blood

let's speak of it together

love is stronger than death

duende loves the rim of the wound

—inspired by and with lines from Federico Garcia Lorca's "In Search of Duende"

Perpetual

the perpetual ideal is astonishment

the field thatch spiked green

the quiet budding trees

the woods there on the hill, an epiphany

of swallows like whirling swords above me

living the life of an ecstatic

me beside an empty chair

the perpetual condition is waiting

as a cloud covers the page

and the poem comes to a close

—first and last lines by Derek Walcott

Psalm of the Divided Sky

hardly a day without gunfire

the big dog seeks the shade

a moon into spring and beginning

the dark mountain poets are right about us

you and i can never be free

but we can be true be true be true

Knowing Where

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i know where

and there they are

first violets of spring

halberd leaved and velvet mawed

the closer i climb to the cabin

the more of them find me

and joy fills the hollow

we cannot be filled as the master said

unless we are first emptied

and if we know where

fulfillment awaits

we really should go there more often.

May apples rise among halbred-leafed violets

Bring

you should not bring me eggs

i read much into everything

you who burn at the source

no  basket lined with herbs

no ribbons your fingers tied

no three-footed bowl

not unless you mean it

my lip is torn

you'll see

bring to

Universe

this crushing loneliness tells me

i am no longer alone

Renewal

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another sunset without her               she said patience

another sunset with her               she said fire

another turning inward at day's end

 returning to the source               this back and forth

 the movement of all things

Inspired Parishioners

Each work tinted by the weather in us,

the offhand remark, the whims of sprites,

false assumptions, honest admissions

––all fuel for the engines of creation.

What fodder in sunny and mild?

Think i'll enter the cathedral, sign on,

 and start a small squall.

Slower in Spring Snow

Sunrise over the

frozen hammock,

daffodils bent

under snow,

a time to accept

what is, to absorb

the pace of the earth

as our own.

Rain in the Woods Is a Woman

rain on the window awoke him

raising the blind with a woman still in his head


he watched the rings intersect on the pond

with a woman a warmth in his veins


he opened the sash and leaned out to hear

the gurgle of blackbirds and gutters


the last thing she said and the way that she said it

slipped through the pines as the wind


in the reds of the crowns and the blacks of the trunks

he saw her as sweet contradiction


with an ache in his chest he couldn't explain

he moved through the day's shining stones


the call of the train he knew it by heart

and it shook as it rolled through his bones

Red Maples

crimson and ardent

making the most

of a short time to bloom

as we should

salvation

moonlight silver-plates the fields

the valley shakes with the weight of the train

its whistle a warning

distrust what you assume

we can never know each other

but we can love a fiction

"We should remind ourselves each day

that we die." —Thoreau.

A Wave, and Off You Go

Ignition is easy in the spring.

If you're driving by, that's me,

stooped over the iris patch

in my cargo shorts and 10.10 sleeveless tee,

a man with the common touch,

and, yes, we all deserve at least that much.

An unmowed field will be at my back,

and at my front, a dirt road with too much traffic,

so please go slowly, and consider the dust.

I will be surrounded by a big piebald dog

who will be standing on anything i'm about to pick up.

If she comes bounding to greet  you

with her tongue dripping, you'll hear me shout.

And if your name just happens to be Rosie,

No, i'm not calling you in. Don't take it personally.

People in the spring make surprising assumptions.

Happenstance

Fiddleheads ready to rise

and no one to tell

until now.

I'm calling it happenstance,

both of us here

when life is so rare,

a time of discovery unfurling.

Missing the Dead

i want to see you again

memory's a faulty circuit

i want to see your face and your hands

see what you showed to the world

the hollow at the base of your throat

the tilt of your head

i want to look at your eyes looking back

i want to see you in sunrise

see you at noon see you in firelight

see you at the dark of the moon

spreading my ashes on yours

i want to see you again

At the Edge

at the edge of still water

we were a poem

rhymed by reflection

Principium

a towering afternoon in April

high wind high light

high circumstance

clouds love the wind

sky loves the sun

you fall in love

with anyone

The Message

he listened again for the twentieth time

the mouth is an orchestra

he still wasn't sure

boundaries in sweet precision

pauses with both of them breathing

or was it all him and his dreaming

sunlight appeared like a shadow

he needed to know

Cold Sweat

Too much left unsaid,

which left him undefended,

and so the virus spread.

Gravitation

ground pine at ground level

too close too soon too open

this product of our masses

this language of the innerverse

that leaves me baffled in retreat

checking my math.

G is the gravitational constant

(Please click on the caption above)

Restarting in Rain

winter lies in pools upon the fields

needed were its harsh events

to cleanse the ground and us

intent this time to do no harm

we drink the season past

laved and eager to begin.

Right Words, Right Order

aging poet

fastened to a dying animal

be careful with your words

the tightened bow

—with a line and a metaphor by Yeats.

Searcher, Be Advised

Expand to multiply the world inverted.

Practice leads to inspiration,

Highlight of a constant search.

Be careful of the rarest kind,

Its strength could overturn your world.

Flow

find me in the stir

at the bottom of the spring

art is doing

living is going on

Weathering

it comes at you fast

weather does

people too

keep your head up or you'll miss her

this is your life

that other one rejoicing in rain.

Mission Statement

Stretching time in an old mission rocker

On a board porch among the trees,

Strong words well arranged,

A mosquito at my ear,

A good listener warm against my thigh,

Nowhere to be but being here,

And that's worth a man's full attention.