Saturation Zero

Style over content

is decadent

Color over form

superficial

Grays truer

to the fluid phantoms

of the inner life.

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One-Sided Argument

a.m.

It is not the sun, I tell you.

It is these clouds

lighting the hill.

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Bravery of the Stationary

tenor of wind in bare branches

shadows swing 'round the hill

courage it takes not to move

strength in standing your ground.

–unswayed by the Range Resources attack on Rep. Jesse White.

All The Energy We Want

Morning frost in the shadow of the woods. Please click to enlarge.

Give us the energy of the sun unbridled,

the energy of ice and wind unharnessed,

the energy of cellular division

of lives contented where they live,

the living you, the living me.




–in reaction to Department of Environmental Protection Secretary's statement that Pennsylvania can become an "American energy superpower" through hydraulic fracturing, which does not sound like environmental protection to me.

Meditation

Slower now.

Awaken.

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Kitty Hawk

Morning on the Outer Banks after the storm.

At odds with men

the soon-to-be great

poet Robert Frost

young and sick in love

faced despair alone

in Kitty Hawk:

"With a need the gale

filled me with to shout...

...there's no knowing what

love is all about...

...but that night I stole

off on the unbounded

beaches where the whole

of the Atlantic pounded...

...then I saw it all."

–for the full poem, click here.

Giving Ourselves to the Earth

Something we were withholding made us weak

Until we found out that it was ourselves

We were withholding from our land of living,

And forthwith found salvation in surrender.

–from Frost's "The Gift Outright," offered in support of

 those protesting hydrofracking in Lawrence County, PA.

Pulled to the Center

Deaths of summer drawn to the center

of the earth by the forces of attraction.

Meet me there.

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Harvest as the Front Moves In

Gun again. Gun, gun, gun.

Now the hunter shows his back, kneels bright

in sparrow-colored weeds, busy with his blade.

Now carries by hind legs the limp orange fox––

cavity black-red, hairless tail, mangy snout.

––Many foxes around here?

Tall, frames aslant, mustache thin.

––Naw, only thing like it I ever saw.

Dusk collapses into woods, gasping.

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Western Pennsylvania Barn

Space confined as if in the mind

the thought of a barn

where the wind turns sideways

to get in and lies down

where the day moves over the planks

at the speed of the spin of the earth

animals breathing beneath you

weather wrapping around you

the ingenuity of men

written in the cuts of the adze

and suspended in the quiet air

where the past lingers

for as long as the barn will stand.

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