turn turn turn (140)

with spring’s violence flowers burst

into bloom from winter’s death

as chimes toll slowly in the tree


mere weeks ago ice creaked

tightly along the chase tree’s

twisted branches as the chimes

hung limp and people froze

to death alone at home

(May 9, 2021)

ephemera (131)

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

each evening

the day’s tasks

settle around you

like dust

in an abandoned house


the fire is low

the room dark

you are worn

a ragged coat

hung upon a chair


tomorrow will differ

only in its minutia

what you will have

for dinner and what

words you will say


(April 11, 2021)

Lines Written in a Pandemic a Few Days After the Summer Solstice

from a work in progress: “Process, Not a Journey” (67)

our earth wobbles its way

about the sun like a drunk

unsure of her footing

moves again

toward the bar

*

day by day minute by minute

plods toward darkness

for the next six months

each day grows darker

by one minute

*

not quite disturbing

the dullard doves

who coo complacently

on the fence

cardinals and jays

fussing constantly

slip after each other

between tree branches

I watch and listen

to this dance

for hours

and can do nothing

*

as it was in the beginning

world without end

(June 23, 2020)

disambiguation

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (18)

I’ve been here before

floating adrift frightened

the water is cold

a door opens

I walk through an emptiness

to arrive in another

I’ve been here before

this time the people are blue

and the music hasn’t started

a door opens

air rushes in

to fill the space

I don’t want to repeat

but no one is listening

and patterns are seductive

years later

the same song plays

I dance alone

I’ve been here before

a door opens

I step through

there is no dream

there is no metaphor

the wind is silent

(January 23, 2020)

math’s clarity

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (12)

I drive an hour to work

each day then back

ten hours each week

too fast too far

crossing the river

fog hangs in the air

(January 17, 2020)

continuum

if change will happen it will

happen now whenever

it happens so simple

yet still fear stays

the turn in the dance

the conversation the poem

where change shifts without

the moment noticed within

light which drifts through a window

or rose petals scattered

across an afternoon floor

oblivious as a sleeping cat

(November 1, 2019)

First Freeze

A cold morning breeze

curls through the sycamore’s leaves;

the sky’s a crisp blue.

(October 31, 2019)

Repetition

I am tired today,

as I am most days these days.

I’m caught in a loop.

(October 29, 2019)

Central Texas Autumn

Bright fall light dazzles

the trees in fading green leaves.

Squirrels squawk all day.

(October 26, 2019)

Chaff

The waning moon hangs

in the warm October sky;

stubble fills the field.

(October 3, 2019)