there's got to be more below the surface
the cat slept all day
turned tightly into herself
a sublime wisdom
snow begins to fall
silencing the day’s hard sleet
the night grows colder
ice brightens the moon
along the bare branches’ backs
like a hot whip’s snap
by morning the snow
drapes the yard as if with light
the chimes slowly sound
a lone mockingbird chirrups
inside the house the cat waits
(February 18, 2021)
we must wait
without fear
for the end
memory’s a mirror
distorted anew
in each reflection
rippled across a dark pond
(November 4, 2020)
today is today;
only, today’s different:
today, I am here.
(September 11, 2020)
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey”(73)
beneath this static
this white noise
silence flows
unnoticed
pervasive
the river’s source
as in prayer i kneel
cup my hands
and drink
(July 9, 2020)
from a work in progress, “process, not a journey”(69)
the grey cat sits
on the table by the window
and watches the mockingbird
on the elm outside
.
I watch her patience
today and yesterday
and last week
and think she’s oblivious
to sit so stoically
day after day
without hope
of any desires’
consummation
.
I lose my way each day
throughout the day
thinking of this
then distracted by that
as if the unspecified contains
some mysterious truth
more than a cat
sitting in the sun
(June 28, 2020)
I read this morning that Hemingway said that better writers didn’t talk about their writing; I think it is often important to reflect on what one is doing as one writes: metacognition to use education jabber. So, fuck off Ernie.
I started a serial poem back at the beginning of January. The plan was to write 140 poems, each poem’s length is pre-determined by a random number generator, ranging from 3-140 syllables. It was to follow vaguely the rules of a renga, where each poem grew out of the one before it somehow, weather through theme, pun, image, or a reply. The number of poems was determined by the number of syllables in a sonnet.
I have come to the end of the first “stanza” section—40 poems. The last poem in the section #40, ‘rhymes’ with (39), (20), and (1); as (10) and (30) ‘rhyme—in an attempt to create an overall section unity. I will now begin to move forward with the second ‘stanza’ while collecting and tightening section 1, in hopes that as I reread and work over section 1, the themes and ideas that emerged in section one will echo and grow organically in section two: a conversation between sections one and two, if you will, as section two talks to itself.
Well, it keeps me something to do, and think about if nothing else.
(March 22, 2020)
from a work-in-progress: process, not a journey (40)
for years years ago
I thought about amoebas
.
how I wanted a metaphor
which would work well
.
with the amoeba image
to surround and absorb
.
until there was no difference
to contrast a comparison
.
no space between to slip
a prosaic definition
.
where on wanders safely
through dusted hallways
.
and life’s sharp ambiguity
blends into one
(March 16, 2020)
from a work-in-progress: process, not a journey (38)
I like the silence of morning the slow hum
of the refrigerator from the kitchen
the soft purr of the cat curling around me
as I wait for the coffee pot to finish
it is there beneath all of these sundry sounds
that the true weight of silence can be measured
as each strain’s lifted from the cacophony
and there’s nothing left but the strum of our blood
(March 11, 2020)
from a work in progress, “process, not a journey” (35-37)
resonance
the cold rail vibrates
beneath his hand
.
It’s inevitable
he stands and waits
.
Time Enough
patience sips her tea
as she watches
the bees flit and hover
among the roses in her garden
.
a breeze shifts the leaves
to the left and right
.
as above so below
morning breaks
pink and blue
beneath the ragged clouds
as the wind chime
in the chase tree
ripples through the yard
(March 6, 2020)
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (8)
I don’t want
to be a salmon struggling
upstream to spawn and die
exhausted and decayed
nor
to be swept downstream
with broken branches and silt
into a churning sea
I want to be
a catfish
calm and content
deep within a silent pool
(January 12, 2020)
