Wednesday, October 31, 2018
from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Two Hawks
THE FACE
The face
of sorrow.
Not seeing
anything
but pain.
Don't put
a name
on what
you're
offering.
Just
give it
as if
you have
enough.
Tuesday, October 30, 2018
AS MY FATHER SAID
So do we become
as they were, those
our fathers fought?
They bring their ovens
with them, and mean to
use them. Over,
as I say,
as my father said,
my dead body.
from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: How Far We Go
DON'T TELL: 10-29-18 (9)
Don't tell too much.
Leave room for what
happens in the
dark. This is where
the poem lives, loves,
where it lets go.
Monday, October 29, 2018
from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Black Hawk
MULCHED
Sunday, October 28, 2018
from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Emptiness
COYOTE TAUGHT HIM 10-25-18 (7)
COYOTE TAUGHT HIM
10-25-18 (7)
Coyote taught him
to walk and chew gum,
to walk and see this world
and write poems of it.
Except for death,
there's no going back.
Saturday, October 27, 2018
A FRIEND'S VOICE 10-26-18 (1)
A friend's voice,
the waiting.
Nothing clears
the horizon
but sun and
that bird which
calls out its
loneliness.
from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Crows Complaining
Friday, October 26, 2018
from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: Somewhere Crow
Somewhere Crow
has nothing
to say today
into a grey
sky promising
nothing. He flies,
wind against him,
towards a farther
darkness and road-
kill for supper.
Shelter is not
even half a
home, he knows. What
he hopes for is
sun tomorrow.
What he pushes
against, his own
unnumbered death.
WHICH IS
WHICH IS
10-25-18 (1)
Which is emptiness
and which silence?
Is it sun or the shine
of everything?
Stride and heart-
beat in the walking
out, the coming
back. The lonely
hawk, its birdness.
It must be silence.
The world is full.
Thursday, October 25, 2018
from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: The Cranes
THE CRANES
Ah, the cranes have turned
from the color of autumn
cornstalks to fly-away
grey. You know what
that means, and so do they.
It won't be long now.
Winter is a-cumen in.
THE LONG REACH
The long reach
from the Grand River
here to the Keya Paha --
grey skies, and blue,
wind and silence,
the love longing makes
when what we need
is what we have.
Wednesday, October 24, 2018
from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems: So Much
I HAVE BEEN A FRIEND OF TREES
I have been a friend of trees
but now I kneel for the grasses
which can truly tell us how
much we've lost. Get down close
and listen. You'll hear them
say everything falls away
too fast, too fast and far.
Tuesday, October 23, 2018
from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems
WHAT POETRY NEEDS
What poetry
needs
is silence--
between the words,
between the lines
and stanzas,
before you start,
and afterwards.
Yes, sound.
Metaphor.
Image.
But most of all
a great stillness
at the edge
of meaning.
TRUTH ALONG TEXAS HIGHWAY 380
Monday, October 22, 2018
THE GIRL
Languid
and angular
the girl
has nothing
and needs
nothing --
she walks
her shadow
away, and
from where
you stand
you can see
she's stronger
than she looks.
Sunday, October 21, 2018
SOMETIME THURSDAY
Sometime Thursday.
Rain. Waiting
for a woman.
Everything
in the distance
disappears.
I would tell her
all I know,
if I knew
anything for sure.
Saturday, October 13, 2018
YOU WILL SEE
You will see
I don't
use the word
"plastic"
in my poems.
That's because
poetry
and plastic
so seldom
overlap.
Friday, October 12, 2018
LOOK
Look
at what
I talk
about,
and what
I don't.
This will
help you
define
our art,
what it
is, isn't.
See?
It's not
so hard.
Thursday, October 11, 2018
IT COULD BE
the furnace kicking on
or the train coming through town
or a jetliner overhead.
All the things it could be,
it is. You take apart
this world at your peril.
The house is warm.
The freight gets moved.
Passengers arrive.
What we think we know
comes back to haunt us.
Wednesday, October 10, 2018
WHY AIR?
Highway 285, Mile Marker 132
Tuesday, October 09, 2018
AT DENVER AIRPORT 9-12-18
The angel she is
doesn't know she is.
Her eyes say, "I know, right?"
referring to the dogs
on the woman's lap
who's in the wheelchair
she's pushing. "I know,
right?" my eyes agree,
and she pushes on,
the angel she is.
Highway 20, Mile Marker 28
from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016
Highway 20, Mile Marker 28
Snow
on the mountains,
How the storm
works them.
Monday, October 08, 2018
GIRL CAUGHT IN MID-MOTION
The push of her
against herself.
The tenderness.
Her angular
loveliness.
All the things
that she will be --
suddenly.
Highways 60/84, Mile Marker 362
from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016
Highways 60/84, Mile Marker 362
The short grass bleached
in this sun and somewhere
hope for an old poet.
Sunday, October 07, 2018
Highways 60/84, Mile Marker 366
from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016
Highways 60/84, Mile Marker 366
Sky
at the end
of the
universe.
I have
been there.
Saturday, October 06, 2018
Highway 70, Mile Marker 403
from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016
Highway 70, Mile Marker 403
Owl and
eagle
and hawk.
Railroad.
Men
at work.
Friday, October 05, 2018
Highway 70, Mile Marker 377
from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016
Highway 70, Mile Marker 377
Sometimes a bird
and sometimes
a piece of trash
caught a bush.
Thursday, October 04, 2018
Highway 70, Mile Marker 372
from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January 2016
Highway 70, Mile Marker 372
Snow hides in shadow.
The jackrabbits have
not been so lucky.
Wednesday, October 03, 2018
Highway 70, Mile Marker 363
from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016
Highway 70, Mile Marker 363
When I speak of God,
you know I'm speaking of
the star dust which calls us.
Tuesday, October 02, 2018
Highway 70, Mile Marker 347
from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016
Highway 70, Mile Marker 347
This land reminds me:
I have what I want.
I want what I have.
Monday, October 01, 2018
Highway 70, Mile Marker 340
from
NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO
January, 2016
Highway 70, Mile Marker 340
This greater flatness,
short grass, and cattle,
a long way from home.
