Tag: poet
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Humiliation
this image of the eagles down at ourriver keeps recurring. this bald eagledives lazily, riding gravity, overthe water, skimming just over its top,and then shoots out its talons to grasp a fishbut something goes awry and the fish flopsseveral yards across the river surface.unconcerned, the eagle loops back intothe gloaming sky to make a second…
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Poet & Muse #197
or perhaps bitter . . .
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art to optimism
ughf! dyspeptic morning and the whole dayyet to go. oh, but I took a vow ofoptimism: how am I to face thisin brightness, this overcast novembermorning with my belly aching and headfilled with allergy cobwebs, eyes itchywatering and thus painting the world drabwater color . . . and now, suddenly, I turnmy mind to matisse…
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Filler
this is a filler sonnet. it has littlelife its own, is meant to wedge in betweenpoems in a collection — for you, dearreader, because at this point you’re inun-dated with poetry and likely notpaying close attention, and not everyverse can be a work of genius, evenfrom a writer of great talent or skill. it’s not…
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Correspondent Love
break me out, she said. I will love you, sheswore. her letters always brief and to the point.halfway to indy from here, barrelingdown i-74 east, my first tireblew out, shreds of tire across the highwaylike feathers from a murdered crow. changingthe flat took an hour because my car trunkis full of books and . .…
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Down on Fifth
forever the beggar, king of no kingdombut the dusty lanes of nowhere, he smilesfor his dimes, a blessing for a dollar;at midday, or when whim strikes him, oronce the coins add up to a little something,he slips down to the huck’s on carpenterstreet for a magnum of malt (and a pintof brandy, E-n-J, on a…
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Boomer Granddame
sad-eyed she says he needs her, but she can’tstand him. he’s a habit she’s had fortyyears now: how’s she supposed to quit him now;she mourns her wasted youth, though praises godover the seven fine children they raisedtogether—though one is dead and a daughteris in prison for life—she wonders aloudto that same god where everything went…
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Roadtrip
it was time for a change of scenery;too long we’d danced in stagnant rain on prairiesand wanted for some elevation, orperhaps bigger sky or broader blue scapes.undecided, we headed west in the carplaying novels on CD as the milesslipped by, the asphalt river racing pastbeneath worn tires and we watching roadsidesfor occasional animals, hawks byday,…
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Antemeridian Monday
eyes too fatigued from letter and allergeneven to dream, bloodshot and weeping airwhere no tears will form for sloth and ailment,even the brain is hazed, dazed, sluggish toform, frame, interpret image . . . here the worldmelts away into pools of abstraction,not only meaning but the compulsiontoward meaning slips away, absents, escapes. here, in the…
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Cafe
a conversation you’ve wandered into;that’s what this is all about, he said. It’ssitting back in your booth in Ed Hopper’sdiner and listening in to the three orfour conversations around you and graftingthe disparate threads into a cogentconceit; there may not be a natural thingabout it, but, seriously, art andnature certainly have their separation.god loves diversity.…
Fringemonkey Scribbles 