Monday Poem

I’m Listening to Something I’m listening to something. I don’t know what it’s called but it’s Chopin. It’s a tune Alexa pulled from the high-capacity byte magazine of her small black canister which sits under a lamp upon a table against the wall (where most of us have spent at least a little time, sweating) its…

Monday Poem

Teach the Children About the Cycles . …… —on a poem by Gary Snyder in which Snyder is ……… visited by Lew Welsh Dead Lew comes to Gary in a poem and tells the thing that must be taught, he says, ……….. Teach the children about the cycles. The life cycles. He may as well have…

Monday Poem

New Vinyl …..—elegy to take an album in your hands to feel its slight heft to free it from its clear synthetic skin to slip it from its cardboard cover to scan its art, to flip it over, read, then slide it from its paper inner sleeve with care (platter’s rim to palm just so)…

Monday Poem

Did an Historical Christ Exist by now, does it matter? time and myth have done their work: hope anoints trying to get to the bottom of it would be like chipping Everest with a balsa chisel and rubber mallet down to a grain of sand or explaining to Icarus the practicality of an altimeter —by the time…

Monday Poem

In all cases, the goal is to move past literal life into the imagination to render the almost—to express the mysterious ambiguity that is. . . ……………………………………………….. —Nicholas Dawidoff, writer Almost yesterday I walked our yard with a grandson who toddled beside in a state almost of disequilibrium but he tended his balance and stayed upright…

Monday Poem

“I stay, I go: I am a pause” —Octavio Paz “We measure time in set amounts— seconds, minutes, and hours. But the way time feels is more slippery.” —Shayla Love, in Tonic 12/3/18 Time is Slippery and I’m a Pause 1. i make way through town in December which flows like the river i just crossed i…

Monday Poem

Rose in Winter …… —for my mother, Mary Mraz Culleny, ……… b. December 8, 1917 . a cathedral steeple’s being launched, snow swirls around its nave so much stone to be sent aloft on the tiny spark of a solitary rose so much weight to be thrust into something other by the flame of a…

Monday Poem

Coincidence last night as I went in to bed I threw the switch to kill the light and as if I’d thrown the breaker of the universe every light was doused, every light below … behind … above … beyond was dead except the light inside my head the window did not show the steadfast…

Monday Poem

“In erratic times one cannot be too attentive, too ready to stand or duck.” —A. Skutočné Politics what’s real depends upon where a thing lands— how far along it is from ultraviolet to infrared (from invisible to invisible), but on the spectrum of real, it might be said if it’s a matter of life-or-death I’m…

Monday Poem

Desert I wake sometimes at night, mouth dry as the bottom of a cast iron skillet in equatorial sun thinking, water! imagining its absolute absence yesterday on the iron bridge I stopped dead center, leaned and watched the slow river wrap itself around a rock as rivers do, embracing  the stubborn thing with eddies and waves as…

Monday Poem

Justicia fickle thing with scales she’s blind sometimes, but often lifts her blindfold just enough to appraise a man’s cache of melanin, holes in shoes, shuffle in gate, accent, religious state and what he owns of cars and houses: she aligns her scales with power’s weight under which she also slouches in this ruse, Justicia, with a…

Monday Poem

Little Miracles 5 …. —Yin Yang Lamps lamps yin and yang   I celebrate your balancing! dark and light you shine from faux bronze fluted stands you do not so much vacillate you do a soloduo thing you manage your blaze and shadowing concurrently.  you palpitate. from colluding upsidedown bell-like shades you radiate your lifelong itch…

Monday Poem

Little Miracles 3: A Quantum Angel Spinning-0ff Particles I call you Quantum Angel because you’re so unbelievable not even physicists can pin you down, the way you flit through atoms you must have wings, the way you punk time your wings must be turbocharged, the way you fling particles we can’t keep up— where do…

Monday Poem

Little Miracles 2: —Cloudmaker you, generator of clouds, are indispensable. you fling them up as if they were mere vapor your creativity is unsurpassed much like cloud yourself you may be dark or bright free and light or stretched like a cowl under stars, in daylight white grey saffron pink at night you draw curtains…

Monday Poem

Birthday 77 ………… —next morning time’s getting blurry out there it’s like trying to snap a bullet train with an old kodak, like trying to catch the wind as one songwriter said. time is a jet plane it moves too fast said another, there’s no end to metaphor but lousy imagination, no end, but the…

Monday Poem

Global Warming Facts For the Obtuse . 1 if I’m standing in a house engulfed in flames it can still be 10 below in the freezer for a while . 2 if it’s 10 below in New England in December but the mean temperature of the planet continues to rise  it means that in New England…

Monday Poem

Driver’s License Renewal Photo . I look, and first I think, Whoa, You look like the father of a 49-year old then think, Whoa, you are the father of a 49-year-old . Then I think, Whoa, You look like somebody’s grandpa then think, Whoa, You are somebody’s grandpa . Then I think, Whoa You look like somebody’s great-grandpa then think, Whoa, You…

Monday Poem

Shohola Orchard I’m planting an orchard in Shohola –a river runs through there and the light is good for apples and other living things The place is filled with riches: eagles fly overhead on thermals preying, rafters happen by laughing, waving We have a boat I can use to row out and, like a Tahitian gentleman,…

Monday Poem

Brevity I need a good poem lifespan-short, one I can shoe-horn between instants which in that pinch says so much I’ll understand long and short by the depth of calluses they leave on my brain but it’s not happening I’m already up to nine lines so it’s too late for brevity what I’d like is…