Monday Poem

Cup …—for Catherine Regec Mraz this is how I most remember her I’d have been maybe eight, I open the door to her house and hear the latch click, clock tick we have tea at her table I ask for grandpa’s cup which she brings from her pantry shelf and sets upon the table pours…

Monday Poem

almost without metaphor clouds this morning cross two adjacent mountains tinged with bluegrey and pink, they move deliberately in a swift west wind not like anything but migrating water vapor held by hydrogen bonds, the cooler the better, they glide over pine, hemlock, oak, and spruce being networks of misted h-2-o. the pine, hemlock, spruce,…

Monday Poem

“The stars are raining down upon me. I know this is not true, but it is the truth.” —Michel Foucault But it Is the stars are raining down upon me I know this not true, but there are so many, as many as every drop in a deluge, as many as if the earth had…

Monday Poem

. —Thoughts of 77 summer solstices, hopefully anticipating 78 At a Point When All Things Reverse . situated between a pair of equinoxes a blazing solstice— an apex of angles and ellipses; parabolas scribed by inertia and mass in a count of months governed by curves of gravity at a point when all things reverse I…

Monday Poem

Which Just Makes Me Blue in the matrix of a prism is magic of two kinds, the inestimable and that which can be counted —the inestimable cannot be counted by definition if I say red is passionate hot sexy or if I say red’s the color of death in unstoppable bleeding or that its fresh blush…

Monday Poem

Attend . ahead, behind ? “behind” may be a metaphor for: ….. “lingering to catch what’s-up before you’re so far ahead you’ve forgotten what was on your mind when blood was running fast so that what’s-up is just a blur hardly worth remembering, a rush that didn’t last” attend— go slow so life is not…

Monday Poem

Tool Series —Constructive poems for carpenters and other builders . ADZE I’ve never been a mathematician physicist or statistician but, as a carpenter who aspires to be a word magician I can fill you in on certain facz such as the irrational condition in which, at least from Mesolithic times, the framer’s friend, the adze, subtracz…

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, in a…

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…