Monday Poem

“The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind.” ………………………………………… –Bob Dylan Eclipse at a wall on a corner of the worldI’m still waiting for Godot as mullahsand priests go by in the robesof their pride incensing andmurmuring. I’m thinkingburn-poles and bombs and wonderhow many gods must there bein the world before too manypeople have…

Monday Poem

The Furnace Coffee’s made, the tea-water’s on and here's a glazed pane of iridescent froststroked by a ghost etcher’s point —struck through with silver and laced with light: its gravure of fern fronds glistens on a clear silicon plate……………….…………And there's a brilliant postage stamp of bluepiercing an otherwise stratocumulus domemarking a bit of sky beyond…

Monday Poem

GeeseThis morning when the sky’s red skin isdrawn across a beginning and the grassis taut with frost and the clarityof the edge of things recallsthe precision of an engraver’s pointan irregular V of geese passes left to rightlike beads of an animated rosaryeach a honking Hail Marya striving prayeran individual articulating dotan I-am of we-are…

Monday Poem

Making Way —Narragansett Bay 1960 We part from the dockslow as disengaging loversone landlocked the other afloater who won’t bekept at bay The diminishing pier slides back its bollards and planks deployto some other place not herebut to a distancing otherworld—the tether breaks as stern-first we pass the channel buoy ….Quarter back, the O-D says.….Quarter…

Monday Poem

Icon ………………………………………………………………………………………….I received a snap of Duke the Dog in which duke in radiant atmosphere standsquintessentially dog-like ……………………………………open-mouthedlolling tongue four-squarepaws planted in green earth ……………………………….…..expectantpoised to please …………………very Christ-likein mist halo silent light still ………………………………. ….all aware I’m yourshe barks standing by……………………….. throw that last stick nowbefore I mount this brilliant torchand rise to sit…

Monday Poem

“… scientists (have been) able to trick (fruit) flies into having associative memories of events they had not actually experienced.” …………………………………………………… –Nature News, Oct 15, 2009Which is Which or Who is Whom They say fruit fly brains may be made to have memories of where they've never flown I’m like a fruit fly in this…

Monday Poem

To Roof Ah, to put a roofing spadeto desiccated shingles To lean upon the spade-handle’s endleveraging stubborn nailsfrom their impacted seats To wrench my back To abrade my bleeding hands againstroking the asphalt’s pebbled face To fight a wind while laying felt which, like Ahab’s sails, would whisk me to a mad roofer’s end To…

Monday Poem

“Gravitational corridors could help spacecraft ply the solar system like shipsborne on ocean currents, (say) scientists investigating space travel.”…………………………………………………………….–The Telegraph; Sept. 10,2009 Ignorant Explorers In what seems void are corridors:avenues in nets of gravity between planetssuns moons meteors dust, channelsin nets of love between us ………………We set out through themfirst in flame machinesburning hydrogen and…

Monday Poem

Lucky Again Yesterday todaymight never come butI'm lucky again It did and here you aremy bulwark againsta stark sea In the garden you beganyears ago in our plot of sandwhere little grew but wild strawberriesclose to the ground theirtendrils groping dry earth we now have hibiscuswith blossoms the size ofdinner plates and day lilies in…

Monday Poem

I love words and the convolutions of language; how we arrange and rearrange it; how we invent new ways communicate old things; how we nurture its nuances —which is where poetry comes in. Idioms have always intrigued me. They’re short poems. One-liners created to make startling something banal and obvious. Idioms lighten things up. They…

Monday Poem

… the “Law of Frequency of Error” … reigns amidst the wildest confusion. The huger the mob, the greater the anarchy, the more perfect is its sway. It is the supreme law of Unreason.………………………………………………………………. —Victorian statistician ­Francis Galton The Frequency of ErrorThe frequency of erroris not a count of radio wavesor of an articulation of…

Monday Poem

Sunup to Noon Tonight A constellation ofblack-eyed susansframed in the screenof our kitchen door— each dark peering eyedead center in its radiantgold-fringe petal-collar looksas if it had burstfrom its corean instant before Though each susan keeps stillat the end of her stemas if snapshot-clicked except for a nudging breezethat streams betweenmobs of livid phloxthe color…