Tuesday, April 1, 2025
The Daily Political Moment
Scolding the world in public
eases the dark congealing
in your shapely, old-fashioned skull.
The coffee shop hums. Urns deplete
as snow whirls in the doorway.
Baked goods hunker on display.
You speak loudly to allow
the woolen opposition to hide
behind phrases heard on TV.
Yet no one shouts or even speaks.
You’ve engendered a silence
too dense for the digital world
to violate. Your mouth turns down
like a crescent moon warning
of far worse weather to come.
(first published in Breathe)
Thursday, January 30, 2025
Spillway at the End of January
Stones in the bed of the spillway,
each one crowned with a snow-cap,
suggest how tidy winter can be
when mood permits. I lean
over the rail to count the stones.
A hundred and thirty-seven,
plus those hidden under the bridge.
Frozen for a month now, the lake
is a lens through which a grave
intelligence ponders the world.
Sadly, it’s a cataract of ice,
rendering the vision so grainy
it can’t possibly tell the truth.
I should step back and take a photo,
but the subject’s so amorphous
in its endless shades of white
that I can hardly distinguish it
from myself. An historic spot,
claims a sign posted nearby.
Another sign warns boaters
to clean their hulls and avoid
spreading a pernicious alga.
I think I’ve been spreading
a mental alga all my life.
I wield my camera to frame
the spillway without revealing
the lake lying sullen behind it.
That half-blind lens follows me
step by step, compelling me to think
in larger terms than I like.
Wednesday, November 6, 2024
Monday, September 23, 2024
A Halloween Poem
What Skeletons Think
Who knows what skeletons think
when disburdened of the dull meat
we pack on them all our lives?
The painted Halloween figure
we’ve hung on a tree to honor
the pagan point of view says
nothing of the real thing clacking
and clattering in our cruelest dreams.
I often feel my bones suffer
the bulk that strains the ligaments
that knit the construction together.
The bones themselves remain aloof
from the usual daily sufferings.
Although they’re not immortal
they must know that they’ll linger
well after the beef and fat decay.
They‘ll weather like pure ivory,
attaining a dainty shade of gray
that illuminates the darkest nights
for those who know how to look.
When I learn what they think I’ll sigh
with self-recognition based
in the most primal of matter,
all spiritual rumors effaced.