LATEST POSTS
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The meadow prefers no trespassers
or,
To Donald Trump and all the other letches throughout my long life, starting at age 11 and continuing far longer than anyone would expect
It is not for nothing that I seek payment
for you to come near my soft body.
It is a design to hold you off, just so,
make you think twice, reflect on
whether this is truly necessary.In the end, you may offer payment,
but I shall refuse it. There —
that is my gate. The concession is closed.Yet, today, you reverse this.
You ask me for payment,
not for you to approach me,
but for me to approach you,as if your hands are not the menace
they would be the other way.
All narrative on top of action, you say,
as if it is your meaning and not the fact.But hold,
I choose neither to pay nor be paid.I save nature to take its course,
for the meadow to lie fallow,for tired hemlock
to die and resprout after long winter,
for lazy oak to crowd out blackberries,
for cicadas to wake the moon, for wild fire,
for rain storm, for endless sun,for all these and for all else
without your interferences,
without your gaping desires.
From Hafiz, A Pie Where You Live.
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Taking the car to the beach
this is not quite the breeze
that wound past us
when we entered the woodsoff the dirt road and into
the forest path,
wheel ruts covered in moss,air mingling sea, hemlock,
wintergreen, moss,and the fresh soil
overturned when you
backed out of the cul-de-sacbecause a tree had fallen
that winter while we
were gone, in the city -
How to live in a dorm
Label everything.
Your scent will not do.
Your good grades will not do.
Use only indelible ink.Label it with your name
and a time stamp
saying when you will be back
and expect it to be there waiting.This goes for shoes, of course,
as well as books, desks,
kitchen supplies, shampoo,
underwear, beds, couches,
notepaper, words,
sentences, metaphors.Label the time it takes
to use the shower,
toast a bagel, pour coffee.
Even the time it takes
to wake up, hit your snooze
three times, be late to class,
sneak a beer, think,
gather your notes,
remember, hope.Note that umbrellas
are always in the public domain
no matter how you label them.
And socks.All unlabeled items
are also in the public domain
and may be ‘borrowed’
without warning and likely
when you need them most.Prepare to see them across campus
today or in six years
in the hands of a friend,
in the mouth of a foe,
even in the swagger of a stranger.And when you protest,
everyone will just pout,
‘We told you to label everything.’
Poor you.—————-
Feeling the house is a dorm this morning with every couch taken and the kitchen left a mess(ish – all things considered). Very glad I can ‘borrow’ my younger son’s desk while he is away. His room has that certain eau d’dorm, but the window is open and there’s a breeze.Anticipating a bit for Jennifer Knoblock.
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9/3
to be lost
for this ever,
to drink the moon
when no one is looking,
to return
washed clean -
I think of love
I think of love as something that grows form
as it ages, sometimes firm, sometimes round,
broadening, ambling if allowed.I think of love as an elemental discovery,
unwrapping itself time and again, ever
revealing eccentricities, hope,
a whipped dog who greets the morning
with joy. Yes, even then.I think of love as the mud nestled
within the broken crevices of sidewalk,
linking both edges when they don’t know it.I think of love as the soft-spoken child
who is skipped over while all the others
wiggle in their seats and chatter
the teacher to distraction.I think of love as mountains, prairies,
all the unmeasurable things we ignore
but long for as the light dims.I think of love as the woman who walks
into the motion of giving each day
no longer needing to believe.I think of love as the spark that sets
all the spirit-winds swimming through the city
even if they are caught by only a few,and, in those few cupped hands,
whispered over, breath fanning them,
they seep meekly
into every heart they near.————–
My ongoing attempt to come to terms with violence in our society, and feeling overwhelmed by the story from Mississippi last night. For my dear friends who serve others.
Poems from in between 