The Six Day Race
05 September 2015
Dog's Paw
dog's paw
distinct from star
but not by far
nor by darkness
but by spark
by maker's mark
by carpenter's scar
31 December 2013
After Advent
we would have struck
a match if we had had
a match and if we had had
a place to strike it
but there was no place
just as there was no place
in the infamous inn
but there were milky moonlets
in the frozen hoof
prints and in the frozen paw
prints: some crazy moulage
from some crazier crime
a rustling maybe
where little lambs bowed
down and doggies bowed,
wowed.
31 October 2013
Dream of the Rood
I had a dream, I had a dream
I had a dream he climbed on me
The carpenter's son, he climbed on me
He had a dream, he had a dream
The angel said you better take Mary
That Joseph man, he had a dream
She had a dream, o, she had a dream
Sweet little Mary, o, she had a dream
She dreamed you'd climb on me
I had a dream, I had a dream
I had a dream, I had a dream
They cut me down and you climbed on me
outro
I had a dream, I had dream
I had a dream he climbed on me
They cut me down and they
They cut me down and then
They cut me down and you climbed on me
11 September 2013
Cigarette
The cigarette of my wasted life
burning down burning down burning down
At your lips at your pretty lips
flicked away flicked away flicked away now
The cigarette of my wasted life
bad for you bad for you bad for me
The cigarette of my wasted life
burning down burning down burning down
Memory memory memory
long long gone - gone - gone gone gone
Just a smoldering wick right now
till the LORD takes me to His mouth
The cigarette of my wasted life
burning down burning down burning down
At your lips at your pretty lips
flicked away flicked away flicked away now
burning down burning down burning down
31 August 2013
Song: Enoch
Enoch walked, we're told, with God
for 300 years
I can't walk with God
for 300 seconds
Enoch walked, we're told, with God
for 300 years
I'm always straying away
into the weeds
Take me to that place
where seek is find
Take me to that place
where knock is open wide
Take me to that place
where seek is find
where weak is strong
where you're really mine
Blues in F
17 July 2013
Curfew
07 July 2013
if my heart
30 June 2013
Aliens Among Us
no need
to reach
some far-
flung star
to see
the sites
on venus
or mars
to un-
maybe
the mights
to dis-
cover
the heights
to seize
the halos
of un-
manned flight
25 June 2013
we just call ’im dovie ’cause he bristles at lovie
entranced with enough
english
dovie’s cue ball’ll walk
duly to the new
striking
place and the waiting
cue: already scuffed
and chaulked
and armed with powder
blue kisses
19 June 2013
Volatile Bob
My heart is
pure ― rubbing
alcohol
better keep
dragging those
grounding chains
My head is
Everclear
nearly two-hundred proof
better stop
playing with
those matches
My hurt is
nitro ― so
better not
bump me so
hard with that
dreamt about body body body
13 June 2013
Three Things
There are three
sleeps that can
stop our mouths
their speaking:
the Big Sleep
(which plugs all
things), the Nighty-
Night (if night-
mare free),
and the Sleep
of Kiss (which
bungs our tongues,
possums our
peepers, and
relegates our
breathing).
09 June 2013
OneMan’s Pack Rat is another OldLady’s Boy Scout
Because he might need
a Black Toad bottle
cap crimped at one hun-
dred twenty degrees,
he can’t discard it,
but keeps one of six
Maybe a lady
will seek safe passage
across frozen tun-
dra through a hoard of
malevolent Huns
and that cap might be
the only weapon
or useful disguise
(you know, used to scratch
or worn as a patch)
that is small enough
to smuggle or that
we’re able to hide
until we most need
it ― as I replay
it ― at the last minute
So, I can’t blindly
just throw it away
04 June 2013
Note to Self: The Bottom
Here’s the bottom
line: is your poem
of such robust
spine and buxom
embrace of such
tonic balm such
bouquet and taste
of such sonic
boom exquisite
menu and coo
that it might coax
despairing toes
off of spotlit
ledges or bowed-
down heads away
from unlit stoves?
02 June 2013
Sermon :: Matthew 6:34
i.
BETTER let tomorrow
let tomorrow
let tomorrow
better let it take care
let it take care
care of itself.
Listen little children ―
Would I? Would you?
Would this one here?
Would we pull the covers
of tomorrow
onto our beds?
And then the day after
that? and then next
week? and next month?
All piled up. All at once.
― Y’all go on and
talk to me now ―
As if we had ’em all.
All the linen.
All the bedclothes
of a five-star hotel.
And so piled up ―
stacked up ― ceiling-
high? Wouldn’t we smother
beneath the weight
and heat of them –
tossing ourselves into
our very own
fiery furnace.
Today is hot enough.
Heavy enough.
Trouble enough.
ii.
WE’D be pinned flat down like
a butterfly
under a stack ―
a big stack of flapjacks.
That butterfly
might melt but
it’s not getting much sleep.
Y’all hearing me?
Be still my soul?
I really don’t think so.
That’s not stillness
of our sweet souls
my brothers and sisters.
We can be still.
We can be still.
Because He wasn’t still.
Jesus came down.
All the way down.
Some of you have heard this
before. Way down.
To Mary’s womb.
Hand-him-down swaddling clothes.
Pretty flimsy.
Like the lily.
Y’all got me distracted.
So where was I?
Be still. Our souls.
We might be really still.
But really grim.
And beaten down.
Our typical tossing
and turning might
stop. That’s for sure.
iii.
BUT Jesus gives us rest.
For the weary.
But not pinned down.
My Jesus was pinned down.
So we don’t need
to be pinned down.
The biggest deed is done.
All the way done.
So we can rest.
So we can sleep under
the light light sheet
of just today ―
not that weigh-me-down shroud
of days and weeks
and months and years.
There is a seven-star
hotel. We need
to go sleep there.
And you can’t afford it.
But it’s all free.
All the way paid.
Jesus says sleep under
His cool covers –
It is finished.
His pollen soft, but warm.
Diaphanous.
Lily linen.
And ev’ry. Body. Said.
Amen. Amen.
Sister Betty,
come on up and lead us:
Come Ye Sinners,
Poor and Needy.
01 June 2013
Planting Beans
propping the shovel hoe and rake
spooling out twine plunging the stakes
kneeling dimpling the harrowed plot
thumbing simple tombs in the pocks
releasing the pink dusted bombs
dozing over dirt with a palm
a display of faith this arming counting on another rising their pearl green necks rolling their respective stones exploding revealing in each yawning seed applauding
a leaf a tongue the dumb report
31 May 2013
Bird Man
In his younger
years, when he was
bung-full of sap,
the mere shadowing
of a swallow
jetting past
would spook his wool-
gathering gaze.
But now, the blue jay’s
jeering and juking
and the mocking
bird’s mania
and the mourning
dove’s rugged flute
are all drummed up
inside his napping.
Like funneled swifts
down deep chimneys.
29 May 2013
Nurse :: Muse
flip my pillow
over baby
and let me feel
your shading tree
cradle my brain-
pan with one hand
while the other
one does the deed
rip the bandage
from my body
change the damage
sop up the dream
so distract me
with your singing
that you don’t ring
a tear from me
grip my ankles
with your let-down
hair and phantom
some quickening
there remember
feathered Hermes
was fashioned in
the shadows of
a cripple’s dancing
fire
______________________________________________________________________
Hephaestus was the Greek god of craftsmen, fire, and volcanoes. His Roman counterpart
was Vulcan. In addition to making the armour of Achilles, the girdle of Aphrodite,
the chariot of Helios, and the bow and arrows of Eros, he also fashioned the winged sandals (talaria) and helmet (petasos) of Hermes (Mercury). He says of himself in the Odyssey, Book VIII: “I was crippled from birth” (ἐγώ γε ἠπεδανὸς γενόμην).
25 May 2013
Chair
lowercase
::h:: a place
to drape your
cape folder
of bodies
molder of
laps a place
for dandling
for dancing
lion tamer’s
prop site of
chess master’s
endless loop
the brawler’s
favorite
weapon the
carpenter’s
teetering
throne balanced
on the ledge
of heaven
the front two
angel-lathed
legs dangling
22 May 2013
Nesting
20 May 2013
Mister D.
MISTER D. is
always with me.
He’s there, mugging
in my mirror:
tonguing his teeth,
spritzing every
perfume. Goofing off
at the market:
sampling cheeses
and juggling fruit.
AND there he is,
near my lover’s
bed ― even when
fevered fingers
are climbing my
spine ― waving
that silly scythe,
making some nice
shadows and lights
for the seeming,
but very
little breeze.
MISTER D. is always
with me.
19 May 2013
Prayer: Confession & Adoration
When I am
weak and when
am I not
weak?
When I am
wicked and when
am I not
wicked?
When I am
worried and when
am I not
worried?
You are power
pure and sure.
16 May 2013
14 May 2013
Plump Robin
Plump Robin
o, you swag
so, when you fly
each down-beating
of your wings
up brings a crest
and then the trough
― when wings come up ―
of waving sine
Your flight’s
a fancied garland
unwound from yonder
tree ― the galloping
Richter's
pencil ― the scallops
of tremor's tinsel ―
a stretch of your E
KG
In a dream
― I shan’t say whose ―
upside down
someone dreamed
you flew
O, winsome swimmer
your lantern breast
bobbing ― a constant
crest ―
O, Plump Robin
o, how you flew
10 May 2013
Driving Around after the Reunion, with my Wife (the Former Cheerleader) Asleep in the Back Seat, Relishing my Rival’s Demise
She’s sleeping soundly
I’m driving roundly
all up and downly
our homely townly
O, there’s the store-y
where we adore-y
’way-laid her ringly
and out danced singly
And speaking of-ly
my sleeping lovely
and other way-lies
of ’waying laidly
Since Dirk was deadly
it could be saidly
she was finally minely
for all timely
07 May 2013
After the Annunciation: X Marks the Spot
i.
SHE bit me on the arm
when I tried to hold her
AFTER she told me and
I didn’t believe her.
SHE didn’t draw blood but
the mark was there for days.
ANGRY didn’t quite
describe it – she was crazy.
ii.
SURE. I bit him. When I dashed
away, he captured
from behind – seizing my wrists –
then X-ing all four
of our arms across my breast.
So, I bit down. Hard.
Off to see Elizabeth.
HOPE it leaves a mark.
05 May 2013
Flight of Freighter Bird
Plump Robin
o, you swag
so, when you fly
each down-beating
of your wings
up brings a crest
and then the trough
― when wings come up ―
of waving sine
O yes, your flight’s
a fancied garland
unwound from yonder
tree ― stretched out
but still
such rolling
as a string
of pinned-up tinsel
penciled ’cross the scene
In a dream
― I shan’t say whose ―
upside down
someone dreamed
you flew
O, winsome swimmer
your lantern breast
bobbing ― a constant
crest ―
O, Plump Robin
o, how you flew
03 May 2013
30 April 2013
Riddle #3
I live in a black box
which opens
out and up
my harem of orange
hips out
toward you
but most all my perfume
slips up
the shoot
29 April 2013
11:21 P.M.
DEAD is no
abstraction:
it sounds like
keening dog
and it smells
like Lysol.
But it tastes
loosely like
late at night
in August heat
Four Roses,
bourbon,
neat.
28 April 2013
Woman at Window
The window opened on Paris
or Prague or some other sampled
city ― and your fingers ― well, two
of them ― outlined an O. Were you
smoking ― the glass was touch-dusty ―
or pinching some delicacy?
Perhaps you were signing “okay”?
The O fell back into shadow
then, oboe-like, returned. This time,
with its lowercase mate, glowing.
27 April 2013
Driving Across Ohio
Sometimes there is
a single tree
in the middle
of farmer’s field.
And you wonder
how it escaped
the blades of one
hundred winters.
But there it is
at plowing time
a shadeless lamp
amidst the brown
furrows — formed by
some Zen master
with his red rake
held out behind
an old tractor.
A stark living
room décor. But
summer will bring
the dainty things:
leaves for old trees
and a carpet
of Jubilee,
overachieved.
________________________
Jubilee is a variety of sweet, yellow corn.
See also Leviticus 25.
26 April 2013
He rode
HE rode with Custer. But wasn’t
Custer. And he rode with Sitting
Bull. But this one wasn’t Sitting
Bull, either. Just as dead. Just as
renown. This poem levels the field
of fame. Because. On this day. When
your dripping kerchiefs ― just dipped ― touched
their brows ― the nameless brave ― their dried
crud went pink with enough water.
History is [proverb goes here].
25 April 2013
April's Autumn
23 April 2013
Crush
WHY call this a crush? I guess it sounds quaint
enough, the puppy lovey ― moods of youth ― naïve
nothings. Nothing heavy or lasting here, so move
along. The only blood is blush: unpainted-
on. THERE are pens ― called crush-pens ― for cattle
and sheep, which narrow like a funnel:
at the business end is the branding iron,
glowing like the inside of a star ― or ―
so I suppose. For your ass ― it hisses,
coming back down, closer to home. Not to mention
the unbecoming ― though mysterious ― fit
of the crèche. But who’s to say it’s not serious.
UNABLE to breathe. Unable to move.
Ask any orange. Juiced. Isn’t that you?
21 April 2013
Talking at Tombs
IF I had such power,
I would put on a show:
hocus my pocus and focus my potions
with lots of hand motions
into that black hole
BUT the Carpenter simply cries
― for the sake of the crowd ― out loud:
Lazarus, come on out and play.
And the rest of you, strip him down
― down like Adam ― on Eve’s first day
20 April 2013
Afterfeathers
NOT even a full feather
but a tiny torn portion
floating
from, I presume, my pillow
I blow at it ― keeping it
aloft
THE delayed response as it
shudders, gaining a little
altitude
as long as divinity
angles up from down below
TELL me true
how is this unlike my own
fleeting flight ― torn ― borne up ― blown
and then gone
finally fallen below
the backlighting of window
15 April 2013
Muscle Memory
SWEPT over
by the same
sequence of
weathers ― wind
and water ―
some connive
and thrive ― while
some of us
take the bend
to our souls
and twisted
unwinking
we ― the wonders
of almost
broken down ―
archive
13 April 2013
Paper Kite (revised)
ITS tail was ripped from old bedclothes ― a train
of crude bow ties. And since it was cloud-sheering
windy, we made it royal-long ― almost convincing
each other she’d fly. The maiden flight was short ―
and bitter: the scatter-brained store-bought parts
looping in crazy eights ― flashing infinity signs.
NOW dangled upside down like the escape artist
in his sack, tangled by its tail in the still-
bare limbs of the old black elm, the distorted
diamond quivers and crackles ― there ― unreachable.
AND so we await the slow ― but certain ― secret curtain
of summer ― then all the stripping done by fall ―
to be unveiled there for the winter view ― no Houdini ―
just the spine and the spar of a balsam cross.
10 April 2013
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)