Sep 23

Silhouette Sunset

Sep 17

Fall coming

Summer leaves drop
with guilt
on cold dew grass
always when I am not
watching
my eyelashes seeming to 
shake them off the branches
with each blink 
I wish to starch them flat
with my grandmother's iron
and try to press out the brown 
from their stems
til they start to smoke

fall is the only season that
cannot be undone
that cracks in a day
and shatters in a week

and when I draw shapes 
in the foggy window
I watch them fade
again and again

 
Sep 02

Waterbug

where is my apology
waterbug
you're skimming so close
to something you 
don't want to acknowledge
black water churning underneath
hungrily, waterbug
treading casually
but I've learned that ripples
attract the frogs
waterbug
tell me
how far you think
you will make it
before your toothpick
legs poke holes in the surface
and the water rises to meet
you
as it has dreamed
where is my apology
waterbug
or shall you play
this game with the deep
blue depths
until it swallows you whole
but I've learned to be patient
waterbug
I can wait
Aug 27
poem challenge: August

August

I can only wonder
when I drive down 
dirt roads in august
if I have blinked
or if it is just 
telephone pole shadows
flitting over the hood
like camera shutters

and it feels like just about 
everything is overcooked in 
august
july ladybugs don't move when poked
and litter my windowsils
dry and cracking with the paint
brittle as corn kernel husks

august gives me blunt sqaures
of droop-eyed sunlight 
falling crooked on the hardwood floor
and I lie on my stomach, 
feet casually drifting somwhere above, 
and try forever to find the edge
of those sharp-shouldered shadows
where I will be able to peel them
up and off the floor
before the cruel august sun
bleaches the wood
Aug 14

October dinner party

in dreams of October
the clothes we hung to dry
fill with wind
and come to join us at the 
dinner table
how lucky
we had already set their plates
and pushed over extra chairs
i do not feel surprised 
no one is ever surprised in October
and the dinner guests 
hold our silver forks and knives
just beyond their sleeves
yet
i trace the roof of my mouth in fear
that the wind will grow stale of spice
and rush out through the floorboards
leaving our guests dripping off the 
chairs and onto the floor
silvers forks spilling cranberry sauce
onto the white pressed table cloth
then
we will fold our guests into neat squares
and smother them together with the moths
how unlucky
in our haste we skipped dessert
cooling pies beading onto the tinfoil
and we push their chairs back into the corners
like rooks on a chessboard
Jul 16

Deal with the sea

I cannot fish but I come to see
whether the waves have a gift for me
to catch the creature the water stole
but needless of a fishing pole
tide rush in and tide rush out
a mackerel a herring a haddock a trout
fisherman laugh with their sea wethered nets
"The ocean is guilty but has no regrets."
but maybe there is hope in the form of a fish
motorboat horizon I make my wish
behold a black sea that wasn't forgiven
now it takes my prize from where it was hidden
reaching down low for the very best one
witness is wind and cloud and sun
for crossing the sea in moral is worse
than a demon a sickness an evil a curse
but since it crossed me I should think I'm in right
to leave the beach with a catch tonight
and with a hurl the water spews out
a mackerel a herring a haddock a trout
no need to say praise or a humble thank you
the waves are already blushing a deep bubbling blue
Jul 16

Island

What gives the island such lure?
The lone strand
flower-pressed onto the horizon
necklace of sand strung seashells
shoulders tucked bashfully under
the rolling green summer dress
cleanly cuts off at the water.
Do you itch with seagulls
and crawl with visitors like ants?
Or do you lift a little out of the ocean
with the excitement of a hermit crab
when we come to see you?
I find not where your feet rest
but ask you stay where the barnacles
crystalize
for I do not like the sight of the horizon
without your shoulders constantly
daring me to wonder





 
Jul 16

Apple seed

Dear old and forgotten child, 
You must have known
when you planted the apple seed
that it would not be yours to keep
You must have known
the rings would thicken 
in their own leisure
and the apples would come
proud and blushing
but
decades from now
you must have known
that the branches would
still be too tender 
to climb when you 
grew adventurous
you must have expected this
and understood how patient
you had to be with the 
sprout then seedling then sapling
as it melted slowly towards the sky
there was no reward for you
only the constant comments
of how sickly it looked
there was no reward for you
but to watch it grow
you must have known this
as you tucked gleaming black dirt
around the smooth bark
like a scarf
you must have known this 
that nothing would bloom for you
only the visions of what it would be
for me
Jun 30

summer storm

I know when the wind comes,
with electric exitedment
flipping the leaves 
on their backs
like pale-bellied turtles
when the seamless sky
rots into a storm
in the west 
while the blue sits safe
hugging it's knees, 
in the east
I watch as the wind comes again
this time vivid
with fingers casually parting
the trees like hair
curving the supple branches into
braids of green and brown
then
thunder starts in muffled growls
apprehension 
til it rattles in it's cage
a jungle predator among
our droop eyed cows
what a disadvantage
tell me again
how unlikely it is to be struck
by lightning
tell me again
that only the flagpole
and the old oak tree
should be shaking
tell me again that matchsticks 
only burn to the bottom and 
stop there
tell me again that laying cows
don't get hurt
tell me again why summer storms
May 20

Cow

Nothing to say
a cow wouldn't
kill you
lure you alone
into the field
stirring you 
softening you
with mismatched eyes
one pushing 
one pulling
letting the fence
wire shudder back
into place
and the hollow twang
blurs into cicadas
and the cow has
you now
feet adjusting ever 
slow slightly
as if it fears
to tear through the 
ground
and as you approach
down the aisle of grass
the cow's bones throb
with excitement
poking like fingers
through a grocery bag
and a damp snort is the 
last thing you hear
and people now start 
to fill up the field 
to find you 
with the cow standing
high above
as if it had
found you like so
they thank the cow
that preserver of life
and the flies have now 
shifted from it's nose
to something knew
nothing will touch
the cow but the 

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