Gracious the meadow
between thought and utterance:
would that we both dared linger!
But some thing bored
mandates completion; hence we stand
impatient with flowers.
Why hurry our fears onward to death?
Let’s stay in this place
we’ve both never been.
Tag Archives: poetry
You again
Whose name I never know
Somewhere in Utah
This mountain trail
is like the highway we took
to get to it.
Stick to it and you’re safe:
people come a’whistling,
a thousand thick
on the thread of life.
But off it there’s nobody.
Just wolves and desert
and waste and wild.
How many flowers have stars in the middle?
I have a collection
of cool explosions,
rocketfire dust in a bottle of blue
Metanoia
Where are you? Where are you?
Where are you? Where are you?
Delicious horrifics
(I’m naming names. There’s no
other way to get a conviction.)
I went from sunshine to a purple forest.
To loves undeep and loves untrue.
A chilly destiny!
Ruined digits, waxy eye,
leafy stone, milky thigh –
Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Sue –
violent loves in a violet
violet hue
Yes, this is that road
The funny thing (who’s laughing?)
is how many wrong turns it takes
(and in the right order)
to weep the same way every time
God wants to get involved
And tip my bushel
basket again
Some bugs hang
In a cloud where it’s warm,
while ants come running for the sugar.
Or take your fly,
the male of the species:
he flies in squares to pick up chicks.
And so they, like we,
engage in predictable behavior –
going for goods and gauging our gambit,
dazzling the dog with our repertoire of tricks.
A heart for the game*
Let’s not tell a boy now
he can’t play ball.
Not at twelve, or ever,
not when he loves it as he does.
Don’t spring on him a tricky valve,
slamming shut his play
today and plan for tomorrow.
Don’t take his heart, Lord,
when his heart is for the game.
*For Bas, who got some bad news.
Utrecht Journal 