“He’s a really old guy.
Do you know him
of your time,
Dad?”
Tag Archives: poetry
Gene’s jouncing
Phineas’ fall
Crumpled cellophane
What to think
of the stories you hear,
of knowns
now unknown,
lies and truth
alike in the pack.
What can you do?
You pick one.
You light it.
You suck it in
and blow it out.
The problem with the prophets
They’ve got their own issues.
Let ‘er fly
As though you took that lock
and busted it with a hammer,
and the lock went spinning
and the door blew wide
Apostles pop up
like the suspects in Clue:
Paul with the wrench
in the library
now descending
to where
Peter grills cheese.
You want one?
Really,
there’s enough.
If the Spirit has a direction
It’s diagonal
and quivering
and blue
What we pass on the way (Utrecht to Nijmegen)
The graveyard. You’d think it would be last, but it isn’t.
The highway. The one they call the ring.
Little towns. It would be nice to have a bigger yard.
The city. Where the bridge was too far.
The river. Not the Rubicon, but the Waal.
Two story colonial
She said, I want that.
I want that, too, I said,
but wondered why
she’d said it as though
I couldn’t give it.
We looked again
at the flag and white siding.
No one was home.
No one ever was
on that road.
Nor would we be,
for I was left
to convince her now,
when once I hadn’t
had to.
Paella, or The rain in Spain
A whirling shark
shattered the dark
and showered down fish
on Spain.
A winsome cook
smiled as she took
her dinner for free
from the plain.
Utrecht Journal 