Watermark

Snapshot Poem: the week between solstice & new year's 02006

they say our days grow longer, our nights
more brief, but i don't notice. i act as
humans do, tying up loose ends, filing
important human papers, cleaning signs
of life from tables and floors, speaking
in cliches. sleet sweeps through our dim
streets, keeping us at home, or cautiously
walking, driving, steep-stepping along icy
untrustworthy paths to go spend more of
money that is increasingly scarce, if that
is possible to be. increasingly scarce.

the world grows harder, colder, more
slippery. even the dogs can't keep their
footing. my body clenches to an iron bar,
sure to fall and shatter, when one booted foot
steps outside. under that innocent snow --
sheer treachery, bruising duplicity. never
enough. never enough warning, support,
cushioning. never enough evidence to
coax belief, to elicit the faith my grand-
parents felt every day, with each sure
and certain step. tomorrow, they say, sun.

 

The ballot for this year's Montana Weblog Awards closes at midnight tonight. Mountain Time, of course. Git along thar!

Snapshot 20 December 02006

one day
to solstice

all my days
grow short

they begin late
they end early

today the sky
is wide pale blue

the radio plays
its seasonal songs

the sparrows
sing theirs

all my years
contract

they shrink
they pass

quickly

i am carried
through them

by time and love
and loyalty

by persistent
determined friends

who open my house
to light

who open
my heart

Poetry Thursday

I've been thinking, again, of you
and others. How something we don't
understand binds this universe
together. That the dark

matter of our brains may be what
makes us who we are. How instinct,
genetics, and experience weave
together in a rope

we may use to climb or tie or hang
ourselves. Or others. How my brother,
finally, released my hand, and died.
This snow will, soon,

release itself into air. I am thinking,
again, of hearts: their dumb stamina,
their unseen flaws and missed beats.
That we can test only

that which we can see. Or that which
leaves a mark, some evidence of its
existence, if only for a nanosecond,
if only on a graph.

Are we constructs? Is there a formula
which expresses you, which expresses
me? How our blunt hands hold on.
How they let go.

 

This one's for Mary. It was written the night before she left a comment, which is one of those synchronicities that are baffling, and wondrous.

Snapshot Poem 29 November 02006

    

The Muse
     4:00 a.m.

choose -- green
lime or shamrock?

                paper money
                in a shoebox

yellow -- quick!

                sunlight on
                polished oak

                    daffodils

trite trite trite

yellow --

                that dead fox stole
                on the woman's shoulders
                in the Topper movie

                wait

                wasn't that in black&white?

yellow --

                the fox stole the egg
                with its yellow yolk

the muse works in mysterious ways

brrrinnng brrrinng brrrinnng     click
SPEAK!        !beep!        _____________
_______________________.     click

red --

                the naked
                human heart

Snapshot Poem 22 November 02006

Snapshot Poem 15 November 02006

I dream of moving
to a smaller house.

Why not live in my
grandmother's house?

A man takes me to
some cave-like place,

lays out his complaints,
his sad stories. Who is

the enemy? I begin
to accept that I have

limits. So much
I won't be able

to bring with me. But
this palomino horse!

[Today: 2633 words. So far: 37,232 words.]

Snapshot Poem 08 November 02006

Autumn morning. Sun and cloud
cast a net of light and shadow
across the mountain; a shifting
pattern: background, foreground.

On the other side of the river,
a heron watches from a leafless
cottonwood. White ice floats
on the surface of the water.

Politics, war, corruption, pull
me out my self. I give the birds
stale cinnamon bread. I'm glad
it's a new day.

Snapshot Poem 01 November 02006

Samhain. Halloween.

Under a clouded moon
we fall into the dark.

This morning I woke
in your arms, but when

I opened my eyes, only
white sheets. Outside

snow.

Snapshot Poem 25 October 02006

Cat on my shoulder,
dog at my knee, I live
amidst amulets, icons,

paintings by unknown
artists, carvings by
Indonesian strangers,

figures that invoke
religions that are not
mine; spirit that is.

Leaves come down
in a clatter of color.
The windchimes ring.

Ah, I'm just not feeling very poetic today...

Snapshot Poem 18 October 02006

I don't want to get up.
I don't want to walk the dogs.
I don't want to write a poem.

Perhaps I'll tidy the livingroom.
Perhpas I'll cook a meal.
Perhaps I'll watch the television.

I don't want to write a poem.
Out the window, only grey.
In the house, darkness, and

demanding pets. I don't want
to get up. I don't want to walk
the dogs. I don't want to write

a poem.