Monday, June 30, 2014

As much as anything

An inked page, a lined face,
a trace of last night’s dream.

A dark age, a bright place,
a grace as much as anything.

Sunday, June 29, 2014

Canvas 397

Canvas 397

June 29, 2014


It’s not a question of loss or gain,
but of the neighbor’s healthy lettuce;
how many veins and folds it must contain
of all that’s best for us; just as the less
there is to test in us, the more
the rest of us, remains.

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Like every place

Like every place you’ve been,
you are absent from this,
the very last of them.

Like every place I am,
I am sent from this,
the very best of them.

Like every place we’ve been,
what is meant by this,
will surely pass, my friend.

Friday, June 27, 2014

Imagine a word

Imagine a word deep in its image,
and a page in an ice age burning for warmth.

Imagine a tongue that is fire,
before learning to speak.

Imagine the ashes,
and what they are worth.

Thursday, June 26, 2014


Every star, and fish, and beast, and tree,
we are; and were; and come to be;

we now partake of thee;
and thee, of we;

this life, with love,
in all humility.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Light to light

Light to light, light to touch, light to see,
that we might be angels of each other.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Through the leaves

Ever so lightly, through the leaves,
where sound meets breeze, and hermits sleep
upon their knees, summer flees,
and wonder sees them

Sunday, June 22, 2014

Canvas 395

Canvas 395

June 22, 2014

Night music

How the crows,
soon after taking flight,
become a blue-black galaxy
swirling in the heavens;

how, through my outstretched hands,
I thrill at the night and its music;

how, so suddenly,
they land at my feet;

how, in a breath,
they take to the branches
of an old mossy tree;

how quiet they are,
among the sheltering leaves;

how joyful I feel,
on awakening;

how gladly I sing
of the deep.

Saturday, June 21, 2014

Grace is the place

Grace is the place
where your concentration fades,
and your countenance

Friday, June 20, 2014

As if at birth

A child’s rich imaginary world, and you,
wondering what to cook, which power to use,
which potion or dream, as if at birth
began or ended anything,
that wasn’t, already,

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Sky-song and maple

Sky-song and maple, so-goes the riddle,
summer-lap and old-toes, soft-breast and all-she-knows,
you in the middle, light-glows, water-flows,
night-long the bell-tolls, the dew-rose,
the cradle.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Canvas 394

Canvas 394

June 18, 2014

Canvas 393

Canvas 393

June 18, 2014

Don’t just think

Don’t just think, that what you think,
must be thought, by others, too;
think, instead, that thinking,
is but one small thing,
that you, and they,
might, one day,
learn, to

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

This of life

This, of life: that there is, and has ever been,
but one moment, and that moment is an art of timeless
expression. And this of time: that there is but one
life, and that life is an expression
of timeless art.

Monday, June 16, 2014

These senses

Oh, these senses,
which conspire in the night
to make me human,

if they only knew what I did,
when I dream my way
through them.



Like an inked scar on a clean white page, “Scars,” a poem of mine presented here earlier this year, is the offering currently featured on Poets International. My thanks to editor and publisher Joneve McCormick for sharing these lines, which, owing to her gracious welcome, form part of a twelve-poem collection of my recent work in the lovely home she’s giving poetry from around the world. Remember, a permanent link to Poets International can be found in the “Reading Room.” A link to the twelve poems together is included in the “Reference Section.”

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Even then

Schoolyard dream; scented blouse;
sunlit curls; soft clean hands;
he was a father, I guess, even then.

Saturday, June 14, 2014

It just is

It just is,
just as justness
is justly received,
just as justice
is just love.

Friday, June 13, 2014

Mouse in the house

An inquisitive mouse, a pleasant mouse,
an almost-too-furry mouse, in a blurry house,
where the light was low and clothes were on the floor,
at the door became a baby instead, and begged
not to be turned away, and I, of course,
in great remorse, had no recourse
but to bring him in again,
and that, my friend,
was the dream
I had.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Imagine the sun

Imagine the sun
aware of its mortality,
counting the days,

and how it feels
when your blinds
are drawn.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Last ride

Imagine your paws
on the tailgate

and sudden arms
that bear your weight

through open fields
and tender fate

in clover

Monday, June 9, 2014


That first hour in the grave,
when you wonder if you left the water on,
and what became of your
little red wagon.

The second hour,
when all of your old photographs
have gone missing.

The third,
when you hear the voice
of God.

And then, the hour of your awakening,
when everyone, is the one,
you love.


A blind well
and a patch of dry grass;

she stitched them in too;

in two colors;
into one, present,

and the other,

Sunday, June 8, 2014

On this day

Craft, and practice;
and, perhaps,

water, on stone,
neath a gray god’s tongue.

Saturday, June 7, 2014

The light, the body

The light the body absorbs,
which is found generations later in bones;

The light the generation absorbs,
which is surely carried on;

The light the light absorbs,
which is the lightest light of all.

Friday, June 6, 2014


Water, on land,
and your face, the page;

how well, her hand,
writes, the age.

Thursday, June 5, 2014

A mist that almost

A mist that almost forms
before an eye that almost sees
what has almost been
as it almost

an ocean


almost without her veil

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Sweat the gold the place you kneel

Sweat the gold the place you kneel,
where oaks are bones and dreams are hills,

heaven knows, but whom to tell,
what the lone dove really feels

when they hold you up
and drive in the nails.

Monday, June 2, 2014

In a vast white space

A little boy, with a little apple and sticky hands,
busy the spirits about him, busy the wind,
many the voices, solemn, joyous,

in a vast white space,
written in plain white words,
a white ball chased by a wide white hound,

an alphabet of snow,

and you, with your funny little arrows,
ink-tipped, turned upon yourself,

in a vast white space, an apple,
turning red.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Blue stars

June begins with a mass of blue stars
in this little lawn of ours.

A prairie’s worth of ants and bees
within a few square feet.

Should I say more
when this is so complete?