-An Autumn Poem Entitled Hope

a dream of a black grackle

in a luminous pool of woodland waters

drawing light around

purple green bronze

is a bird’s good fortune

balance, iridescence

this morning too, dawn is purple green and bronze-

equal parts mystery

feather and ruffled current

hidden nest somewhere near

beyond the dark pools

beyond my little dock of the morning

away out to the south and west

that grain of light is a planet

jk

10/12/2018

***

-Poem at 2:30 am

Zen coyote

Last night’s coyote

yup-yip-yuhoohied across the valley

And the neighbor dog went yep yep yep

And the siren went Ohhhhh

And the trees went mmmmm

And the jet liner went shhhhh and the sliding door went skreee

and my belly went rumble rumble rumble and Cali cat went yow! and the refrigerator went aummmm

so the light went on

the light went on

the light went on

for a minute.

(and john hartford up in heaven went twang)

john hartford up in heaven went

twang-ditty-twang

john hartford up in heaven went twang

and a light came on

a light came on

a light came on

for a minute)

5/29/18

***

-Before the Fire

If night is a spirit it’s there in the lower branches

among cool sparks across the hillside

sings a tune to those sunset windows

an expanding breath passing among Monterey pines, whisper supper in the subdivision

aerial towers wink on our mountaintop all those sweet pieties below those hymns in the trees the last songbirds of day – I slide the glass door closed on these

How the night comes from within things

The conversation of night and day

The relationship of unlikely things

The idea of forgiveness as darkness drawing essence from the cool earth in love with the bugs and worms and rootedness and microbes

the day now grants

the living being of all things

We must be glowing like breathing leaves with shoots if we only knew our independence is a story we told ourselves

We are like plants when we set our feet down

11/28/2018.

***

-The color of your voice

This morning’s smoke is not the color of your voice

but the cool fog carefully erasing the far trees down-building, Sunday stillness, your morning, your embrace

fog is the prayer of the

cool green and the knitted thread of flowers

leaning cala lilies, geranium, the

sampler garden on our wooded loom:

we have so very much

This is my first day of this day

the bridge of my blanket knees to the ridge top, calico asleep

to hold grief at bay

yet still

the Sunday peace,

the night sings

through the screen door

7/1/2018 (for Melie)

-earth can’t have you

(requiem -a funeral poem )

the dress and opinions

the earrings they couldn’t find

in our row the believers

our cells silent, vibrate

the blue uniforms of mechanics

the ropes, folded turf

wheels proceed across

green grass uneven ground

earth can’t have you

ancient place

vault of concrete

exhausted air

our best oldest idea

hollow

and yet here convex earth longing for sky

while above sky expresses gravity in a beautiful way: clouds

the earth holds its atmosphere;

the sun, its planets

the sea, the tides

moon sifting shells, as in a weir

everything holding everything

we tell the earth in all its longing

coolness fragrance forgiveness

-no!

we tell the earth no

7/11/18

 

For a friend who rescued animals. And people. A hospice poem:

 

Heaven is in Your Pocket

 

In the heaven that does not exist

they keep you waiting

while they look something up

 

and no pets,

they’ll have to wait outside

please

 

The heaven that does exist

is a rat in your pocket:

He’s cute. And smart.

His name is Dr Gonzo

 

In the heaven that does not exist:

a bunch of saintly types and angels

 

In the heaven that does exist

-rabbits everywhere!

(lop-eared, cottontail, hare…)

 

In the heaven that does exist

you feed a baby raven with an eye dropper.

 

The heaven that does exist

is your sunny back fence

where a cat can stand guard against other cats

or sleep, depending.

 

The heaven that does exist:

…A clean cage

clear water in my water bottle

and the door slamming because you’re home.

 

The heaven that doesn’t exist is who knows where

 

But oh: the heaven that does exist

is in your pocket.        

5/15/18)

***

Poem at Midnight Exactly

 

The night

Conducts

The day

Down

 

Among trees

Sonic since

Dawn

 

Now still

 

Ceiling sky so low

Not a bird

Can hear

 

Rain

 

The wrinkled paper sounds

Of

Rain

 

And

 

leaving

weather at the root

 

Silence

Sings

Scales of soil

 

Night

 

Descending

stairs hour

by hour

 

Turning

lights off

As you go

5/17/2018

***

-Your grief, not mine

 

Carry a freight

a grief

a weight

to the track out to the pier

 

And then, push off from the limestone coast

 

Pilot past the hidden bay

the fogs, a brig

propelled by only sound now

 

Another century away

the low thrumming engine

bass vibration

a clanging bell saying

“This and that, this and that”

The rolling wheels

the crowd waving

shouts and whistles of farewell

 

Can’t take the suitcase you carefully packed

only the books you memorized

grief out of orbit now

looking back

earth, universe does not hold you

holding nothing, holds nothing back

 

Do you have that letter tucked away?

Do you remember what we said?

 

The personality,

the lack, the locked hunger

The empty safe-who took the book of you?

 

Your grief, not mine.

 

I’ll take it to the pier and let it go

just have time to catch the morning train and, seeing things,

see things just as they are

 

It’s good, breathing morning air,

the ocean, a warm coat

the lungs expanding, health

and strength again for walking

 

(12/7/2018)

***

Walk Home

 

visibly wild

are birds and trees

but at night predawn

even more so;

When the tallest trees are traced with light

and line the walk in space with distant stars

I feel myself on the other side

just beyond life and the border of dreams

 

I’m just walking

 

Then I hear it

the great owl back behind the house

Resonates a presence

makes its statement

repeats it twice

Stars, dawn,

I heard you owl

Your fact beyond words

bears repeating

 

Like

untrained country singers’

sung from the heart

deep in the chest

as though to themselves

up in the loft in unison

by rote, by shape note

 

That’s you, owl with your simple

ancient call in the darkness of trees

 

Your presence

presumes– everything

stars sky tree…

 

(4/17/18)

 -There’s not a thing you would change

 

The themes of the transport station , intentional rust and brick red and stainless steel open to the sky cloud deck scraps of blue blowing slowly by and a pigeon not heeding the corrugated yellow lines ever all the air is weighted a little humid so the coolness swirls in currents around your skin like every good summer at a dime store waiting with a couple of nickels and you can feel the ocean out there and smile that your big destiny has already happened – when was that anyway?- and now you can exhale and say a prayer if you want to -breathing is giving thanks if you say it is.

 

3/30/18

***

Found this in an old notebook:

Piano Practice A Bridge

Piano practice a bridge to the afterlife

(of course that is a secret to keep to one’s self)

The moon from your perspective:

vast, full, comprehending ;

from mine, just houses, sleeping.

The teacher doesn’t wander by – no, it’s not like that.

She arrives with a good suggestion:

“this should sing”

and “that will help with the passage”

or: “drop the ornaments- no one will know!”

Moon over the ocean.

A calm approach clears the mind for memory.

***

refrigerator cricket

refrigerator cricket

the old steam heat’s a comfort

the teapot will whistle like a bird in the

warm kitchen corner

and the dark window’s bright-

condensation

never mind, my love; raking the corners, the leaves are in the bones and branches of me

rake the gutters tomorrow

November tacks a string of lights from cloud to cloud while

December’s ladder’s still hidden from view

October peers past the curtain

and the oven light is on.

***