poem

A poem you might have missed

One of those home town elegies. Sometimes your home town gives you a serious case of the blues. 

 

The Duck

Immense waves of flight

out from forests, out

from broken-mirror beaver

ponds of frozen mountains,

they fled from ice storms coming.

their shadows fell across the freeways

for days as I too migrated from frost

falling downslope and west,

looking to rest under a forgotten sun.

end of the continent--

 

it wasn't working. San Diego

after this bad spell I had, after

A Little Louisiana Poem

Incident at Bayou Teche

A water-turkey
plops in:

thirteen mud turtles
bobble.

The Wastelander's Notebook, Vol. 2

All summer
she brought me gardens
in her dress.

#

armadillo roadkill:
ants spill out their hole,
flat out scurry, fill maws
as they dismantle: snip armor--
skilled chefs scramble
in a dilly.

#

A small bird lands on the phone lines. And another. Another. They come:
bird
bird
bird

bird bird bird bird
bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird bird

and in the yard, twelve feet below, all alone, and twitching:

cat.

#

Book club members have been some of my most enthusiastic and careful readers. I’m thrilled to share my work with you, answer your questions and tell you some of the stories behind the stories. This is our spot, just for us. Here, we can chat:  If I’m nearby, I’ll come and visit your club. Otherwise, we can Skype, talk over the phone or email. Sometimes, I’ll send surprises or hold contests.

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