April 18
The dove’s song is throating and low the swift’s song is motion—it sews the air but morning here belongs to the quailshouting Rod-RI-go! Rod-RI-go! Rod-RI-go!
All posts tagged: creative writing
April 17
The stars taste thin tonight. They sing faint songs and ringlike church bells from childhood, harping on the fact that there is no earthly word for a memory of something still to come, their descant muffled by the rich purple scent of the evening, willing us to look back,cajoling us only to sing songs of fire and the past.
April 16
I embrace failure with open arms, as sometimes the sun rises in the West.
April 15
We found the fried codin the glovebox two days later.It was that kind of night and my first in the country.It was wretched but I remember it fondly. A dead man in Galway,men dressed as nunsand swans at the mouth of the Corrib, and rain.Then the few wintering soulsof Inis Mor, and its cows lovely, soft-eyed and ambling.And waking, myself, in a chairto a stiff-backed dawning and the refrain of the innkeeper, born and raised and lived […]
April 14
What compelled us to go, every summer filling up the Dodge Caravan, ice chests in the back thumping like the drums that start High Noon, do not forsake me oh my darling, was it the emptiness of the West, the rock in Colorado gray as the early films supposedly set there, was it those tales of cowboys and justice that drew my mother out to Laramie, was it the dichotomy of a long-held dream and lackluster reality that led her […]
April 13
I am more Gertrude than ancient Beserker: a bird is a bird is a bird.
April 11
Enough wine to soften the edges and I’ll sink back in the smallest hours of the morning offered sudden clarity on a surprising parade of recollections: The smell of the metro in July. The tune of a song I haven’t thought of in years. The line of his jaw, one day unshaven. I am not a sad drunk, and this is not a melancholy poem. It is purely coincidence that a bottle once poured is never refilled, and what […]
April 10
Consider the mountain. No, consider the man. It’s bad form to sell uphill. So start with Palouse and build up to buttes, sell them in spring when the grass is lush and wildflowers run riot among the foothills. Let the rivers tell their simple story, running full from snowmelt, let the personable maples draped in moss talk, in fact shut up. Everything here was shaped by giants older and bigger than we can comprehend. Consider […]
April 9
In true poet fashion didn’t really follow the prompt of using five random song titles, but did a thing where I worked some of Chet Baker’s titles and lyrics into a poem about him. He fell to his death from an Amsterdam hotel window in 1988: A slow note, sad, not of this earth, a pure tone getting lost around the corners of the night. You fell in love just once, foolish man, fell […]
April 8
It will be the ocean that gets me in the end, all and always the ocean— kindly, with none of the biting hungerof a breaking wave. I do not knowthe body of water but it will be calmas it often is at dusk. I do not know the body of waterbut the body of water knows me.Even here far from the coastit pulls on me like riptideto return, return, return. It will be calm, it […]
OPTIONAL POETRY 