Behind the bare trees
broad strokes of platinum cloud
frost on bird feathers
Author Archives: Life With Horace
Five minutes
Back in the woods
up the road past
the old town reservoir
where chain links
protect unused water
and brilliant leaves
in the way of
swamp maples
Farther in
the pace of fall slows
to less flashy spots
of orange and red
dropped deep into
reluctant green
Empty spaces
once the home
of many trees
have begun to fill in
Mindful of the light
dipping toward hunters hour
we turn for home
the cinnamon ferns
wear beige now
feather tips point along
the angle of fall sun
Shoals
Riding the river of goodbye
nights alone
taking songs to bed
instead of you
Heart resigned
to half the life we had
until we dance again
arms yes arms
wrapped soft and tight
I see you there downriver
waiting for my dreams
to float the river shoals
Less of forever to go
around each bend
And we will hear
our voices say hello
and dance outside
the time of sleep
A Haiku for Sunday morning
A fresh morning breeze
black dog waits by the screen door
heat will claim the day
A bag of whistles
They clank along with me
pieces of a longish life
each note a color tone shell
for its part of the story
days or years from a to b
still singing, they diffuse slowly
sound that holds time safe
Words
My words flow over the rocks
smooth and gentle things
when what I want them to do
is shout out loud
avoid the boulders by a hair
laughing hard
and coax some stones to spin
____________________________________
The last line included at the suggestion of fellow poet Kort Fisher.
Heart’s day
life gallops faster as remaining days shorten and I want, I ache for what, more time? more pleasure? more laughter? more slow dances? more hardass blues?
All of it
Things I didn’t know I loved
I didn’t know I loved the spirit in soil
deep under reed marshes
connected to it through my bones
a vision of roiling life
I didn’t know I loved to sing
that song could make me cry
joy a quick moment on the backs of notes
voices together light to dark
I didn’t know that I loved sense of place
color memories until they were gone
layered goodbyes in dim sunlight
dusty motes on gray air
I didn’t know I still loved touch
thought it dried and done but not forgotten
only to find a fire so ready lit my blood sang
even as I would cry aloud
I didn’t know that I loved words
that they would fill every empty place
pull me with them words from my eyes
words from unheard thought
I didn’t know how much I loved my life
sweet along with sharp and hard
rushing in over tidal flats escaping just as fast
that I could cherish it not just live it
____________________________________________
This list poem came out of a short poetry workshop taught in 2015 by the poet Doug Anderson. We read Things I Didn’t Know I Loved by the Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet, and were prompted to write our own list poem by the same title. This is the revised version.
Upright words
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” said Charles Dickens. Actually he only wrote it. Dirk Bogarde, my favorite Sidney Carton, said it with eyes shining in the dark. Words reduced to threads at the edge of a frayed cliche. Being able to hold thoughts in my hand for a while as they dribble down the length of my fingers, to land drip sandcastle upright as words on paper. It took forever to learn, but I have no regrets. If only words could cure the world as easily as pull the wool over our eyes. If widdershins could disperse oil spills or brillig or gyre could hoist a lance to run neatly through the heart of hate. That kind of thing. Words for the worst of times.
Treescape
The wolf throws her head back to howl
rising out of crystal spikes and mimic trees
a night when even lynx furred feet
will freeze on snow
glass visited in the dark by shapes the woods hurl
quick half life images for the next morning
with one of them shouting at the sky
First look
A morning pink comet
streaks the sky from left to right
the sun still floating up
the mountain’s eastern ridge
reaches up to slit the tail
its beam sharp enough
to cut through falling silk
Haiku for today
Late afternoon light
golden beech leaves almost turned
lantern lights the woods
Life With Horace 