Sunday, December 22, 2013

embers

embers



embers

it would be nice
not to be bent
                      like this tree
carrying the curve of the hill

the wind does it
or someone in childhood
who plants fear in our roots

it would be nice
to disappear
into a woman's heart

dancing can do it
until we call for more wine
to fuel our crowded feet

no sense wanting
what wasn't made or graced
it's just i can't help noticing
this old world growing older

heart-to-heart

heart-to-heart





heart-to-heart

it's hard
rubbing old words
to light this candle

the robed advocates
nodding at the gates
have only ashes
after all that burning

newer words
spoken crisp
by hollow men
also nodding toward
the final skins
of the poor onion

before you leave
this world of signs
wonder at the words

at hand

fisherman

fisherman



fisherman

i was the strong one
they came to me
'marry the girl' i answered
or 'don't trade with him' or
'it is what it is'
my catch was good

everyone knew him
he carpentered with his father
or wandered the wastelands
listening to desert men
who found other ways than work

that morning he stood on the rise
watching us load our nets
'come' he called
'i will make you a fisher of men'

who knows why
a man does a thing--
i followed him

for me it was never easy
listening to him cast nets of words
and things telling cannot reach

but i stood for him
even when he cautioned
i said 'i believe
i would lay down my life'
again he cautioned

i didn't know i didn't know
until the cock crow
ended the night i denied him
three times

                  like he said

weathering

weathering
                                                               

                                                                         

weathering

winter

not the one
that sullies
this new skirt
of sleepy snow

not the tired eternity
implacable and sooted
that gathers and grows
until every day-to-day
is minnesota weary

where the alter
of my fire
and sacrament
of flavored poets
no longer hides
the durable testing
of this season
has arrived
                  again


terra cognito

terra cognito



terra cognito

if it be true
that all conventions
of mind and heart
also are present
                         so what
so what
the marks of time's embrace
scar and mold and count
the pages of the years
could beauty be drawn
any else
             where
woman is marvelous
                               a man
can point or say a tallish thing
while she
              alone in the wild creation
mirrors the worth of a hand
and warms and weighs
so that comfort and ease
and color and song
enfold  unite  confirm


gardener

gardener



gardener

the expectant earth
surrendered
another row today
my back girdle-cinched
against a concert of injury

my shovel
puts strength in my arms
as the black soil peels back
worms and tiny roots

me and the yellow sun
are glad to be
ahead of the game

sitting in the swing
i hold hands with her
                               she thinks
the garden is country casual
with its chicken-wire fence

but i picture
that salvaged patio lumber
forming next year's border
and a new fence
to keep the rabbits out

the squirrels go where they go



broken

broken



broken

words are not things
like rocks and ships
that mean hard
or we sail at dawn

goodbye doesn't end
with saying
as though thought
could set the tides

we grow roots
into each other

where wither that
when dreams awake
alone across the rolling days

fine edged speech
does not mend the ache
within a clumsy heart
that dies by just that much


Tuesday, November 12, 2013

ghosts


ghosts

did the years open vistas
where hope found a home
or cast shadows on your yellow hair

and you, the praiser
whose talented tongue
erected walls of lies
to deeds of men
i too deserved

and you, a scalpel's darling
and you and you
echo in the mindways
fading

i wonder at star crossings
and wishing well your ways
grant memory's reprieve
that met and sundered
we finally came to shore


lady tencows



Lady Tencows

They laugh, "A woman's worth one cow."
She, halt by her father's hand
and Mawmaw's cross-eyed bull,
was, well, worth less.

Bold-tongued,
opined about the length of thatch
and how the sun peers in our hut
to make a longer day
                                 and me
more of laughter's fool.

But she can read the stars
and mix a brew to tend the night
and tether sorrows
with arms that know the length of love.

They watch her on the path,
blinking at her broad-brimmed hat,
while she,
standing at the edge of all we know,
scatters words.
                       Ten cows I gave for her.
                       Ten cows was all I had.



Sunday, October 27, 2013

in the woods



in the woods

i was broke
by a bad run of cards
so barney stood for me

we shared his cabin
sitting nights sipping jack
by his wood stove
while talking the world
back into shape

we drove ourselves part crazy
laughing through
what we didn't know
about women

he'd climb the stairs to bed
while drowsy embers
danced me to the edge of sleep

clear nights
i'd take my sleeping bag
to the long porch
and lay on a bench
until i blended in

once
as i drifted
into the heavens
an old ghost owl
glided by my nose
waking me
to the sanity of stars
out there
              just like me



Monday, October 21, 2013

price of remission



price of remission

want
and wish of will
won't wash the words away
that weaken bold encampments
and leach
               love's long slanting day

drop by wanton drop
the acidic sibilance of fear
                                       distills
soul scorn from heart sworn
flooding damnation on the dear

time's weary papyrus
rolls tight behind each moving hand
and when the ink of rage is dry
it's lost again
                    you understand