July 2013

winter breeze —
embers dying
glow once more


 

my cabbage patch
resists Monsanto . . .
white butterflies


 

huddled up with flu . . .
my heart becomes a stranger
to the word made flesh


 

fogged up,
are these windows
like death?


 

distant echoes . . .
the Homeric laughter
of yesterday's news


weeping willow —
the silhouettes of me
cast by wanton stars


 

street litter —
genetic debris drifts
all around


 

fallen leaves —
the tree an oak becomes
in winter rain


 

a gull's cry
snared by the wind
fades from sight


 

a morepork's cry —
helplessly I grow older
night by night


 

a morepork’s cry —
curling through the valley
silence finds a voice


 

a morepork's cry —
far from the world of words
alone with the moon


 

candle flame —
a breeze flickers by
with darkness


 

a night
slow in ending
inches by . . .


 

this stillness!
where does it come from,
ebbing tide?


shining cuckoo!
another must reap
what you sow


 

far away —
the sound of a river
shaping worlds


 

crescent moon —
light drowns within palms
of emptiness


 

bitter wind . . .
no longer the sting
of absence


 

breath mist —
the words I whisper
in my face


 

stormlit sky —
the still rolling 'r's
of the locals


 

a thin line parses tense between us


 

through this valley
generations have trod
. . . have trod


an abyss
drumming between stars —
wordless vigil


 

morning chill —
'quardle oodle ardle'
magpies signing in


dead low water —
my coming and my going
merge as one


 

under her feet,
the dankness of rotten leaves
joins the dance


 

before dawn —
white crosses fly through
city streets


 

lightning flash —
city streets rumble
free of words


 

winter dawn —
the loss of life
while we slept


 

winter moves
through my body —
spider web


 

winter night —
the earth resounds
off key


 

is this real?
the oceanic swell
of dry land


haiku drip
with inanities
on life's parade . . .


wintry rage . . .
summer simmers soundly
underground


night tremor . . .
ancient vessels groan against
their moorings


 

lost to age . . .
his path expands in dreams
across the wasteland


 

earth awaits
fervor's infilling . . .
night tremor


coldness!
a pen sounds out
the ache


 

this dark night,
how long does it stretch?
distant bird


dark forest—
the sound of leaf rustle
within me


 

notice board . . .
messages curl around
rusting pins