MOON IN THE RIVER
Moon in the river
fire-flies aspire to stardom
sky is upside down
Monthly Archives: May 2012
THE CRY OF THE LOON
THE CRY OF THE LOON
The cry of the loon
shatters the glass of the lake
V shard follows her
CHIA-PETTING ZOO
CHIA-PETTING ZOO
A chia-petting zoo
does your mind work that way too?
BASHO IN THE BACKYARD
BASHO IN THE BACKYARD
Bare branches tickle
tummies of soft scudding clouds
hammock in winter
The fish swim slowly
undisturbed by frog’s leap
pond waits in winter
Armadillo digs
rooting for worms she worms roots
after winter rain
The chickens are gone
neighbour moved and took them
silence in winter
Patter on tin roof
squirrels play chase and mate
winter almost over
Relax your ear hear
buds and blossoms soften sound
wind chime in spring
GRAVEL
GRAVEL
In the dream I am trying to write
a poem about gravel.
A seven year old girl comes up
and asks if she can write it. I say yes
I like sand and pretty stones
but gravel can be bad news
like when you get some in your shoes
And like sometimes on the highway
when it jumps up from tires of big trucks
and makes stars in our brand new window
and mommy says words that I don’t know
You can make castles out of sand
ALL AUSTIN’S CHILLIN
ALL AUSTIN’S CHILLIN’
Time gets a little bit bent around here
Barton Springs is as cold and as old
as the edge of the last age of ice
A Loop One four o’clock trip
is as long as a Mobius strip
Sometimes the words fail
but we’ve always got the music
RAIN IN JANUARY
RAIN IN JANUARY
It is raining
like it has never rained before
I mean, it has rained before
but not like this
Us warm in the falling night
holding each other and listening
to the particular pitter patter pattern
on the tin roof, that has never been
and will never be again. Amen
ZEN AGAIN
ZEN AGAIN
Before enlightenment
chop wood haul water
After enlightenment
the body still grows old
More water must be hauled
– hydration is important
More wood will be needed
the cold wants to be your lover
worm its way
into your
ever more porous bones
Write about it
as fast as you can
before your stories fall into the holes
WOOD RIVER WINDINGS
WOOD RIVER WINDINGS
Just south of Courval ran
the crookedest river in the world, or
in Canada, or at least in our province
Crookedest river somewhere we were sure
which for some reason that I don’t recall
was always a source of great pride
Others might make the same claim
although no-one seems to be in a hurry
to claim their river as the straightest
The one with the least curves, switchbacks,
sand bars, and surprises around each bend
The one like the life we sometimes wish
but would never want
CARL HAS NOT LEFT THE BUILDING
CARL HAS NOT LEFT THE BUILDING
The first night in Zurich I dream
Carl Jung is teaching right across the park
– turns out that he did
Also dream of sitting at a sidewalk café
with my teacher who studied with him
many years ago
Across the street and half way down the block
I am only mildly surprised to find
the café and table still there