Sunday, July 28, 2013

"be one be weak keep moving"

men i once admired
are courting ladies
i knew as children

it is said that tobacco
will kill a demon
incapable of reconcile

i'll send my fears downriver,
and hide their scent
with the southern winds

i want to keep my hands
out of your bad times
but keep them rough and ready

i want to trust again
in the ability of
being trustworthy

it is better sometimes
to smoke the demon
and smile with a toast

to the unknown dawn

Saturday, July 20, 2013

the measure of open space

Here and there
you build a
fitting structure

to rhyme
with what's around it

                    the meadow grass
                                     the trees
                                          the water

and learn to
leave intact
the wet roots
of the swamp oak
                    and the alder

& the trails
of the deer
                    up the ridgeway
used these
30,000 years

ed sanders

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

joanne kyger

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

indigo flower wellspring anti-blues

“Hold on to your divine blush,
 your innate rosy magic, or end up brown. 
Once you're brown, you'll find out you're blue. 
As blue as indigo.
 And you know what that means. 
Indigo. Indigoing. Indigone.”- TR

there is a wellspring
somewhere the cats
won't even climb

its lineaments
are not shared with
the characteristics of space

indigo flowers
are always stooping
their heads to drink there


sometimes i forget about it
and i take my hammock down
and just cocoon there on the ground

where the chickens are in a pile
in the sun, taking turns
to watch for hawks

but hey! i got bone flutes
i've got to find a way
to play to raise the moon

i got secret cats to track;
reel 'em in with finger magic
and string 'em in the hammocks

i got fox-gloves
to stick my fingers in
or my penis when i'm frisky

i got whole peninsulas to map;
of forests, dunes and grasses
and a millions yellow flowers on top

ah, but i've also got space-time
that jabs my mind
with its endlessness;
with what little of it is left

but o! its nothing; mostly
i got the shape of the sun
to stare at through the fog
and spring water to drink where
the indigo sighs

Sunday, July 7, 2013

the eerie way the hawks are screaming
the ghostly shining of webs in the rosemary
the queer shivering of the shadows in the apple-leaves
the thunder on my mind
o how i used to run to mother in the storms;
a shame i've grown
i am as frightened as the day i was born

Friday, July 5, 2013


the farthest away

it is dark, as though 
i'm shooting arrows into black water
on the new moon at midnight

it is distant

it is dark

i am far