Poem: Dead Grass Before Spring

 

Dead Grass Before Spring

 

do not confuse them with minnows

rioting from an earthen shark.

they are not disheveled wicker,

or shards from a tan season of dynasty.

 

consider them needles

that sewed themselves into their own quilt;

and yet now the slumbering green juju

awakens

 

to poke millions of centipedes through their cross-stich,

so they dissolve into what they truly are:

pawls of a clock guzzled down,

easy as a darkening dearth of wine.

when the last threads of snow flee their maze.

they have no more prisoners, no escape,

only to wait, blind beyond hurt,

for the skewer of a dandelion.

================================

10/28/25 ... took out a word

12/11/23   four mods ... 

Poem: Beautiful Questions

 

 

Beautiful Questions

shy as a gleam, 

few notice the latitudes of lips

which only pretend to hide.

 

peek-a-boos of prairie flowers

on a field of a cheekbone.

nuances of mooncraft  

in a sunny glance.  a blithe sigh. 

could it be 

the facade of social wax,

so dull and fake, 

must somewhat bear  

the soulful caress of heat? 

a swish of invisible touch 

from some inner emotional 

impresario?  

 

quiver of chin.  swoon of scent. 

a brow elated by a span 

of slightest arch--

not so long-lost,  

subtle on such looms,

never too small to cherish,

we speak.

==========================

9/26 condense and flow eds

7/26 ... major redo

9/15/25... may the gods have mercy on this poem's soul

8/20...

8/18/24... 

6/24/24...

10/1 ... significant changes to two stanzas

Another day passes by.  Yee-haw ... 

8/28  "volatile, helpless fingertips" replaces longer clunky line

8/21 ... Major changes a few hours after posting ... more changes later in the day

Poem: Little Karmas

 

Little Karmas

 

i ache

as if someone broke glass

and stashed the shards

in my brain.

the problem is this:

i feel the little karmas

of ants and chickens,

and everything in-between.

 

they shout up at me,

these puny scorecards

that hail back

to the first oozy womb.

they’ve found a way

to preserve genesis

in long, endless threads.

 

what’s being woven,

i don’t know, but every leg

on every insect is a needle.

every feather on every bird

sews the wind.

the tiniest scuttle services fate,

and if you nudge it,

you tweak the tapestry

of a billion years.

============================

Poem: To the Gods

 

To the Gods

 

i send you trinkets of my life

in a basket of disloyal tears.

 

my armor of wounds,

more feeling than blood,

that goes in first.

 

next i fold with care

and tuck in place

this brutalized truth:

 

cities of cursed children,

whom i once sobbed to invoke,

and yet never dared to see.

 

next comes dawn’s ocean.

rainful songs of spring.

aromas of sage-rich chaparral.

and dew-garlanded forests.

as well, i place an enduring kiss,

one i received long ago,

and still it heals across decades.

 

finally a dandelion, i give you this,

joyous in sunlight,

quivered by breeze.

 

i know you will not respond,

or even understand my gift,

 

but i have some hope,

by this offering, 

faint as an angel's feather,

to forgive the gods.

===================

11/24/25

6/24/24 ... 

10/30  "disloyal" replaces "unloyal"

8/24 "garlanded" replaces "sprinkled"

8/17  "add" replaces "place"

On first glance, this is one of the best poems I have ever written.  Of course, as is usual with such things, I am probably wrong.

Poem: Once More

 

Once More

 

to idolize warmth

on the roof of the mouth,

while the rest of the body hides.

 

tea drains lukewarm,

thick down the throat,

softening a few feathered phrases,

while a tarantula of arthritis

captures with scratches of pencil

to bind.

 

a whole pot of earl  

passes through the urethra

before the writing is just okay. 

 

some of the words breathe, 

lissome and nectarine with hope,

if not the verve of pleasure.

 

the caffeine and steam, once moot,

unparalyze a tense drama,

releasing the tarantula,

stormy, 

crazy and fast

until exhaustion.

 

then fingers quibble with tremors, 

whether to screw the thermos lid

or whether, like the brain,

to be drained of purpose,

any last semblance of passion lost

empty

empty as a lake which turned to sand

long before the very first mammal cried.

 

eyes sizzle-fizzle from the tug of sleep,

zeros stacking zeros

under lids gone wild.

======================================

7/26 mods

11/25 .. 

10/9/25 ... impossible to fix... 

6/24/24

11/16 removed "other" before "zeros" ... added some commas 

10/19/22  "softening" replaces "softened"

Poem: Last Call

 

Last Call 

 

the upheaval of bliss in the martini

massaged my mind

with biochemical paws.

 

it was appealing, indeed,

this dearth of confusion

in a lack of tomorrowness--

  

which up was up, really,

and why so much descent?

why kneel sad yet glib

before a magistrate of paychecks and delusion?

 

and yet 

 

if a lion ant of a wish lurked

in a toothpick-skewered olive,

it had to be a trap,

 

a smooth slide of sinking allure

in a glassy funnel of gin.

 

maybe this eerie dizzy banquet

lacked euphoria, after all,

no longer steep, neither seductive,

just along for the cab ride.

===============================

6/26/24

8/15 corrected typo

Poem: Inside the Mind of a Ghost

 

Inside the Mind of a Ghost

 

doors tilt to spin 

and the no-way-out victim-

hood shifts its tricks to no way

to get clear of the uninten-

tional roulette.  more walls,

more corners, more trips, coming  

faster to achieve less.  

the spin, the spill, the howl of 

the hunt through the haunt of whatever-

this-is.  so hungry.  lies, mirrors.  

i wrap my skeleton to my 

panicked bosom and feel the

marrow scream but no heartbeat.  

i turn into  a crushed-up, rolling thing 

which careens in a whirl of zooms, 

faster and faster, trying not to stop, 

not to fall, not to go down, help me!  

into the lurking cellar of risk. 

 

==================================

7/26 ... zillions of mods

6/26/24  ... 

7/16/23  ... "truth" replaces "ugly (n)" ... "fungus" replaces "mold"

Aug 15  ... added "yet"

Aug 7/22 ... minor changes hours after posting

 

The White-ness and Male-ness of the GOP Sickness

 This image from the Washington Post today sums up the Republican prejudices and ignorances (self-defeating and country-destroying strategy).

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2022/08/04/dana-milbank-republican-destructionists-book-excerpt/

Poem: Before The Court

 

Before The Court

 

the poetry of truth

meets a clench of lies,

 

against the bruxism of empire

to fight and declaim.

 

to cast a logic of wings

among knives of buzzy scorn.

 

to argue that the empire 

oppresses in the name of freedom. 

 

to call out the 'great president,'

who salivates above a drool of sycophantic dogs.

 

to lament the fear of the citizens,

whose rush to obey erodes the very streets.

 

to see vagrants left as rubbish,  

eyes as smoky as bullet casings.

 

to remark on the sacrifies 

irrational on a tilt of sinking altars,

and the fanatic arenas,

drunk on hate-thirsty grunts.

 

to dare kindness and love 

deprived by the cruel--

 

and for such hope to pay,

to be accused and entombed.

 

 

 

===================

Sept 8  "drool of dogs" replaces "drooling dogs"

August 12 more changes... 

August 5 "dare kindness" replaces "dare advance kindness"

August 2, structural changes for better flow

Poem: Her, Too

 

Her, Too

 

she spoke in a slaughtered language;

otherwise the audience forgot

the price of their good-natured front.

 

it was an effort no doubt futile,

perhaps tweaking a few wrinkles,

salting a couple hairlines.

judged by the pale shadow

of many a buried, massacred bone,

white was the color of death.

white

 

whether on a proclamation,

a treaty, deed, or scalp-wanted poster,

or beneath the robe on a missionary’s waist.

 

the audience listened,

but of course they were innocent;

descended from sins

beyond their own memory.

 

they watched 

with eyes as wide as the Earth.

a nod or two to the value of the land,

and maybe a few special birds

or trees.

there were no tears of the sort

which carved out a a trail.

mostly the tears were blue.

blue on white.

==================

9/24/25 eds

10/13 ... changed a word, feel really uncomfortable writing about this at all.

6/26/24

not sure I should be writing about this at all, arrogant White poet... (?)

Inspired by a guest speaker at UMM 

8/12  .. fixed second stanza

7/30/22 .. huge changes to flow and structure of poem