Friday, March 21, 2008

spring day

tonight's full moon lights poplar buds
and nubs of trillium heads.


earlier this week i met a truly human poet. we finally found a time to talk and she asked about my genre.

before i could reply we were interrupted by the simultaneous demands for attention by an elder and a child.

i could not have answered anyway, until today, when i heard Joanna Newsom refer to a poetaster.

i think that is quite an accurate description.

Monday, March 17, 2008


starting to feed, only 4 hives remain.
now we are begining to receive spring rain.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Integrity of Memory

Words start as I look at the dog in the sun on the rug by the windowed door. I look through the glass across dry boards of deck into a strip of porch snow protected by the shadow of the handrail which protects me from falling fifteen feet down the hillside below.

I look across the empty air into wooded hillsides shaped by snow and shadows of straight and twisted leafless trees.

I think of this good moment fading fast into the future, and these few and feeble syllables seem adequate for now.


Clover seed is sown in patterns, and bloodroot spreads its flower head,
but Hamish hangs
in Holy Robes
of saffron, black and white
and turns his teeth in turmoil as he stares into the night.