Tag Archives: nature imagery

Weltschmerz

Posted on February 27, 2019 by

I have grown tired from too much poetry and these everyday ironies, have sunken inwards, as a spot in our lawn that’s slowly turned to a hole, now something we’re forced to address, the frost level come up, the remains … Continue reading →

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 10 Comments

This time on earth

Posted on January 30, 2019 by

Where does it go, when the hair recedes—and why does it leave? And will I go like that too, without any notice but more a long, slow fade like snow thawing in a field— And are we just that then, … Continue reading →

Posted in death, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

4:59, Friday

Posted on January 25, 2019 by

In my time of darkness I go back to the old haunts, to Raymond Carver: I closed the book and he looked back, and in the morning spoke to me on the toilet, in my bathrobe with my phone: He … Continue reading →

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

An examination of spirit and self, told from beneath a sheet

Posted on July 16, 2018 by

When Dawn leaves town, Charlotte sleeps with me in our bed. Friday night, and she complained about the Brian Eno music, calling it spooky. So I carried the remains of that record with me up Cougar Mountain the next morning, … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 32 Comments

Crow call for April

Posted on April 2, 2018 by

The chicken brined and so did I, in a solution of salt, memories and music. That Easter in France with Rob and Paul roasting the lamb — then the one 30 years ago I had to work at the drug … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , | 15 Comments

Blurred passage to poem

Posted on March 29, 2018 by

How the poem appeared an object in the mist I paddled toward and circled round And though it was odd and lustrous, with living things nesting and squirming inside, it was too tall and slick for me to climb. Better … Continue reading →

Posted in poetry, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

When the saints go marching in

Posted on March 14, 2018 by

Softly the deer who live behind our house burrow down in a patch of green at night, and in the morning appear outside the abandoned house next door like figurines. The house has been abandoned for three years since it … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, prose | Tagged , , , , , , , | 30 Comments