Oh for these last gray days and new moons. For Orion’s belt in the north, in the night. For our yard leaning on its side and the papery brown fronds hanging down. For the milky sun and messy watercolor blues,… Read More ›
poem
The scene with my grandfather in a dream
In my dream my grandfather was there and I thought this is the last time I will see my grandfather and then he was gone flickering between a photo and a living, breathing grandfather and in the street a wake… Read More ›
Now this is good
The dog by my side in the morning in the dark: Orion left his belt outside again, it’s gone down behind the trees: soft sounds, early morning, the jingle of the cat’s bell around her neck, the dog’s got a… Read More ›
Inauguration day
At the very end of January the light is always the same. Though the sky’s cold and gray, the clouds balled-up fists, the calendar adds a square each day, a few more minutes of sun before it swings on a… Read More ›
‘There is a light that never goes out’
I lay in a hot bath but the seal in the stopper leaked and the water went down (and I with it, too): and once under- neath the tub I looked up at a light the shape of a ring coming… Read More ›
Part of the earth froze and we with it too
Those flattened-down fronds and tree limbs too, the holes in our road frozen over, and in our yard this morning the little birds stir for what little food they can—like us, their lives held together by such small things.
A hot bath with David Bowie’s last record
At their height the veins in these hands looked like power cords, like ridge lines on the moon pumping blood from the heart to the fingers, swollen blue but now, more summertime worms scarcely seen, dried up, bloodless: there, it… Read More ›
For all its life, it ends in a poem
I laid the little bird inside a planting pot with a leafless plant, a veil of snow on top— and as the wind picked up I imagined it coaxed the little bird’s soul along, somewhere new— and when I held… Read More ›
“Found”
In the darkest places of rest the mind finds what’s left in our pockets whether we wanted it found or forgotten.
Guest post by poet Rick Subber
Today I’m pleased to feature a poem by Rick Subber, a writing mentor of mine, dear friend, and fellow blogger. I hope you’ll check out Rick’s blog for smart, light-hearted but deep insights and enjoy his piece here “Nova.” Nova… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 