Tag Archives: poetry

Thanks giving

And then for a time it is just the sound of the dog licking an empty bowl I’ve turned out all the lights so the coming dawn can fill every room and why do we say, “I’m filled with loss” … Continue reading

Posted in death, poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

My old man pose

I ate last night’s dinner for breakfast, wild mushrooms in bone broth. I sat by myself in the nook chewing, contemplating the day. It passed without report. In the middle of the night the moon made the fog look like … Continue reading

Posted in identity, poetry | Tagged , , , , , | 9 Comments

Poem for the days

They don’t matter, most of the days. Don’t matter because we squander them the same as water down the drain thinking there will always be more. The ones we remember are for good or bad reasons but the truth is, … Continue reading

Posted in inspiration, poetry | Tagged , , | 16 Comments

Poem to celebrate an open PO

On the last day before I went back to work I lay on the sofa with my shirt off and the morning sun coming in, playing a record, burning incense, reading poetry. All I had left was to clean the … Continue reading

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

Fifty-fifty clown

The crow’s wings are magician hands that flap and disappear through the swirl of animal souls and the gray marine layer of morning. The lake is gray too, ribbed by a breeze or by paddle boats, the same each day … Continue reading

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The turning back spot before coming down

When the poem is done I let it take effect on me like a pill slid down my throat, waiting. And when at last you get to the top, when you’ve reached that place to stop and turn back, how … Continue reading

Posted in poetry, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Excavation of self, through rotten banana peels and skin

At last the smell that was really me came to bare, to fully express itself, as a piece of rotten fruit or uneaten meat, table scraps left to bloom in some dark, neglected space. A smell, an essence, of toxins … Continue reading

Posted in prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 9 Comments