In Praise of Gravity
Which bestows weight
or slings me around
some other heavenly
body, a version of you
wondering whether
I’ll rise from my next
plummet, victim of
curvature and infinite
range held in place,
attractive in nature,
bent perhaps and
scarred, proud to have
survived but never wiser.
Cleansed, we continue
our orbit, our mirrored fall.
“In Praise of Gravity” is included in my chapbook, If Your Matter Could Reform.
Vision in Far Infrared
Considering the implications of dust and cold gas, the expanding
universe and cryostats, I climb the stairs and shiver.
Thermal infrared may propagate in a vacuum, but we require
oxygen and warmth. Pillows and a sense of humor help, too.
What will come of the images captured by the Herschel telescope
in the next eon and those following? These maelstroms, blossoming.
I look up from my front porch and see the streetlight’s glare
rather than stars. Yesterday, lizards coupled on my shack’s wall.
Nebulosity in vision, in politics. Look through this eyepiece to find
horseheads and archers, bright flames and clouds. Or nothing.
Red and yellow filaments could indicate newly forming low-mass
stars. The visible is only one component of perception.
Hubble observes in multiple spectra, but not the far infrared.
Even the long-reaching may be overcome by inadequacies.
Do not forget the body’s warmth. Remember black lights and purpose,
the tangible thought. Recall that we exist at rest, ever in motion.
* * *
“Vision in Far Infrared” was drafted during the August 2016 Tupelo Press 30/30 Challenge. I am grateful to Angela for sponsoring the poem and providing the title and these three words: nebulosity, eon, maelstrom.
Aftermath
rust. Being one phase of corruption, a matter of
resolve. When I surrender, the implication is of giving
over, moving above, allowance. Delivering despite
the steady flaking away at what colors me intact.
The quiet evening had lulled me to this inevitability:
when oxides subsume the original metal, the expansion
may result in catastrophe. Yesterday’s arc, tomorrow’s
trial. Failure’s bloom.
* * *
“Aftermath” first appeared in the print publication Sheepshead Review. Thank you to Audrey Schultz and staff for taking this poem.
Blackbody
1
It is a house. A small house.
A small dark house perched on the edge of town
near the river.
The river is constant.
A man enters the house, closes the door behind him.
Nothing emerges. We witness this daily.
No one emerges.
The house is dark.
A man enters.
The river is constant.
2
A pebble pierces the water’s surface.
I awaken to imperfection.
A blackbody allows all incident radiation to pass into it,
absorbing all, reflecting none.
The tensile strength of water decreases as temperature rises.
Hakuin said if you doubt fully, you will awaken fully.
Before sunrise I unshutter the window.
Angle of reflection, angle of incidence.
My doubts reinforced with coffee, I pause.
Perfect blackbodies do not exist in nature.
Opaque box with a hole.
3
There is a house. A small house.
A small dark house perched on the edge of town
near the river.
Nothing emerges.
A man enters.
The river is constant.
“Blackbody” was first published on Aubade Rising in May, 2014, and appeared on the blog in February 2016.
In Praise of Gravity
Which bestows weight
or slings me around
some other heavenly
body, a version of you
wondering whether
I’ll rise from my next
plummet, victim of
curvature and infinite
range held in place,
attractive in nature,
bent perhaps and
scarred, proud to have
survived but never wiser.
Cleansed, we continue
our orbit, our mirrored fall.
“In Praise of Gravity” is included in my chapbook, If Your Matter Could Reform.
In Praise of Gravity
Which bestows weight
or slings me around
some other heavenly
body, a version of you
wondering whether
I’ll rise from my next
plummet, victim of
curvature and infinite
range held in place,
attractive in nature,
bent perhaps and
scarred, proud to have
survived but never wiser.
Cleansed, we continue
our orbit, our mirrored fall.
“In Praise of Gravity” is included in my chapbook, If Your Matter Could Reform.
Blackbody
1
It is a house. A small house.
A small dark house perched on the edge of town
near the river.
The river is constant.
A man enters the house, closes the door behind him.
Nothing emerges. We witness this daily.
No one emerges.
The house is dark.
A man enters.
The river is constant.
2
A pebble pierces the water’s surface.
I awaken to imperfection.
A blackbody allows all incident radiation to pass into it,
absorbing all, reflecting none.
The tensile strength of water decreases as temperature rises.
Hakuin said if you doubt fully, you will awaken fully.
Before sunrise I unshutter the window.
Angle of reflection, angle of incidence.
My doubts reinforced with coffee, I pause.
Perfect blackbodies do not exist in nature.
Opaque box with a hole.
3
There is a house. A small house.
A small dark house perched on the edge of town
near the river.
Nothing emerges.
A man enters.
The river is constant.
“Blackbody” was first published on Aubade Rising in May, 2014, and appeared on the blog in February 2016.
In Praise of Gravity
Which bestows weight
or slings me around
some other heavenly
body, a version of you
wondering whether
I’ll rise from my next
plummet, victim of
curvature and infinite
range held in place,
attractive in nature,
bent perhaps and
scarred, proud to have
survived but never wiser.
Cleansed, we continue
our orbit, our mirrored fall.
“In Praise of Gravity” is included in my chapbook, If Your Matter Could Reform.
Vision in Far Infrared
Considering the implications of dust and cold gas, the expanding
universe and cryostats, I climb the stairs and shiver.
Thermal infrared may propagate in a vacuum, but we require
oxygen and warmth. Pillows and a sense of humor help, too.
What will come of the images captured by the Herschel telescope
in the next eon and those following? These maelstroms, blossoming.
I look up from my front porch and see the streetlight’s glare
rather than stars. Yesterday, lizards coupled on my shack’s wall.
Nebulosity in vision, in politics. Look through this eyepiece to find
horseheads and archers, bright flames and clouds. Or nothing.
Red and yellow filaments could indicate newly forming low-mass
stars. The visible is only one component of perception.
Hubble observes in multiple spectra, but not the far infrared.
Even the long-reaching may be overcome by inadequacies.
Do not forget the body’s warmth. Remember black lights and purpose,
the tangible thought. Recall that we exist at rest, ever in motion.
* * *
“Vision in Far Infrared” was drafted during the August 2016 Tupelo Press 30/30 Challenge. I am grateful to Angela for sponsoring the poem and providing the title and these three words: nebulosity, eon, maelstrom.
Aftermath
rust. Being one phase of corruption, a matter of
resolve. When I surrender, the implication is of giving
over, moving above, allowance. Delivering despite
the steady flaking away at what colors me intact.
The quiet evening had lulled me to this inevitability:
when oxides subsume the original metal, the expansion
may result in catastrophe. Yesterday’s arc, tomorrow’s
trial. Failure’s bloom.
* * *
“Aftermath” first appeared in the print publication Sheepshead Review. Thank you to Audrey Schultz and staff for taking this poem.
O at the Edges 