Landscape
Utterance
within the parameters set
by form
expressionless
save motion
the lone branch
brought to the fore
and in the distance
stock ponds collecting rain
the word is
forget, as in the imperative
as in function, as in
you must have
This first appeared here in December 2014.
Landscape with Jar
(after Wallace Stevens)
What vanishes more readily than the breakable
and transparent? Not here, not now, it says,
never voluble in the morning. I have work.
The horizon exists simply in perception.
Try to touch it – the hill meets the sky
only from afar, offering discordance
up close, no measurement possible.
And among the trees and vines, a glimmer
of spite, twisted open. Moving closer, we see
through. We see rocks, a bird. We see air.
“Landscape with Jar” was first published in Birch Gang Review in July 2017.
Prescribed
Some seeds are buried, others scattered.
April’s wildflower reflects October’s rain.
Bluebonnet, fragrant gaillardia. Texas paintbrush.
Cause and effect is seldom so clear with people.
Left hand offers money, right strikes a match
and the voice sings praise without conviction.
Perhaps we are guileless,
and true motive lies in the completed deed,
underground or above,
blossoming or charred after the burn.
* * *
My poem “Prescribed” was featured in December 2017 at The Clearing, a British online magazine focusing on landscape.
Thanks to editor Michael Malay for taking this one.
Landscape with Jar
(after Wallace Stevens)
What vanishes more readily than the breakable
and transparent? Not here, not now, it says,
never voluble in the morning. I have work.
The horizon exists simply in perception.
Try to touch it – the hill meets the sky
only from afar, offering discordance
up close, no measurement possible.
And among the trees and vines, a glimmer
of spite, twisted open. Moving closer, we see
through. We see rocks, a bird. We see air.
“Landscape with Jar” was first published in Birch Gang Review in July 2017.
Wherein I search through debris for that root,
that long foot grasping soil and air, a streak
of forever’s descent. Chain sawing wood
I’ve breathed the metaphor of ash and earth,
have stared at flame, dreamed of water, a wave
of night crashing me through its strong-armed flow.
Among limestone and cedar, shadows flow
past prickly pear shadows, where wild hogs root
among thirsty rocks, and bandanas wave
goodbye to yesterday. Hummingbirds streak
past, defending borders of air and earth,
and I gaze at my stunted, twisted wood.
Soon I’ll leave this plot behind, burn its wood
no more. I will release myself and flow
northward, pulled to a strange land where the earth
grows darker, where no one knows me, and root-
less I’ll stand, but not alone. Birds will streak
the gray sky. I’ll proffer a half-assed wave.
Longing, I think of Hokusai’s great wave
and the insect trails circling my stick’s wood
as I stomp through the knee-high grass, a streak
of diamond-shapes muscling ahead, that flow
between life’s weeds and thorns. My old heartroot
stretches past dawn, star and sky, beyond earth.
When I think of fire, I grasp the light earth
holds, the origins of water and wave,
the sadness of leaving. I will take root
in old ground, find new trees to love, hardwood
to carve and learn from, seek new patterns, flow
between now and then, reclaim luck’s long streak.
Until then I wait, watch that feathered streak
buzz its pendulum course above the earth.
When it’s time, I’ll surrender to the flow,
lie back, let go, accept the soothing wave
and all it carries — losses, secrets, wood —
leaving behind that sad cumbersome root.
The window’s streak contains light but no root.
Leaves flow, too fast to count. The earth
trembles as I stack the split wood. Just then, a wave.
* * *
“Texas Sestina” first appeared in the spring 2020 issue of ˆTaos Journal of International Poetry & Art”
Landscape
Utterance
within the parameters set
by form
expressionless
save motion
the lone branch
brought to the fore
and in the distance
stock ponds collecting rain
the word is
forget, as in the imperative
as in function, as in
you must have
This first appeared here in December 2014.
Prescribed
Some seeds are buried, others scattered.
April’s wildflower reflects October’s rain.
Bluebonnet, fragrant gaillardia. Texas paintbrush.
Cause and effect is seldom so clear with people.
Left hand offers money, right strikes a match
and the voice sings praise without conviction.
Perhaps we are guileless,
and true motive lies in the completed deed,
underground or above,
blossoming or charred after the burn.
* * *
My poem “Prescribed” was featured in December 2017 at The Clearing, a British online magazine focusing on landscape.
Thanks to editor Michael Malay for taking this one.
I have four poems included in Purifying Wind (now available as an Ebook for $4.99, and in print for $12.00), an anthology of pieces about or mentioning vultures. I’m proud to have these poems published alongside those of fellow poets Sudhanshu Chopra, Stephanie L. Harper and Jim LaVilla-Havelin, among others. Thank you, d. ellis phelps, for taking these poems.
Landscape with Jar
(after Wallace Stevens)
What vanishes more readily than the breakable
and transparent? Not here, not now, it says,
never voluble in the morning. I have work.
The horizon exists simply in perception.
Try to touch it – the hill meets the sky
only from afar, offering discordance
up close, no measurement possible.
And among the trees and vines, a glimmer
of spite, twisted open. Moving closer, we see
through. We see rocks, a bird. We see air.
“Landscape with Jar” was first published in Birch Gang Review in July 2017.
I have four poems included in Purifying Wind (available through Amazon), an anthology of pieces about or mentioning vultures. I’m proud to have these poems published alongside those of fellow poets Sudhanshu Chopra, Stephanie L. Harper and Jim LaVilla-Havelin, among others. Thank you, d. ellis phelps, for taking these poems.
O at the Edges 