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Bring the water, wash
his wounds, and tend to your own,
Grieving Hecuba.

Memorial

White crosses dot the
hill and multiply. Fresh grass
grows under them all.

Driving along Highway 4

Watching cows graze on
the green hills, I wish I was
vegetarian.

On a Clear Night...

Famous fog absent,
surrounded by inky black,
the City glitters.

Written about Two Weeks Ago

This cold morning needs
hot chocolate and buttered
toast to combat blahs.

Written Yesterday

Small birds soar across
Morning’s Eastern orange glow,
promising blue skies.

Did Fall Come This Year?

Did I miss Fall? The
smell of apples aside,
it’s all rainy cold.

You Seemed to...

You seemed to check for
a pulse. Your hands were cold, but
I did not shiver.

All the Thyme Has Died

All the thyme has died;
the lavender has wilted.
Birds no longer come.

A Longing

I have a longing
for Summer in Fall, for pop
and sunburns and Light.

Tall, white crane

Tall, white crane; long, brown
reeds muddy the blue water--
Unseeing cars pass.

A placid shrewdness

A placid shrewdness
turns to laser focus as
the cat stalks its prey.

Not a Haiku

You remind me of hard rock
and mullets
and Chevys carefully painted with primer;
of boys who never liked me in high school,
who wore hatred as casually as a t-shirt
and as lovingly as a favorite pair of jeans.
And, instantly!, I'm fifteen and ugly again --
feeling alone, fumbling with a cigarette,
wishing you'd deign to just look at me, and
maybe like me just a little.

Furry bodies lie...

Furry bodies lie,
some as if sleeping, others
twisted by Death’s maul.

If & Only

"If only": The two
stupidest words in English
when put together.

11:19pm

Disquiet rages
in me when I think of it.
Thinking makes it so.*






*=Thank you, Master Shakespeare, for that incredible, beautiful line! (Hamlet, Act 2, scene 2, 239–251)

It's Easy

It’s easy to think
of you with desires like
love: I don’t know you.

Written a Few Months Ago

Sriracha, noodles,
and chicken broth insulate
me from Spring's cold thaw.

Written by My Beloved, Paul

Freeway wheels whisper.
Awaiting boss's judgement.
So I toss and turn.

By Danville Library

In all this beauty,
one plant pocked and frayed alone.
I don't want to see.

To You, in Particular

Shades of eyes shuttered--
you can look inside, but it's
all closed off to you.

In front of the Landfill on Richmond Parkway

Weedy, wild flowers
push themselves up anywhere
along the hard dirt.

6/21/10

In these hours dark,
your snores are reassuring
and I'm not afraid.

Inner Turmoil

Perhaps if I stood
in front of the Buddha, I
could silence this roar.

6/4/2010, 2:53pm

Obsessions beckon
with their comforting blankness
and oblivion.

6/4/2010 @ 2:12pm

These precious fragments,
buried in the deepest part
of me, still covered.

On the Occasion of Sean & Caitlin's Wedding

Fingering his hat
nervously, he waits for her:
a vision in gold.


I like the idea of writing something for people I know. It reminds me of all of the authors I admire so much from Ye Olde Times when an artist had to have a patron to get anything done. It's neat to feel inspired by people & events, and, when I do, I again realize the greatness of artists who had to draw inspiration directly from their patrons-- or who had to be clever enough to make what actually inspired them fit into their patrons' world view.

A Few Haiku

Sun presses its face
against gray clouds-- afternoons
this May are so cold.


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Clouds of varied shades
of blue and white -- towering
puffs! They seem like God.



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Outlines of palm trees
warm gray in the Spring blue sky--
a white gull passes.



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Cheerful round finch hops
here and there, nestling in dirt,
flying up to sky.


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In my mouth the taste
is bitter. Searching my heart,
I found self-pity.

Poppies unfurl from

Poppies unfurl from
weedy, tall grasses: petals
of gold wave gently.

Also Not a Haiku & Written in 1987/8

the closet is clean

yet they are unshowered
lying
between sheets strewn
with
tiny hairs and scattered bits

waiting
for the dull burst of the alarm.

morning.

Not a Haiku: Dreamtime (Written for American Poetry Class in 1992/3)

Dreamtime

I,

pulling on black trousers, belt, and shoes emerge man.
It is not worthy of note as I stroll that
I am unsure of the new
shoes,
pants,
belt,
and walk with the quickness
of a fear that reaches up
and taps a woman on the shoulder
like footsteps
following
in the dark.

Pyracanthus (2) -- Written a couple of months ago.

Against Winter's dead,
gray air, your red berries bloom
all the more brightly.

Small lupines tinged with
white grow among red flowers.
I forget their names.

The grasses are green
and waving. But, here and there,
a golden poppy.

Across grey skies is
written the tale of our times:
Machined Relief.

Two birds celebrate
Winter's thaw with song, though Spring's
new air is still cold.

At Santa Rita Jail

Ignoring buildings
of sickening mauve, two geese
nestle in green grass.

And speaking of feeling depressed...

Stop! When I hear this
song, I only remember
death and losing you.




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Your ashes now sit
in a cedar box. Winter
now comes without you.

Can You Tell I Find the Fog Depressing?

All Written Yesterday:



The hills' bright green dulled
by thick grey fog -- even the
sun's bright orb is dimmed.

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Fog curls dark fingers
around the tips of trees. Grey
darkens the bright green.

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Why do I seem sad?
Even the sun struggles to
pierce this dank morning!

Also Written a Few Weeks Ago...

A sliver of moon
against clouds made pink by the
glaring of streetlights.

One of the Nicest Things I've Seen in Weeks

Deep blue waters, sky
of grey -- the crane's feathers shine
bright white against them.

Obviously Written Awhile Ago Since We've Not Had Blue Skies in Weeks

The blue sky, the swirl
of the moon, the green of the
hills -- Daytime Moonrise.