Not Haiku

I don't know about joy, but

fresh air,

green hills with yellow poppies,

turkeys milling by the creek --

I must be close.

8/2/11

In the city,
only buildings are beautiful.
Anemic trees host squirrels
who seem more like rats than do
their bushy country cousins.
City sparrows look best bathing in a
man-made fountain, hopping
daintily from one concrete block
to another.

Maybe that's why I like the city at night:
dark obscures the trash of the streets;
white, golden domes of civic centers shine pure;
the squirrels have retired into the trees;
sparrows have hopped to shelters under eaves;
and only people, their lights, their batteries, their phones
show,
instead of natural reminders of destruction.
And in this dark, it's easy to look away from sights
that don't fit my versions of beauty.

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.

Poppies unfurl from

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

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