From the desk of The Sock Drawer Poet “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself” “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country” “I have a dream” When was the last time you heard truly great words? When was the last time you …
With the outhouse door flung wide cigarette snowing flurries of ash on the jeans at my feet I read poems aloud to the trees— Could have sworn I heard the snapping of twigs. (from Wobbly Man, Red Dashboard Press, 2016)
for Lauren I’ll just say it— I envy you, love. Up and down the narrow rickety stairs with (I’ll say this too) an embarrassing amount of what we kept but did not need while the real work, the work of combing the ratty hair of the past is done—dusty photos, baby clothes the mother’s day …
I must have resembled a large and shaggy hibiscus in my red bandanna worn in that vacuuming the rug, doing the dishes type of way. And my blond hippie-hair must have been stamens and pistils glinting with pollen and nectar when viewed from afar. Had I known I would have remained quite still, …
While Kneeling on the Ground Holding a Yellow Hammer Read More »
God Digging the clouds being foaled By her fresh yellow sun And baby-blue ocean Lies on her back In her green young fields, Inspired by shapes, wobbling Out of her heavens. Hears the lowing and mewling, The bellow and roar, The thrum of the wings, The squeak and the grunt, The …
In one photo I was wearing my Sunday suit, leaning on a little cane, showing a mouthful of disorderly teeth. It was summer. You could tell by the willows, and it was not Sunday because I remember goofing around that day, finding a little black cane in the back of the garage, then putting …
Buying stamps I’m handed a book full of flags. Nothing strange, nothing you wouldn’t expect in an American store, in an American town, but I ask – What other choices do you have? Celebrate! one book says, over and over in primary colors. Another, a page of pastel flowers. I’ll take …
And when you agree To the wild And the dangerous habit of Love You’d make of yourself What then? What Of the awkward Swan As the night glides in His Clumsy gait Her Uncertain returning To ground? (from The Lawnmower Poems, Foothill Publishing, 2019)
Standing in the riot A sultry summer makes Poke and thistle, climbing vines Trees where trees were not. Listen, here’s your chance To listen, first to the clipped Voice in your head who says You failed the lawn The weeds have won. And then To those who approve. (from The …