Toss Two Gulls

I saw the sky toss two gulls
over my head before the dog came loping in.
Then there was a pause
long enough to do the dishes and the ironing
but the TV had to go off
and the AC just in case
when they started tearing the cover off the sky.

She cried, something that startled me,
and you cradled her,
and even the older one read wide-eyed
while I smiled and retold the story
about a noisy coffee grinder and an infant
hiding her head between my feet. 

I think it was the ripping sound that scared us most; 
the thought that lightning that loud might rend us, 
might tear our home asunder. 
When the storm had walked slowly, muttering, out to sea
we went upstairs, complaining about the heat
and listening to the rain, to watch some more TV together.
And the dog lay on his bed, wondering
and forgetting.

June 27 2013

Missing Bella

Nothing emptier
than a lawn without the dog
that used to lie there.

June 11 2013

Hurricane Season

The trees were trying to run away.
Above the neighbor's rooftop they bent
but couldn't flee. They were workmanlike,
bent on leafing, not expecting this early onslaught,
and the way they washed the evening
with their rushing protest proved it.
From where I sat on the cooling deck
it seemed that hurricane season was obsessively literal
and though the wind brought blessed change,
I wondered with a wary eye whether hurrying branches
might break away and cut my season short;
no need for that new propane now
or to worry about wasps starting troublesome homes
in the grill, or the worn umbrella.

June 3 2013

That Red

That red can't be a rose;
not yet. I know
pretender rhododendrons
are just spring
practicing for summer.

May 28 2013

Leash handling

Dog, the rangy creature,
pulls hard,
heedless of my hold upon the leash.
A good owner would never permit such liberties with the lead,
but that's what you get with a hound: a driven thing.
Is there a lesson here,
or is it just an id
imperfectly tethered to a fretful conscience?
Drop it for today; let him scent.
Be on your way to coffee.

May 17 2013

Backyard Catch

It is a thing among things
to be able to play
in the backyard catch
with my children.

May 11 2013

I Have Been To the Falling

I have been to the falling asleep
when it was truly like a falling
and I have received it much more rarely
like a blessing.
I have been to the waking up
when it was like dragging a chain from the ocean floor
and I have felt it much less often
spring from me like a singing bird.
You never know what you'll find behind those doors
tigers, princesses, or the old routine.
I never dream about coffee
and never when awake have I scratched behind the ears
of a large black bear
but in some respects the two states are the same.
I dream about and ride in elevators
and make phone calls
with uncooperative buttons that signal to me
a certain helplessness;
sometimes hitting fast forward
seems like a good way to go.
But the seed pearl is there
caught between the curb and the tired slush
if you look down at just the right instant
and I seem to remember
or was it a dream
last night waking
to the sound of rain.

May 9 2013

Equinoctial

This is when the clouds get interesting.
Here at the first right angle of the year
when the trend is up
and the trees are talking seriously up there 
about something you can't quite understand,
revisitation is among us:
strange shapes are worked upon the sky
and we anticipate leaves.
Bright aliens in the sunny spots
act natural
but we are wise to them and their kerfuffle:
the world is shouting, wake!
the sun is risen.

April 10 2013

Falling Objects

We were all a little nervous 
about objects falling from the sky.
Was that the way apocalypse
would finally visit us?
It wasn't a matter of if anymore
but when. Any bright light might
be the one.
We knew the limits of science
and defensive weaponry.
We did not trust
the grim determination of movies
to carry the day.
A warmer earth; obesity; and guns:
These were the portents,
not a comet with its tail on fire.
This time Kahoutek would pan out.
Halley would return too soon
and vengeful.
We were guided by life to seek more of it,
continuation our duty and our joy.
But there was also fatigue, 
and who wants to bequeath
burdens to the future?
Oh, it was a shameful speculation
and we knew what happens when you wish.
But one dark wonder kept inside
the secret watchpocket of our daily clothing
ticked:
Better quick the end than slow?
In the unsought conviction of disaster
we weighed alternatives and knew
the downside of a heavenly finale was largely
to be left alive.

April 5 2013

Dogwalk

Watch the treetops to understand
what you should wear on your dogwalk.
North wind, south wind, east wind, west;
coffee is what
I love the best.

April 5 2013

Non-Rhyming Poem

This poem is by my younger daughter, written when she was probably just about 9.

The wings of birds,
like leaves on trees,
falling down onto rivers of life,
like snow on a winter day.
Gently, almost like flowing,
like a river,
like a lily pad gently on flowing water.
Like animals playing roughly together,
tugging on a branch, happily, running.
Like floating,
like laughing kids on a summer day.

Eat the Summer

I will eat the summer
like a peach
and keep the stone
when I am done
within my reach
and as autumn pilfers
light from day
that seed alone
all else undone
I'll hide away
so when winter renders
orchards bare
as twisted bone
and kills the sun
and fills the air
I can throw the stone back
toward the spring
and when it's grown
birds one by one
will start to sing.

March 19 2013

Winter 2013

My god the road is made of iron
all give of summer gone
beneath the weight of ice
fanatic snowflakes fall to add to
along the potholed way.
They'll never fix it now till Spring
brings this darkened hemisphere
a little nearer to the sun,
but that is miles away,
in another town than Winter,
and much too far to walk.

March 9 2013

Sleeping Dog Lies

The involvement of ear
with tail with nose
with eye with muzzle
with knee; he makes
his circle here so perfectly
upon the bed where he well knows
he is not supposed to be.

February 17 2012

It Fell

It fell all day.
I was reminded of those portions of the world
where the air may be at any time inhabited
where distance is always layered into fainter
and fainter gray. 
It brought the counsel of the coyote much closer;
I felt the animal's defensive gaze upon me 
as it turned to disappear,
and I was minded to build a fire even in my living room.
God of the suburban South, help me close the eyes of my imagination on
those barren plains and the silent ancestor mountains beyond.
God of the North, protect my family and me till Spring.

February 17 2013

Bespectacled Man

When I find I have become the bespectacled man,
it is, because it is fitting,
without any sense of regret.
As I wait among the dancers at the studio for my own,
in the calm eye of their ceaseless storm of sparrowbanter,
it is pleasant to feel apart,
a part of the unconsidered furniture of their day,
playing an outmoded game on an outmoded telephone. 
No one, they say,
if they say it at all, no one, and it is true.
How peaceful to be so undisturbed until she comes out,
tired, whom I may ferry
tiredly, happily home.

February 1 2013

Dog's Life

He seems to be
exactly
the shape of life;
a trotting demonstration.
We should have named him
QED.
His lines are drawn by
necessity
for anyone who looks to see
how beauty
is that which tends to life
and therefore good
and has to be.

January 15 2013

When I See the Riotous Waves

When I see the riotous waves running up 
the wall to join the celebration of the bursting over
and we wade the cascading stream because he leaps
in frantic supplication,
the temptation is strong to travel with him 
miles across that wooded wetland where the water stands
and teach him to come back to my hand
no matter how glorious the scent.

December 27 2012

For David et al

The tides come in
as surely as they depart.
To finish is to find another start.
The losses that we suffer 
are accompanied by birth
and heaven saves what's lost, and mends 
what's broken on the earth.

For David Coulter Stewart, and others

December 19 2012

The Running Clouds

The clouds are running at cross-purposes
up and down the darkened hallways of the sky.
The distant loom of night in day above the farther shore
is guaranteeing rain, and maybe something more,
a sulky rumble mutters. Then we are visited by water
and walking becomes a taildown damp necessity:
How good will the towel feel,
and the coffee, and the curling chair.

December 10 2012

Beginner's Tai Chi

Things are made of other things
and make up other things.
It is only this simple chemistry
I understand.
And when I part the horse's mane
and the white crane spreads its wings,
even that, they say, may fall away from me.
I am not fluent in the world
and sometimes, I admit,
it seems better not to be.
But along with abdication
comes a lesson in humility
and an inkling, in a silent pose,
that little knowledge is not always liability.

December 10 2012

Calling all code breakers

Just for fun, can you break this code? It uses a method I thought of the other day:

23U5K2I1R3J6W4C9Z8N5R6V3U2C9V4F4G7I9T9L1R5V3B6K2E

The Circle Moon

The circle moon
has pulled a neighboring planet
close, as if to kiss 
its face.
Because the tide
inside is rising
as I fall
asleep, it seems
my dreams could be high
maybe enabling 
me again 
to fly.

November 28 2012

Cloudscape

The Dreams

The dreams are always about mundane things.

You ask where we should go for lunch;
I say Phin's or Sam's Place,
knowing I can't decide,
but the dream takes us away from all that anyway.

I should take out the trash,
but our youngest daughter needs help with her homework
and that is more interesting.
I will do the trash in a minute or two
if the dream doesn't change again.

I am contemplating an apple on our orange cutting board.
The peeler is ready in my hand;
you say we can make a pie, but
--and this is the strange part--
in the dream, that is something
I have never known you to do.
I think about challah also
golden, golden,
and just before I wake up
I am suddenly happy.

November 19 2012