Nearly There

ravenSunday Haiku

Sunday’s denouement
Flatlines the weekend
Yet again

Poem 26

Friendship

We have been friends

For years and years

We pick up where we left off

No matter

The space in between

No matter the spouse in between

 

Stories warm our talk

No secrets kept veiled

We know them all

We know their vestments

 

The teasing bares a sweet side

We know each other so well

No room for jabs

Just the splendid chance

For open face

Open heart

Poem 27

 

Crows

Gray

Still

Moments before colors

Perform their dance in the sky,

The crows swoop along our rooftop

Headed north

 

Perhaps to feast at the Columbia

Whose waters

Once powerful

And awesome

Now slowed by the dams

Their pent-up passions

Held fast

 

Hours pass

And the crows return

Chattering

They linger on the rooftop

And the sun

Dips

Poem 28

#30poemsin30days

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30 Poems in 30 Days

Heuristic

We see what we want to see

Human nature’s best guess,

Rorschach and Roshomon

Holding hands on the street corner,

Hoping you will gaze in their direction,

Looking, but not seeing.

#Poem24

 

 

Like Sugar

Rolling by the yellow building

On my bike

I sniff a

Familiar smell,

Acrid and sharp,

Just like my darkroom days.

Some smells you never forget

Like how my mother’s fingers smell like

Tobacco and mint.

My bike thumps over a pot hole

Past gardens that smell like sugar

Just before it burns.

#Poem25

 

 

 

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Playing the Woman Card

womancard

Woman Card?

Don’t look now: media are priming us.

Priming in the same sense that you prime a pump by activating the flow of water.

When you want to extract water from a well, you first need to “prime the pump” by pushing a handle that forces air into the well.

Once you push the air through, water pours into the channel. Continue reading

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What is courage?

Red Cloud

Red Cloud

Today’s news made me wonder: how do you define courage?

I heard a report that one of the US presidential candidates was “strong” and “courageous” after taking on the gun lobby

No doubt it takes guts to get behind sanctions over household weapons.

A new political ad features a women whose mother—the principal at Sandy Hook—was killed when a gunman killed her and took the lives of 25 other souls. Continue reading

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Rain so Hard

heron

Rain so hard
Soaks the shoots
Stones the rocks
Pummels the peonies
Violates the violets

Then stops
Like a weary boxer
Spent
Leaving pools of damp

Poem 23

Woodcut by Kawanabe Kyōsai  (1831-1889) titled “White Heron in the Rain” from http://risdmuseum.org/art_design/objects/5115_white_heron_in_the_rain_uchu_sagi?context=9&type=galleries

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Meta I, II and III

52847359afe74d269a0d617c79949d5c

Meta I

When we dig deeply into thinking,
Crack through the shell
Burrow into the meat,
We reward ourselves.
A pat on the back
But don’t stop there.
Go deeper
Up to your armpits,
And when you are ready
Take a breath
Move back
Take in the view
With a macro-lens:
What’s thinking on thinking?
Go broad
Go wide
Go meta
Can you trace
the outlines:
Meta of meta?
Poem 20

Meta II
We scholars cast
Wide nets,
meta search
but metta search
Seems best
Poem 21

Meta III
Words mean
And meta yields the
Package,
The whole package.
What a good word
For anagrams

Like
Meat and mate and team and tame
Maybe atom
If you break the rules
Poem 22

#30poemsin30days

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Garden Fever

atg_jan10_woodcut-of-bee-balm

When I have spare moments

I bike to our local garden store

Thick with greenery and

Tchotchkes made of brass and glass,

Ornaments molded overseas

To make your garden festive

Like Christmas

 

And walk aisle after aisle

Coveting the swooning cherry tree

The gray-green olive

(What color is that in Crayon talk?)

 

My hand skims the ground covers

Packed tight in their plastic shells

They overflow

Swinging their elbows over the rims.

Soft,

They feel like cotton on my palm

 

I float past the grasses,

Salvias and Clivias,

Locked in my thoughts

When my foot scrapes a metal box that

Juts in my path

Tearing my skin

 

I pour water from my bottle

Onto the cut

Cold and cold again

And limp to the daisies

The welt swells with blood

And I ask a gardener if she has a band-aid

So I don’t bleed on the concrete

 

She runs to the first aid kit

Brings back two plasters

And asks if there is anything,

Anything more she can do

 

They will cover the box

So no one else trips

And she

Thanks me for being a good sport

 

I try to be a good sport

Calm and Buddha-like

It’s not her fault

It is what it is

What it is.

#30poemsin30days

#Poem19

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