spring and other things that spring eternal

The plants I thought I killed
at least three times once by
drowning once by freezing and

once by thawing too early may
have survived my ineptitude as
there are three sprouts shooting

up from the darkness of the soil
in the pot in my garage all winter
like hope springing eternal until

you find out it's three weeds but
you don't care because everything
is finally coming alive once again.

fruit we deny ourselves

How
did I ever
live for years
without tasting
a single
berry?

What
was I
punishing
myself
for?

dream books

when I took the medication to sleep,

I think I dreamed of a book series

never written yet outside my dreams,

and I awoke wanting desperately

to re-read it in the waking world

gutter glaciers retreating

Watched torrents
of meltwater reduce
the gutter glaciers
of winter and sat
in the sun without
my coat while a fly
staggered around
on my sleeve, which
was also unsteady
because I think we
were both a little
blissfully baffled and
drunk on spring
in February.

Recovery

waiting for the day
when we can hug, and you walk
beside me again

prayers

Until you can see
again, I'll write poems
you can't read that
are really prayers because
even though you don't
believe anymore,
I still do.

to the wounded one

How are you doing,

wounded Brother Wolf?

Praying you have found

a cave to rest in

curled up surrounded

by warmth and peace of

some sort while you heal.

Why I clearly need to send more letters

42 cent stamps,
when will I be done with you,
2042?

the blessings of blogging

How amazing it is
that when I will be reading
my work in public, even if
I have been in too much pain
to write much for months,
I can come
here
and find
so much wealth
to plunder.

winds of autumn

maybe the wind
always swirls but
only the leaves
of autumn make
me notice

if you still loved me sometimes

what I
would like
to know 

sometimes
is if
you
still loved me
sometimes
even when
you hated
me

all the dragonflies of summer's end

nothing will prevent 

the ending of summer

yellow dragonflies

cannot slow it

red dragonflies

cannot stop it

green dragonflies

watch it go

Only touched by memory

Wasps and yellow jackets starving
in late summer, even their crawling
brings pain be still anyway

Again something settles so lightly
heavy wings brush my leg minutes
before I get the courage to look

Golden dragonfly perches, wind
flutters tickling wings until I am
clumsy only touched by memory

the weight of books

the only thing that
keeps me anchored to the couch
is books, books, and books

Why

I am why

I cannot have

nice things

Lie to me

Lie to me,
fortune cookie;
I will believe you.

Grimly curious

we'll find out 

how many things 

on the to-do list 

can be done from 

the couch with 

only one knee 

properly elevated 

and resting

Today's faint praise

Today I am grateful
my knee gave out
5 steps from my door
not further away

One of those days

after the third bruise

it's time to call it a day

to prevent further harm

August clouds

I can't tell you how

beautiful the clouds are now 

August goes too fast

Guilty Pleasures

Tiny Adorable Dog cries alone
heart broken, and I take this chance
to lie on the deck without having
to inhale their cigarette smoke

Cicadas

cicadas
too loud for comfort
beautiful

stray poetry book

stray poetry book
hiding on nonfiction shelf
stealthy ninja truth

why I accomplished nothing of import yesterday

exhaustion weighs, and
every day is shorter now
hammock is calling

view from the hammock

layers of clouds flow
in different directions
making us dizzy

after the concert

fingernail moon
follows me home
throat raw from singing

distracted driving

for days clouds have been
distractingly beautiful
so it's hard to drive

If you're dreaming

if you know

you are dreaming

eat dessert

first

fear and rage

Already they have begun to spin

to twist the story into its usual shape

formerly familiar, suddenly terrifying

because how many others have we

dismissed because this was the only

story told:  armed black man

shots were fired              handgun

recovered at the scene.

How many times did we not know

the details not reported by police accounts

routine traffic stop      child in the car

first aid not immediately rendered

complying with police request  for

license and registration when shot

by police for moving while carrying

a declared and legally permitted weapon?

This story doesn't make sense.  I don't

 want it to be true of this incident in a place

I know and have been let alone other places

I don't know for other people innocent

of any capital  crimes.

How many times have people

gotten away with murder hiding

behind this traditional narrative

we have accepted, all important

facts warped to fit its shape, slicing

off the overhanging edges of truth

with the  careless knife of power?

How terrifying this is, this proof

that even if you do everything right -

young, employed steadily, out with 

your family getting ready to celebrate

your birthday - if you are a black man, 

this is how that day in your life can end:  

you dead because someone 

felt threatened because you 

were doing what they 

told you to do, what you 

were supposed

to do, so what

are we supposed

to do now?

storm

thunder, lightning flash
clouds so low they brush your face
summer is coming

sorry, Emily D, but I'm cracking myself up here

sometimes it feels like hope

is the thing with feathers

you just hit with your car

: /

unsteady walks

no one cards for this
so easy to be drunk on spring
don't know my limit

Feeling grey

Green is bursting forth
Missed week of walks in the woods
leave us feeling grey

when wolf cries

when wolf cries

aloud or inside

moon cries too

He asks is this fun

We are on the train
because he wanted to ride.
He asks, "Is this fun?"

sun dogs

I am glad these things
have names even if I won't
recall what they are

wisdom here

when you watch, you can't
listen, when you listen, you
can't watch: wisdom here

signs of spring

roadside tennis shoe
always alone, while pairs and
signs of spring abound

nest full of petals

nest full of petals
overwhelming loneliness
memories of birth

full of hopes

Don't give up for dead
trees that haven't bloomed quite yet
May is full of hopes

scattered

if I could only
focus long enough, I could
watch blossoms expand

early days

I like the early days
of budding spring when blooms
are hidden splashed random

inconstant April

inconstant April

30 to 80 and back

one last snow again?

Prometheus

• Creator
• Future Seer
• Present Doer
• Fire Bringer
• Savior of Man
• Defier of Gods
• Consequence Sufferer
• Helper Even In Chains
• First Civil Rights Activist?

know the names

It seems a minor
miracle to know the names
of flowering things.

nature laughs at me again

darn nature just keeps
pooping on everything
so it's hard to commune

Spring creeps (I think I like the other one better)

spring creeps in earnest
summer shade is replacing
shadows once again

is hope like this?

the way the tree appears
completely without life
today but could sprout buds
tomorrow if you wait

return of shade

tree-cast bone shadows

grow into shade once again

spring comes with intent

will spring come to my tree this year

lonely sound 

of bare tree

branches

in constant

restless 

motion

whacking

each other

like children

left in the back 

seat too long

golden

for Liz

haze of green new growth
outlining Mississippi
River banks: golden

when it is enough (exercise and chronic pain)

Ask yourself,

"Is is enough?"

and if you think

"I could do more,"

stop before 

it is too much.

view from the deck floor

plane flies close to the moon

birds and frogs check in

summer breeze rattles winter 

bare bones of trees

unencumbered by new growth

clouds drift by at different

speeds at different heights

tiny bugs dance between me 

and the sky      the sun sets

with little fanfare and the moon

grows brighter

can anyone 

ever do just 

one thing

?

winter bare bones

breeze whispers summer
while rattling the winter
bare bones of my tree

four turtles

heads stretched up
four turtles bask
on a log

From Jonathan to David on His Birthday (or vice versa)

unexpected gift
friend whose soul is knit with mine
many happy walks

when the poem disappears, write another

internet ate the
turtles but frogs are croaking
nothing is wasted

I will miss all the windows

wrestle with SharePoint
mutter take this you sons of
pixels watch spring light

walking in the sun

spring conversation

you can go very far in

just 30 minutes

bittersweet

we watch buds sprout past

one dead leaf that won't let go

spring is bittersweet

treasured

every warm day
in April should be treasured
frost comes tomorrow

how do you look away

Seasonal Clearance!

Condensation Closeout!

End of Season Sale on Snow!

Everything Must Go!

The sky is using

all remaining

winter inventory 

today!

Small, hard, pellet snow, check!
Medium, dry, shaken snow globe snow, check!
Medium, fluffy, sedately swirling snow, check!
Big, wet, sloppy snow, check!

How do you look away from this 

beautiful spring chaos?

the first snow (April 8)

tiny hard styrofoam pellet snow 

tapping down en masse

shows through darkened glass 

as frantic darker grey on gray

and piles up in the grass

when living in the darkness

She talks about how there is no
faith tradition for evangelicals
to follow in the times when one
is living in the dark.  True.
Disciplines and rituals aren't
for evangelicals.  Emotions are more
important and true than
"smells and bells", and where
does that leave those
deep in dark depression
who feel
nothing?
Nowhere
alone.
False.  This
is why it's important to tell true stories
of our times in the darkness,
for truth is light and hope, and hope
in the midst of darkness is
sometimes the only
gift of love we
can give
each other.

Wondering how much sleep will be enough

How many nights of better sleep will be 

enough to make up for eleven years of 

not enough?  How many nights will my 

brain take to reset and my body to heal 

and finally 

feel rested?

what's that sound?

Stop to listen to
tip tap of tiny hail
April showers, go!

not lost yet

snow floating past buds
on winter bare trees whispers
we have not lost yet

virga

we watch through windows
rain falls from clouds far away
on someone else's heads?

Now I Walk in Beauty

plants are waking up
sending out shoots and budding
we walk in new life

reasons for the quest

to sleep, perchance to dream

and to remember dreams,

to remember anything at all

really, to clear out some of this

fog, to be able to choose to live

in the moment instead of being

reduced to it, to see more clearly

and be present more fully, to

be able to cope and not cry all

the time over nothing and every

thing, to be part of community

to serve instead of being served

or hiding or running and stumbling

to be more fully awake to the

world as the seasons turn and I

grow older with the world because

even though it's scary and possibly

dangerous, maybe this time it will

work, and I can begin to heal if

I do not give up and lose all hope

Trees are weeping

Trees are weeping sap
from all their broken places
winter's losing ground

another email with no heartbeat

What do you do when
you get another
email about a
nephew you will not
have the chance to know

because your sister
has had another
miscarriage, and you
have no way to give
her any comfort?

I write a poem.
It doesn't really
help anything, but
I still have to write
to make space for tears.

soon

purple dusk sky rests

on bare, weary branches, but

spring is coming soon

not yet

purple dusk sky pierced

by sharp, black winter branches

spring is not here yet

How many people does it take to change a light bulb if one of them is me?

I am wondering if I should call my elderly neighbor the retired cop over to hold the chair while I try to change the ceiling lightbulb. I'm not sure it would actually help. Just because someone else is here does not mean I will be less likely to get dizzy or lose my balance and fall off the chair, and I'd feel terrible if I squashed and injured him if I fell. These are not the things I though I'd be concerned about in my mid thirties.  Sigh.

such extravagance

such extravagance

Minnesota winter sun

diamonds everywhere

the wrong foot

I hate
how an accidentally
too-long hike can destroy
my health for half a year and
already be eating
into this year,
too.

thoughts at the end

Today
was for writing
for reminding myself that
even though it was not my best year in any other way
I still wrote more
than the year before,
and if that is not a success,
what is?

fractured prose

The shameless self-promotion 

from the Facebook group read, 

'Looking for the perfect 

CHRISTMAS PRESENT for that friend 

or relative who loves poetry 

and laments the fact that modern 

"poets" have abandoned it 

for fractured prose?' I was

inexplicably delighted by

this accurate characterization 

of what I write, as if it had

no value or purpose or reason

for existing when, for me, 

it represents how I think

with my bent toward narrative

prose combined with my fractured 

concentration and attention 

span because of the pain 

and the sleeplessness

it causes, so thank you,

disparaging and dismissive

and self-righteous poet busy

flogging your own obviously 

superior form of writing, for

unintentionally presenting me 

with the gift of words 

to accurately describe 

my own.  : )

a little thanks

thankful today

in English and real life

cello and snow rhyme

When your eye says no

Today was the kind of day that goes like this.

Me: Hi, eyeball, I'm going to gently put this piece of plastic in you, so I can see.

My eyeball: No.

Me: Oh, I'm so sorry. Do you have an eyelash or something that's irritating you?

M.E.: No.

Me: Is there something I can do to help?

M.E.: No.

Me: So, can I just put this in and then leave you alone?

M.E.: No. N. O. Nonononono. Have I made myself clear?

Me: Perfectly. So, how about some glasses today?

Birthday questions between book chapters

Why, do you suppose, is it so hard for me to

rest--to focus only on ignoring my own 

entropy--when it is so recharging to my 

soul? Is this constant excuse of attending 

to the entropy around me instead, especially 

when I need rest so desperately, another 

series of the small acts of self-sabotage I 

am so good at not noticing myself doing 

until I write about them?

Tomorrow's pledge

I will ignore should

and do what needs to be done 

hibernation, rest

plans for this birthday

Plans for this birthday include

French toast, apple crisp, tea, 

the couch, blankets, music, 

hibernation, limited human 

contact, pain medication, and 

BOOK. Book. book. BOoK.

bookBooKbOOkBooKbook.

They exclude news, opinions, 

politics, brainlessly repeated 

rhetoric, and any internet not 

directly related to writing with 

the exception of the blog I am 

going to create for me 

and a friend 

to share.

already

When did this happen?

Trees stripped so bare already

November half gone

Sunday afternoon, autumn

and when the wind is

not blowing I want to

stop and stand in this

sunlight recharging

storing up warmth

until I get too stiff

from cold air and 

have to move again

the shame of late autumn skies

Sky blushes deep pink,

ashamed of bare branches, 

but spring will come again.

November gales

On the sides of homes,

gales of November slap rain: 

last wrath of autumn?

Autumn means

The cuddliest

box elder bug in the world 

just wants to snuggle.

me and the box elder bug swarm (again)

Yay, it's warm again!

says me and the box elder bug swarm 

as we bask in the last (?) breath 

of summer. They must think 

we bonded because later they visit me 

at home, and they are terrible guests 

who won't leave no matter how 

many times I tell them it's 

really time for them to go.

Revenge of the Slow Cooker: Brain vs. Stomach, part 14

Stomach: That sure smells good.

Brain: Sure does.

Stomach: We should eat it.

Brain: It's not done yet.

Stomach: When will it be done?

Brain: Hours from now.  Here, have some of this to tide you over.

Stomach: Don't wanna.  Want to eat thing that smells good.

Brain: It's not done yet.

Stomach: Will eating it now kill us?

Brain: It could make us sick.

Stomach: I don't see the problem. Could is not will.

Brain: Sigh. That's why I'm here.

Stomach: How will we know when it is done?

Brain: When the timer goes off.

Stomach: It's supposed to be on low and cook at 140 degrees, but it's bubbling, so doesn't that mean it's over 212 degrees and thus might be cooking faster and thus might already be done?

Brain: Wow. And here I thought you weren't paying attention when we did our earlier Internet research.

Stomach: What it if overheats and explodes and then we don't get to eat any of it because you have a cheap slow cooker and didn't listen to me?

Brain: Can you please shut up?

Stomach: Don't wanna.

Brain: Sigh.

Stomach: That sure smells good, doesn't it?  Time to eat it yet?

Brain: Sigh.

the sound of autumn in November

This is the sound of autumn in November

trees newly bare

leaves piling up on the ground

perfect slolam courses

for gusty winds to play in

before they all get bullied to dust 

by power that doesn't know its own strength

Today, right now, when I don't fall over for once

old PT ladies 

observe my balance improved

watch enviously

(Last?) warm day in November?

if the weather

gets any more

beautiful I

will have

to weep

we are determined to make this week better

when I got to work, there was
a poem on my keyboard next
to my wrist brace, and the poem
was deep and wise and magical
and the tree on it was where the
magic lived twisted ink branches
bereft of leaves that will live next
to the painted full moon waiting
for whatever happens next

to sleep, perchance to dream and stop swarming about half drunk on summer's dregs in autumn

short warm relapses

brief resurgence of insects

autumn cannot last

he asks if

This new brother of mine asks
tough questions, like whether I would want
the death of this family friend to be less
hard for me to deal with

because the truth is that in some ways yes
I would because I am very weak right now, but

mostly I puzzle because I don't understand why
it is so

hard.  Why this death that I still know
next to nothing about?  Why this man
who I interacted with for real maybe
4 times in my life? Is it because he was

younger than my father because his son
was my classmate because he was
someone I admired and wanted to be
happy and because the day he died

my new brother said something about
C.S. Lewis that I wanted to share with him
because it would have made him laugh?

Because it was so sudden and that
scares me because there is never
enough time to be with all the people
we love and admire because the fall

brought death and separation in, and
there is nothing I can do about that 

when I am always so very far away?

autumn's pirate bounty

no pirates in sight

gold is scattered everywhere

fall beauty all mine

remember when singing

I think as long as I can remember

when singing didn't hurt this much,

I will be okay.

winter always comes

light, mouse, deer, leaves, friend

too much death in autumn

winter comes too fast