Poetry Blog

When I grow weary of the sharp-tongued world / of men grown callous, bloated with self / of truth unspooling into knotted lies / of indifference, slack and drifting / or cruelty, bright-edged as a blade / I slip away to hear the liturgy of the marsh . . .

This morning the rain arrived before the sun, / lightning stippling the sky in a staccato imitation of dawn. / The wind turned the trees feral, / and my porch chimes danced a fierce, unruly hymn. . . .

I am from cotton hand-me-downs, hemmed to fit, / from Carnation powdered milk that stretched / what the milkman brought in glass bottles with wire handles, / and Nabisco Shredded Wheat in one big, sinewy biscuit / that filled our bowls and slowly softened to mush as we ate. . . .

How would it be to live like an ear, / as if my entire purpose was to listen? / Listening to the person in front of me, / hanging on their words as if they are / the last other human left alive on the earth . . .

A scenic wall calendar / from three decades ago, / pulled from the bottom of a drawer / shows December’s squares / especially crammed with tiny scrawls / about kids’ play rehearsals . . .

When I go to the grocery store / Snag a cart and push down the aisles / A crowd trails behind me / The whole way . . .

They say that, / as the curtain falls on / this one wild and precious life,* / an internal projector / plays a recap / of this romp on the stage . . .

Daydream with me of a world / Where everyone can see / How connected we really are / Tiny diamonds on Indra's net . . .

Welcome, pilgrim. / Lay down your burdens with your luggage. / Neglect your phone as you have neglected quiet. . . .

I am a honeybee / And my business is beauty / I am irresistibly drawn to / Color, fragrance and sweetness . . .