it all aches – May 21

Posted on May 21, 2013 by landl30

5.21

It all aches. every step

on the evening walk

around the block.

 

thighs, back, neck, ankles.

have I missed any parts.

at least I have parts.

 

the way of woundedness,

being better to move than

to mould.

——————

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softness – May 20

Posted on May 20, 2013 by landl30

5.20

fingers of sunlight mark brown

waters with limb shadows

against the sky.

 

sitting on the bank, a small

boy with fishing bobber

haunts

 

my images as if Huck and

Tom left me there when I

wasn’t looking.

 

breezes flow, eyes close, and

Irish monks reappear on

coastlines

 

where they sat to sense God’s

air and life without the world

distracting.

 

softness as challenging now

as then waits upon the

dawning.

 

————————————–

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domain regrets – May 19

Posted on May 19, 2013 by landl30

5.19

The turtle’s shell spit out of my mower’s chute

as I sped to prune my domain.

I thought it had been a rock in the leaves.

Turning it over was just ugly.

 

My lawn wasn’t worth his life.

 —————————-
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grad rap – May 17

Posted on May 16, 2013 by landl30

5.17

summa cum, summa cum,

summa, summa

summa cum, summa cum

summa cuma

 

summa cum, summa cum

summa summa,

summa summa cum

wow wow.

 

my son, summa cum

summa summa

my son, summa cum

summa summa

 

my son summa cum

summa summa

my son summa cum

wow wow.

——————-

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cottonwood mists – May 16

Posted on May 16, 2013 by landl30

5.16

Cottonwood mists of blowsy swirl

ghost the ground and ponds

scruffing up along street sides,

an early positioning haze.

 

Warmth soaks up through flannels,

last try before summer. Neighbors

out for a fragile walk after surgery

keep caps on against the drifting.

 

Like feathers on the wind the

cotton tells of seasons move

and nature’s own rhythms

despite our distractions.

 

Too early, the weathercasters

opine. As on time as necessary,

nature replies. On our schedule,

not yours.

—————–
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listening to old friends – May 15

Posted on May 15, 2013 by landl30

5.15

Listening to old friends on the Utube

Jamaica, Chestnut Mare, Bugler

Jackson, Clarence, Roger

the days of my life spread out.

 

Poetry embalmed, embattled

in a soundtrack. And how

beautiful some were in their day

and now have aged.

 

Echoes that told our stories

before we knew them, that

pushed us on toward ends

we barely understood.

 

Internal longings wait within

us, unspoken, unclarified, until

some ringing tone resonates

with our hunger.

 

Deep yearning, if we let it, will

lead us to where our hearts

have always been meant to go.

————————

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we do what we need to do – May 14

Posted on May 10, 2013 by landl30

5.14

Weathered hands, mid calf deep in

the water. Placerville, panning, keening

at stream silt edges for a glimpse of gold.

A flake, a niggly pebble that might show

a flash. Day after day, all day, screening

through ones fingers for that glimpse.

 

The dog’s pebbles screen through my

fingers, a whole tub full, a few grains

of salmon flavoring adhering to me

as I pan for a staple or two. Some

fell in when the bag split, and it

is the flash of dull silver that I seek.

 

Idiot work, all day or morning work,

we do what we need to do to find

what we need to find for the sake of

what matters to us. Nothing is above

or beneath honor. We do what we need

to do, and gladly.

—————————–

 

 

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she looks tired – May 13

Posted on May 10, 2013 by landl30

5.13

She looks tired, the weary weight

of new work, new kitchen and old

boy leaving the nest, is more freight

than a soul can bear as toll.

 

Stress feels so strong that we can’t talk

about it.  As if there is no way to help

as if all there is, is to let it walk

and be around to pick up pieces.

 

It is a hard place to be.

——————

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purebred prancing – May 12

Posted on May 10, 2013 by landl30

5.12

A white and black spaniel type

on her owner’s leash, prances

down the hill from the big houses

neighborhood toward Tobey and I.

 

Is your dog friendly... should we

cross over to say hello. He’s

had a couple of seizures, the put-off

response from the leggy blonde.

 

Tobey and I walk on by on the other side

like the Samaritan story priest, except that

these want us to pass. Not purebred enough.

Not having seizures either.

 

I think I sense a pattern.

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hard soil, soft soil – May 11

Posted on May 10, 2013 by landl30

5.11

I was digging in the dirt today.

Hoeing out the early grub of weeds

In the soft soil it was easy. The hula

hoe slipped beneath the surface and

plucked them up like old bad done deeds.

 

The flat hard table of non growing soil

was another story. I scraped and scrabbled

barely enough to clip a quarter inch beneath,

stressing enough to bend the very handle

as my heart and breath pushed into a rattle.

 

I’d rather not die out here. So I stop

for water and to sow some strength for myself.

 

Knowing what is the hard

soil of life, and what is the soft, is part

of the trick, isn’t it.

 

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