The Lavish Land

“April is the cruelest month,” Eliot told Pound all about it, Easter tide out, but why brood on our days unless we are made of dry wood and worry, each ring a memory of rain? Does any month feel pity? You called her a primrose, your spiral spring shell. The land tired of playing possum…

after pruning grapes in winter

kee jaa gigrrijaa filled dawn      downtempo sound seep             ing                         ing                                     ing sleep ing in      water sprinkle plash bark dust bath. the little ones pleach             apple yellow irotollak frisson             bird dew squish.             A tugboat crow lands pushes off in creosote             dress    high in…

Walking thru the park one day

One Hundred Concrete years In a body of water Two women walking One in turquoise taupe The other in peach mauve Briskly yelling into cell phones Their voices trailing off like crows Squirrelly trees stiffen tall tail stillness Writing is hard work, the experts tell us If a day is lost to writing the reason…

Juice and Joy

“What is all this juice and all this joy?” Gerard Manley Hopkins asks of Spring. And no sooner does he sing the push and fuss, the ballyhoo, of a sea sky blue slurred song of fresh thrushes than he announces the sound of a melancholy note, a bell of vespers, the turning of the promise…

Argument in the Time of Apples

Torqued antipathy apparels dimple  dented funny car, idling gear limbed, oiled, greased, and garbed wardrobe red, beaming barbs, wavy hair flames bursting from the fat winged fenders of his 1950 hot rod roadster, and the countdown lights go green, and the ground springs, and the asphalt melts to sap; meanwhile, in lane next whole daddy,…

A Shuck of Stone

When the lemon yellow of a doubtful flower tells lies And the hush pink plum blossoms first fail to surmise A touch and a kiss turn to stone. When the steep turn toward the dark cherry dyes And find winkle’s wake still seeping under the sash A drink and a dress turn to stone. To…

Lenten Surf Season

Work morning and Luke up early helping his dad load plumbing tools, wrenches and chisels, elbows and nipples, the ladle and the lead pot full of soft lead that looks like frozen surf. Luke now taller than his dad. “Give Dan a call,” Luke said. “He’s drivin’ now. We’re headin’ inland to work,” and he…