night language

empty into night
the sky pours language
we cannot hear

the hum of silenced

tv;  the muffled scream of
yesterday's nightmare

five miles away

by the ocean
a cricket

between land and sky,

resonating within
a yawning echo

baking bread

molasses memories
pour slowly over the lip;
doughy thoughts rising

I am

I wrote the series of gogyohka below over the course of the past few weeks as separate tweets originally posted on Twitter.  In reviewing my Twitter stream, I saw an interesting (to me) thread and thought I'd capture as one blog post.

 

***

I am a wild horse

snout to the wind

beating sand;

and now I stop

to nibble grass

***

I am a warrior

fighting the darkness

with dark dark coffee

and chocolate

darker still

***

I am

this moss covered

weather beaten

unmoveable rock:

please, stand beside me.

***

I am a chalkboard

iconic

and envious

of my multi-media

replacements

***

I am

looking in the mirror

wondering

who

I am

Miracles

How do we know
this dry river bed
this poem
this Saturday night bean supper
is not a miracle?

Japan

I see a boat
on a house
half a world away
and hug my son
tighter to my chest

(I wrote this back in March, after the tsunami disaster in Japan. Let's not forget our friends a half a world away.)

Belonging

You belong here.
Each brick a story.
You lay them one on top the other.
The neighbors nod knowingly.
I watch with alien eyes.

I belong
to a commune of misfits:
sitting in half circles
we laugh nervously and scratch
invisible itches on our foreheads

All nine

All nine muses
in concert,
the view
from my
back porch

Listen

When you're not listening
I speak slowly,
softly,
as if in a dream
to myself.

When you're not listening
I talk about my obsession
with organizing my closet
before the shoes
mutiny.

When you're not listening
I tell you about the lightning
during the last snow storm
how exciting it was,
and how frightening.

When you stop to listen
turning to look at me
and say, "What did you say?"
I mumble incoherently,
"Oh, nothing."

Talking

If you knew how often
I talk to you
you would stop listening.
But you don't.
Never do.

Small

the smallness
between big people
can be
a very deep
valley