Tattooed Day-Fly

for Poetry Thursday

A Tattooed Day-Fly rises in the early
sunlight on a fresh spring day, circles
and buzzes lupine, poppies, and daisies,
if rain it hovers under the plums

and cherries, it mates in the afternoon,
at dusk it finds a fruit tree's aromatic
bark and crowds into a protective crevice
where it's the first meal for the offspring.

The Tattooed Day-Fly won't see a phase
of the moon, feel a winter snow's
wet chill, spend tedious nights
remembering a long departed circle of friends,

will meet neither its parents nor its young,
won't learn to envy a long life
never knowing which day
will be the last.

Summer Rain

The sound of falling leaves
is summer rain at dawn.
Sand River,
unstable and cloudy,
doesn’t trouble happy frogs.

Canyon Ku

for one deep breath

desert twilight
black velvet bat
gathers the dark

~

Anasazi
leave canyon
not Anasazi

~

desert noon
nothing moves
but Sweet Alice Spring

~

Venus leans
against sandstone wall
Glenn Canyon

~

rainbow jerky
hangs to dry
from sandstone cliff

The Computer

At my desk a computer sits,
buttons I push and it stirs,
with a hiss and a flicker.
The viper uncoils

and displays workspace in 32 bit color
where I devise numbers
and it computes,
with a flicker.

I provide strings of words,
errors it flags
according to rules it found
in the grass.

When words are in order
and numbers are counted
the serpent
invites me not to deliver the goods

to a safer place,
the serpent
strikes,
displays fractured workspace in 32 bit color,

and ignores the keyboard,
and tells not why.
I pull the plug and
the flicker sleeps not.

Wine Tasting

In a cabin on Johns River
a guy pursues good wine,
tasting wine squanders it,
he figures out if he knows

the taste of love,
dissecting love harms it,
outside he watches three swans
and a coyote fade in the dusk,

and conjure impressions.
In a cabin on Johns River
a guy adds up and works out
if he’s ahead or behind

in life’s encounters, dirt tracks in
but doesn’t track out.

Housekeeping

A domestic with a pocket full
of keys unlocks a door
and enters a high cloister
with hard-stone walls,

starts to clean and organize,
performing a plan left
by the last retainer,
a plan he can’t read.

Sudden clouds from the west
darken the window,
bewilder the domestic
who never looked out

to see the pain
in a hungry goat’s face,
who doesn’t see the fleas
on his own shoes.

Ferry Dreams

A long land with ancient trees
and black-sand beaches
sails into the ferry dock
for a hard landing, water splashes

in the campground, there’s bright sunlight
but no wind, no sound,
no one running with me
up the ridge for a better look.

Cut Deep

for Poetry Thursday

Ann is a jagged edge, a cutting word,
music turned loud, a coffee mug
thumped on the table, a door slammed,

gravel scattered down the driveway.
Between the jagged teeth is empty space,
a vacant chair, a quiet phone,

a wine bottle left empty.
Razor sharp silence that cuts
deep as a jagged edge.

Canyon

I step under the weight of my pack
and hike over the edge
down a rock infested slope
to the bottom between enclosing walls
and track a water path.

Boots thump the ancient sandstone,
layers of hardened dunes eroding into dunes,
and climb through a jumble of boulders
released from canyon walls,
a jumble that filters and dams
the down flow of wreckage,

And slog through blowing sand
to the smell of damp
water with a tadpole taste,

And in the slit of sky overhead
a raven turns
and lands on a ledge.

Design Ku

for one deep breath

Moon Island's
mud pancake –
plover pick the edge

~

rock wren sings
up a red cliff

~

the house dog
makes the best
of dumb design

~

four peregrines fledge
from the Ship-Canal Bridge

~

a window separates me
from wind in the trees

~

a farm tractor
exposes dark soil
gulls pick the furrow

~

Pony Express
Canyon Station
pronghorn heads pop up

Desert Wakeup

In morning light
I’m surprised to discover
new Primrose blossoms.
Fragrance curls around my ankles.

Urban Escape

for Sunday Scribblings

The rustic summer fades to a parched buzz,
seed heads and straw. City is the refuge,
shelter from pestering bugs, road dust,
the unrelenting sun shoving down.

I escape to town, away from weeds
encroaching every path, away from rural’s
sleep depriving heat, energy sapping chill.
I escape to clean urban concrete,

chemical fresh air, garish light rivers,
hot water walls, exotic spice dinners,
all night fantasies.

Bored Ku (2)

as posted on sorry if you're bored

a body hides
in a red dress –
easy to find

~

plum blossoms
cry out
for attention

~

side street –
the sound of
spare change

~

a small pond –
even wise fish
cannot escape

~

wide brim hat –
a troubled thinker
seeks shelter

~

the kitchen
in another mess
dining out

~

your stance disturbs
I move on
to the clowns