Posts for June 30, 2026 (page 4)

Shall I compare you to a magpie’s nest
of thorn and twine, of wool and weathered thread?
A feather from a starling’s speckled breast,
and a receipt the winter left for dead,

a hollow sound lined with a tuft of hare,
and that stray syllable snagged on the brambles –
I’m drawn to all things thought beyond repair
and drop them in here – in veritable shambles.

You – unpopped kernel lodged between my teeth,
a tune still looking for a pair of lungs,
the ghost of pine inhabiting the wreath –
your sweetest note’s the one that stayed unsung.

Rampant with rhymes and roots that learned to roam –
a place the mind could haunt, or call a home.

It just didn’t hit this year,
The pages didn’t lure me…
Inferior to my peers,
Fear I’ve numbed too securely  

It just didn’t hit this year,
The pages didn’t spill out…
And the ink blots were not smeared
Across pages that stay in doubt

Now those blank pages will haunt
With reflective avoidance
As internal voices taunt,
Even they stew in annoyance 

Puzzled by the use of various * # ! marks
Why can’t we use the real words
Well of course now they do
All that simulated sex in the movies  

Why land sakes child what’s the world coming to
Complete graphic use of all those words
that got us a soap treatment back in the day
It’s okay I have a foul mouth anyhow
Tame it down in company of strangers  

Long time ago tried to copy Henry Miller
Use all the scatological terms available
And made up a lot of my own combinations
just for their societal shock value  

Now think long and hard before even writing
never mind saying those forbidden words
Do slip up now and utter a f*^k or s!~t!
Or maybe even a “!@#$%^&*/?” when severely provoked
Why lordy honey Elder John couldn’t say hell
but he would say hello no   

And I found out when I was eight
darn and dang could stand in for damn
and why is it damn and not dam or damm anyway?

Don’t worry about the children and grandchildren
They’ll figure it out know what to say and not say
We all learned to do what’s right
Lordy honey bun I best hush now.    

let the poems migrate
to distant shores
murmurations of words twirling through the sky
as proud poets congregate to see them off
spicy margs in hand

In gratitude to the Lexpomo community for the journey together this month. I am honored to interact with each one of you, and many thanks for your kind words, support, and encouragement. Be well and may we meet again next June

Daylight transitions into night

Eventide gently sings sunset
                    on its journey

Calling us together hand in hand
                    at this hour

Blooming forth our communal gratitude
                    as evening primrose
                             fragrantly
                          opens tonight

Evoking tranquil beauty and reflection
                              dimness of
                        soft glowing light

All ancestors past present and future
                            dear ones
                     human and non-human
                             gather with
                      my parents and me

Our hearts overflow loving-kindness
                   deep connection
                                 to
                          all of you

May all beings in all worlds experience
                   peace
                            peace
                                     peace

The hardwood floor feels smooth beneath my bare feet.

I can hear the birds outside singing their morning song as I turn the coffee maker on. I reach into the cabinet and grab my two favorite mugs.

I take a second to breathe and release as I pour my intention into the first cup.

Whatever the day may bring,
I’ll be grounded, grateful, present.

Noticing the details no one else will.

I pour some coffee for myself, then take the first mug and place it on my built-in bookshelf—how appropriate of an altar for a writer.

Sharing coffee with the unseen,
a token of my gratitude
for the guidance they bring.

By the time the coffee cools,
the room feels less empty—
not because anything has changed,
but because I’ve remembered
I don’t begin the day alone.

How is a rational man to feel
when feelings
know no reason, 

when the human heart,
he knows, is deceitful
above all things? 

But what if the problem is him:
a blindness to the reality
of a mystical universe, 

a mystery that evokes
in him not awe,
but emptiness in his heart?

Is his quest in vain,
a man without sight,
lost in a gallery of Van Gogh’s?

calender is funny and not funny
today. A fireman has climbed
down the tree-leaning ladder 
with a cat in his hands. 

Now calm down there, ma’am …
your cat’s gonna be fine …
just fine

he says to the old woman 
he is handing the cat to. 

But the old woman bouncing
on her toes is a dog in a coat
wearing an old lady mask

and I smile, and then see
beyond, behind, and under. 

How many people, systems,
and contortions handed me back
to my torment after I had scrambled
up a tree in temporary escape?
How many times did the torment
dance on tiptoes, in its disguise, 
being the good guy, the sane one,
the logic and love all plastic-faced?
Nothing but hunger under
the coat, tail wagging?

How many times did I climb
down the trunk
and hand myself back?

I did a dream study one time, 
set my alarm 3 times a night
for months to wake me so I could
speak whatever dream I had been in
into a recorder. And I discovered
a male narrator in my nightmares. 
An American, not anyone
I recognized. But he would 
describe the situation 
like a nature documentary.

One dream, I was hogtied on my side
in an airplane hanger, a jet
engine pointed at my face, about
to be ignited.

So she can see her death coming
the narrator said above the scene. 

I wriggled from the ropes and ran
through the surrounding corn field. 
I was bent in half, my spinal cord
being somehow severed so 
my top half wouldn’t stand upright.

I was flush with the feeling
that I might get out of this
as cornstalks swayed around me.

Little does she know that this
is part of his plan, to destroy
her more completely upon
re-capture, after thinking
she was almost to freedom.

And I stopped, bent double
in the corn field knowing
there was no escape, 
my whole body full of defeat
and surrender, numb
with absolute powerlessness.

And that is this comic cat moment,
pulled down from her branch,
a man suppoesedly helping,
handing her back to the dog
behind his kind disguise,
giddy with all his power.

She is not clawing or fighting.
She is just looking, numb-faced
at the plastic human mask
the beast is wearing.

may you wander to the place
of open roads and open skies

may you unearth what you need
to close the wounds, dry the eyes

and when asphalt turns to gravel
turns to dirt, turns to grave

may you come home to the ones
who loved you best, who loved you brave

Hope is a silent songbird
waiting out the darkness to sing.
Its heart pounding faster with the broach of dawn,
Hope is a silent songbird.
In the quiet, its morning song is incurred,
filling dry throats with notes, trills, pings and rings.
Hope is a silent songbird
waiting out the darkness to sing.