Monday Poem

Walking overlooking a river rife with history that runs along the bottom of an ancient gorge between two mountains autumn rusts. in yellows, russets, remnant greens, drapes of leaves cascade down their opposing slopes liquid as runoff, colors sluiced into the wide wet rush of that streaming source of being boiling white over rocks tumbling…

Monday Poem

Nothing But Light reflections stutter in the picture plane as if Vincent were still alive dragging oils across canvas in French light inhaling the color of things expiring his incandescent translations in spectacular conjugations of frequencies setting fire to a field with crows turning night into pinwheels, vibrations underpinning everything in sight nothing still but…

Monday Poem

  Galleon America the complexity of your crossed purposes, beauty and war, grace and wastefulness, you rest solidly at sea upon a liquid without yet dropping through, a steel log with algorithmic spurs hollow inside of rust and rot, a contradiction, weighty and weightless, floating white swan, Earth burns, black pawns, Jesus weeps, Mars is gloating…

Monday Poem

Sacrificial Goat everything unknown snaps to light upon awakening in bed, supine, sun-given day ignites a fire, blankets burn, mind’s the filament of a lamp upon awakening stupidity tumbles down a sheer of chance, small thoughts plunge, they start an avalanche, the ground gives way beneath our feet upon awakening light ricochets from every wall, blind see,…

Monday Poem

Six years ago at New York’s Cathedral of St. John the Divine, I was standing under sculptor, Xu Bing’s, two Phoenixes.  The cathedral is huge and beautiful and so were the artist’s sculptures. Our friend, Bill, who is a warm, personable, and very knowledgeable docent at the cathedral had suggested to my wife and me …

Monday Poem

…..“Time was so huge then. …… It could not fail.” …….. —from a poem by Nils Peterson When Time Was Huge that’s the exquisite difference between then and now— the space in time, the beautiful duration of it, its roominess; its amplitude was great enough to contain many dreams, multitudes —today time is crimped in cramps of years…

Monday Poem

Lolla Rossa in a field behind our house, Lolla Rossa, transfigured in morning light becomes becomes the instant a groundhog just on haunches drops and scuttles under the shed becomes the light that shaped her becomes particles, waves or both which transcendentally show themselves to us here in this room, and there too fifty feet down…

Monday Poem

On Dystopian Ships of State I’m on a big boat (which the nautically savvy call ship) if this ship’s a cocooned load of light atmosphere its steel will float, but it will tip if its load’s unbalanced— if its equilibrium is off it’ll start to list— if not adjusted it’ll end a sacrificial goat, sucked to…

Monday Poem

God gave names to all the animals, in the beginning, in the beginning …………………………—Bob Dylan Cut to the Chaste to be called anything, to be called, Jim, for instance, is to be tagged for life unless you choose otherwise and pull a new name from a hat— a new you, say, Ed— which would amount to a tangle…

Monday Poem

Pattern Language strolling through town with Plato we take the sidewalk one step at a time; shards of its exposed aggregate form archipelagos, and overhead, Jesus in a cloud, or is it Lao Tzu explaining Is without a word clefts in the bark of trees we pass define Appalachian humps. we saw Scranton strewn along a grey gully on the…