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The Journey to the West

Though we journey to the West We pray to the East More or less that's the way Each day begins and ends It’s a tale everyone ...

Wednesday, November 25, 2020

Poem Written While Standing at the Base of a Right Triangle Composed of Me, the Half Moon and the Setting Sun

We walked along the beach
Under a canopy of marbling clouds
The half moon 
Lay starboard side
I found myself nestled
In the base of a right triangle
Pinioned between the half moon
And the setting sun
Leaving no room for doubt
That daylight was nearly done 

Photo by M. Bridge

Sunday, November 15, 2020

Ode to the Language Poet (for @ronsilliman )


The language poet 
Is insouciant
Tossing the literal
Aside in favor of the nut
Within the nut
Within the shell
And really what 
Did he find other than
The wheel turning to land
On Kora's season in Hell?

Oh but pity the poor language poet
The empty shell in which
He seeks to make himself
Feel more at home
More like a hermit crab
Than a lordly pair 
Of lobster claws
Scuttling along
The ocean floor 

Saturday, November 14, 2020

Tweet for @kellyjeanrebar

 There's no weakness

In the branch hanging low

Just the plant's native

 Intelligence of using

Gravity to grow

Wednesday, November 11, 2020

A Broken Tape Dispenser

Here's a bit of random entertainment
for those of you living 
on the razor's edge of despair
or outrage over our inherent
right of repair 

Just now I closed the kitchen drawer
and heard the scotch tape dispenser snap into pieces -- 
picking up the larger shard I tried 

To tear off a piece of tape dangling there 
and mused to myself perhaps 
I should try to tape the tape dispenser back together -- 
How meta is that 
My inner daemon replied 

And finally on the third try I managed
but by then the tape dispenser was empty 
proving that obsolescence comes 
for us moderns in many shapes and sizes

Sunday, November 8, 2020

Across the Visible Spectrum

This afternoon in the woods
I paused by the side of the lake
And almost lost myself the way
Narcissus did deep in the reflection
Not of myself but in the shimmering
Beauty of nature which trembled
With a breeze's gentle touch
Making the afternoon reverberate
Across the visible spectrum of light

Photo by