Weekend Retreat

Weekend Retreat

             A couple times ago when I was here          I wrote a poem which I have since forgotten.          It mentioned a pond and lotuses, silence and meditation.          We sat solid under a tiny circus tent,          as our guru played our chakras on his...
Registration

Registration

    Sadness of living in time and then dying yes I register that today, with the help of Matthew Arnold, and I registered it last week with the help of someone, on a cold rainy day, who was it, I think it was Szymborska, yes and for a minute I knew quite well the...
in the white house

in the white house

                ++++                    this house is like a face          I live inside, windows blinking          on the neighbor’s yard.          my sister lives          inside my version          of a face. her life          has nothing to do          with mine,...
Mrs. Burnside

Mrs. Burnside

          So I wanted it to be for the masses       but it was just for one or two of us.       I intended to give her the box with the bow       on top but I left it at the airport.       They say the most dangerous place to put       your hand, germ-wise, is the...
You Don’t Put Flowers In Poems

You Don’t Put Flowers In Poems

             You don’t put flowers in poems          for decoration, or to fill in          empty spaces, but because          they punctuated your days          at a certain juncture—          like the milkweed blooming          by the road when I went running...
A Visit From the Snake Man

A Visit From the Snake Man

           Outside my bedroom window, beneath the sound          of wind and dry leaves, a shadow called          my name–Willie, Willie. No relation to any tree          or shrub in the yard, he was a wanderer, friend          of the moon. He entered my room...
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