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Archive for the ‘Poems’ Category

Are two crows meant to be together,
as they wheel across the sky,

Tracing the same loop-de-loop,
up, down, and around—
the leader seeming to beckon,
seeming to say,
Come, come away with me
and we shall married be?

Is this crow the only crow
for that?

Some people say
that everything
happens for a reason.

I say

why invoke the rational
to validate the divine?

I say

that the crow follows
not another crow
but an ancient internal command
to do what crows do.

I say

that geese don’t honk
because they love Jesus
but because they are geese.

Miracle enough.

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Laptop Device

Girl-ReadingLaptop Device

A book does not require a password
with at least eight characters,
one uppercase letter,
a number and a special character
(#$%&!!!).
A book provides its own characters,
usually far more than eight,
and most of them very special.

A book is no diva:
it will not tell you
that it is busy writing scripts
or that a page cannot be found (404 error).
A book does not number its errors, and
it keeps all its pages in one place,
handily bound together,
so none can stray.

A book is not case sensitive,
nor sensitive at all.
You can dog-ear its pages,
write in its margins,
fling it across the room,
neglect it for weeks,
use it as a door stop,
press flowers between its pages,
rest your coffee cup upon it
(leaving a brown ring),
and even then,
its feelings will not be hurt.

If you drop a book,
its screen will not shatter.
Its battery will never die,
and it will not lock you out,
nor get too hot to hold,
except during the sex scenes.

A book will not tell you it is a Read Only file,
denying you permission to write to it.
So feel free to write to it,
preferably a love letter
or a thank you note
for being the perfect laptop device.

August 2014

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Found Poetry

I happened upon a tiny (3 1/4″ x 5 1/2″) bird guide from 1906 titled, Land Birds East of the Rockies, from Parrots to Bluebirds, by one Chester A. Reed. It was published by Doubleday and presented in an illustrated cardboard slipcase.

Birds-titmouseThe “216 Illustrations in Color,” also by the author, charmed me. So did the language, which reads like poetry and is somehow flowery and Zen-like at the same time. Mr. Reed’s writing is direct and succint, but laced with diction and turns of phrase that sound quaint to today’s ears (“a trifle of orange on the forehead,” “dashing after insects,” “They are said to be fond of orange juice,” “the ruffians of the family,” and so on.

After reading some of these beautiful descriptions aloud to David, I decided to reformat some of them as verse, altering them with only minor tweaks of punctuation and careful omissions (forgive me, Mr. Reed). Et voila! Found poetry. Here is one:

Tufted Titmouse
Baelophus bicolor.    6 inches

Head crested,
forehead black,
flanks
brownish.

They swing from the ends of twigs
in all manner of positions
and creep about trunks,
peering in crevices of the bark
for insects.

Their eggs are laid
in soft nests
of down and feathers
in hollow stumps.

Their notes
are loud, clear whistles.

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Along the highway

Along the highway
in early spring
naked branches ensnare
tattered bags
that masquerade as owls.

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