Poetry
Poetry
Garden Constellations
The yard looks still. Winds riffle green-coin leaves, slim white-preened bark. Sage blooms rust and scratch, each purple nodule at last breaking in breeze to settle in a riverstone crevice. Pale roses wilt. Ridges curl, brown-strafed. Below, roots mottle and twist, an endless lurching and creeping through undersoil. Ants hustle through flagstone fissures, scream a
Moon Song
Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon– Over the crinkling sea, The moon man flings him a silvered net Fashioned of moonbeams three. And some folk say when the net lies long And the midnight hour is ripe; The moon man fishes for some old song That fell from a sailor’s pipe. And some folk say that
All the Time
I like to stand outside in the winter night, a glass of gin in my hand, and watch the sky go by above me, half moon a white lemon with its companion star, the star two stars, then one if I concentrate while the clouds veil and unveil it all, and my focus shifts between
Sonnet 29: Zigmund Shakespeare
When, exiled for my wholly normal acts, I all alone injustice ponder long, And howl and chew my master’s artifacts, And look quite guilty though I’ve done no wrong, Wishing I might like Lassie be admired, Long-legged like him, like him with flowing coat, Desiring this dog’s tags, all unexpired, Repelled by all on which
Trees: Zigmund Kilmer Steiner
I think that I shall never pee On something better than a tree. A tree whose hungry bark awaits Each message from my canine mates; A tree whose bark is never full, But always waits, dependable; A tree that may the year ’round bear A thousand greetings I’ve left there, And news of foe and
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Garden Constellations
The yard looks still. Winds riffle green-coin leaves, slim white-preened bark. Sage blooms rust and scratch, each purple nodule at last breaking in breeze to settle in a riverstone crevice. Pale roses wilt. Ridges curl, brown-strafed. Below, roots mottle and twist, an endless lurching and creeping through undersoil. Ants hustle through flagstone fissures, scream a
Moon Song
Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon– Over the crinkling sea, The moon man flings him a silvered net Fashioned of moonbeams three. And some folk say when the net lies long And the midnight hour is ripe; The moon man fishes for some old song That fell from a sailor’s pipe. And some folk say that
All the Time
I like to stand outside in the winter night, a glass of gin in my hand, and watch the sky go by above me, half moon a white lemon with its companion star, the star two stars, then one if I concentrate while the clouds veil and unveil it all, and my focus shifts between
Sonnet 29: Zigmund Shakespeare
When, exiled for my wholly normal acts, I all alone injustice ponder long, And howl and chew my master’s artifacts, And look quite guilty though I’ve done no wrong, Wishing I might like Lassie be admired, Long-legged like him, like him with flowing coat, Desiring this dog’s tags, all unexpired, Repelled by all on which
Trees: Zigmund Kilmer Steiner
I think that I shall never pee On something better than a tree. A tree whose hungry bark awaits Each message from my canine mates; A tree whose bark is never full, But always waits, dependable; A tree that may the year ’round bear A thousand greetings I’ve left there, And news of foe and