Saturday, January 27, 2007

Compass Stilled

He would be my father’s generation,
Chalky snot, just inside
The zipper of his coat,
And a milky river that runs
A crevasse, cheek to chin.
I fumble for my hanky
And know he’s not dad
So that sticky river
Will have to stay.
The stubble on his face
Is an aerial map
Of the Tillamook Burn;
Growth, clearing, reforestation.
Outwardly he has a walker
Making his life a push
And invading space.
The stories are damned republicans
CIA and an old teacher’s memories.

He returns
More often then Jesus after Resurrection
At his stop on thirty-fifth.
He doesn’t ask me to touch
Or believe.“Just listen, goddamitt!”

Writers on writing

Joan Didion Quote
She began keeping a notebook when she was five years old, and she later wrote, "Keepers of notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with a sense of loss." At one point in her childhood, she lived near a mental hospital, and she would wander around the hospital grounds with a notebook, writing down all the most interesting snippets of conversation.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Crow speaks

Welcome to my crowsperch. My totem is my crow so the title seems right. I am a poet with two publihed chapbooks. One is out of print, Eclipsing F, the other: Child is Working to Capacity, published by is still availaable.

I believe crows mimic the world vey well. They are intelegent and fun to watch. Enjoy the words!

Prometheus Father

He did not create
The Frisbee but brought it
To the family as a means
Of sport and exercise. He
Was the master of the flicked
Wrist, and cutting air. He made
His children wanting-
But not wanting enough.
Always control
And accuracy of the disk.

When he noticed his children
Becoming his match with the Frisbee
Prometheus went out, purchased
A ping pong table, and started the cycle
All over again.