To have and to hold until death has no part He had a secret. He grabbed you and pulled you in hugged your head against his chest, shoulder tightly so tightly I’d never imagined such a hug with strength I didn’t imagine he had with strength he didn’t have when he could no longer raise…
late dreams, autumn some flowers open and close day and night, blossom and fall spring and autumn. i do the same on these mountains. the sun rises i put on tie and smile it falls, i put on blanket and reading light and sleep. october passes and dreams of memories stir foggy blurred chilled why scared now, hands…
Round the Corner I never really had a crush on her. I always wanted to so pretty and friendly the smile quieting round the corner the testing casual mention of Christ one insincere laugh and I short in dress shoes talk too fast look too hard and what exactly do I do and what’s this…
Oldest River I was too happy to recognize when it happened to someone else too sad to realize when it happened to me until time passed which did not make me less sad but just slightly very very slightly more aware
Dare 33 34 Peaches, peaches abundant, the fruit maturing. How to select the best one? Outside in the sun in the middle of an ancient desert, baking in oil with basil, vanilla, wine. The basting brush strokes, strokes painting into a corner that leads only to new rooms to fly out to and paint. So…
Here’s what I think I know: My grandmother Leathe Hemachandra was born Leathe Wade Colvert in New York City on January 19, 1900. She was an English teacher. Her father, William Colvert, I’ve only seen in a photograph — I know nothing about him beyond that he lived. Her mother, Martha Pleasant, was born on…
Look up “poetry” in the dictionary, and the second definition is “the quickest way to lose blog traffic.” Similarly, Google “the quickest way to lose blog traffic,” and the second listing describes “posting in the middle of a Saturday morning.” Nonetheless, here’s another of my poems — a short one — from back in the…
I wrote this poem in 1996. Around that time I was writing a lot of poetry and doing some readings at Village Books and Stuart’s Coffeehouse in Bellingham, Washington. Bellingham is midway between Seattle and Vancouver, B.C. I lived there for 12 years. When I pull out these older poems I’m tempted to work with…
