an Equinox poem
Bridge pigeon sports Mt. Fuji tramp stamp
on back folded wings, red eye bright as fish bait
scans the river, mate meadow trolling heron
flirting black bird circling the trellis
in a sun bright arc.
The geese wind calms, the flattened grass
bends back from winter, the yellow mallow
butters the field ponds in frog songs.
An abandoned grocery cart holds the high
water mark in tufts and rafted limbs.
Equinox, more timely than clocks spins the horizon to a golden dial lets lavender clouds whip the mingling set and stars saving the final blue for the…
a blog about emulation as a legitimate learning curve
There is some truth to the Imposter Syndrome. I’ve got years of learning to play the saxophone to back that up. Listening to the masters it’s hard to conceive, let alone believe, they use the same notes available to the beginner. Musician have two invaluable tools to shape a students progress toward proficiency; a metronome and a tuner. (If I hadn’t avoided using either for most of the years I’ve been playing I’d probably include a link to provide before and after examples.)
I mention this because being in time, and…
a poem about rounding corners to sharpen focus
The babiest blue Mustang slows
into the intersection of sunrise and suicide
slinging crepes to the bug-eyed wintering
in the reflection of storefront windows.
Indignity, far north of the Texas snow,
carves fingers into cardboard hope,
brushes crumbed facial hair under the open sky
and perching crows.
A bagged wardrobe, piled high in a grocery cart,
resists the wind, but is too wet to warm
too long without soap to tempt thieves,
too long in collecting to be immediate.
In an hour the dumpster will be rifled for communion biscuits, anything laudable…