tryingpoetry

The High Abutment of Mur Than

Melting snow into mud my sleep is weary and my mind is off

I dream of the high Abutment of Mur Than jutting from a cliff Into the darkest clouds and fell rain on cliffs granite

awake mind sees the sun stare down and dry the mud

Sad Songs

With my troubles all in tow I listen to these songs and they eat at me she used to ask why I woke up so quiet mornings drag me low

That hurt sings to me about the world and the things I see for the lives heard and the people unseen

To feel their sting salt my eyes from that strongest sea of the people known or not to me so dial the contrast up on that old TV

When it's black and white boiling the blackest tea inside of white stone pottery scented tendrils of steam

Coat the sweetness in my nose those roses always distracted me and I know again where help is needed most

In that help, sweetness more than honey

Twilit

The sun left a tracer as broad as the horizon The wind took the clouds as a current on a tide

Frogs chirp the midwinter song until breeze shuffles needles the firs dancing

The morning sun sent leads scanning through the dark when the owls call and the rabbits scatter

The Waiting Time

I have a season for waiting when the sun is low in the sky and the rain doesn't stop for days

In the time of waiting my restlessness grows like garlic bulbs poking out of the ground

In those days of waiting I find the other things and make plans of the days to come

When the waiting ends I'm ready for the sun to be high in the sky and the rain stops for days

I drove down the hill

I drove down the hill next to the lake and saw the big timber in mist I nearly cried

The wild places So far away from my tame home Tied my heart

The stones speak to me of the time long ago when the rivers were full

The Sea

The sea calls me home every day and I don't understand Umanaya calls me and the sand gets in my toes and the breakers are long out into the bars behind them the swells hide the light and the sun boils into the red with the wind in your face burning your cheeks and you feel the done

A Mother and two Daughters

I love hearing them happy Sweetness in the air Like honey in my nose

Like house sparrows singing On the edge of a garden I love the sound, it makes me happy

July 4th

The beer rolls over my tongue before it waves over my mind gently because it's been a long time and everyone is napping

The world is in first gear working to get off the dime from a surprise stop-sign octagonal red

It makes the bog sleepy and that's how I like it the hammock in the garden while the tomatoes try to set fruit

But I don't like why it's sleepy or the knees on the necks of good people

Goddamn I'm Thin

My emotions stretched out drawn around the posts and signs pulling tighter

To bounce with a pop but damnit don't break

Singing

The sapsucker sang at the peak of the roof carelessly ignoring me and most all of humanity only grateful for a high perch