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April 24: Walkin' Worry

4/26/2015

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Picture
Do Bears hide under bridges
Just lolling in the brook?
Do Fairies fly with Midges?
I never thought to look.
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April 16: Known

4/23/2015

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This will have me caught up through today! Muse handed me a free one.
Known

when I finish a poem
even if it's shortened
or not finished
but has to be, for posting,
I clamp it tight to me:
holding it in order
protecting its meaning
visiting it again and again
whispering it in my mind
never vocalizing
never a sound
or percussion,
cuniform artifact
meaningful
to no one but its maker.

I will never fix one
finish one
or return to one in any
construction,
like my sketches:
I will crave to return
change it
watch it change,
I will want
to alter poem and sketch alike,
but once named
each piece
is from then forward
known.

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April 23: Blueberry Orchard: Spring

4/23/2015

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Blueberry Orchard: Spring

I never thought of blueberry orchards.
I'd seen untamed bushes
dark and sooty red tipped
in deep wooded swamps
like wild cranberries
a few plants clustered
in tiny enclaves.

Like cranberries
incarcerated as livestock
in straight line bogs
contained and perfect
no longer wild
I pictured blueberries
precise and orderly
long straight rows
pollarded, easy picking
for machines.

Here, in a blueberry orchard
tugging constricted limbs
picking stalks and thready vines from twiggy fingertips.
combing long soft dry ochre grasses like coarse hair from the bases
easing snarling grey bearded poison ivy from the trunks
little twig whips sting  
lip and cheek and eye
snapping out from nowhere
and never blood; a warning greeting.

Here, in a a blueberry orchard
Small enclaves
sun whitened bark and pink lichen
each blueberry stretched outward
reaching across rows
red tipped twigs
wildly tame.  










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April 21: Taming Tiger

4/21/2015

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Picture
Taming Tiger

Taming a tiger.
Taming a wild landscape.
Equally hard:
one kills you
faster.
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April 20: Yesterday's Wind

4/21/2015

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Picture

Yesterday's Wind

Yesterday's wind pulled the last mummified cherries
from an early
Winter deadfall
and blew scores of house sparrows across the parking lot.
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April 19: Maple Devil

4/19/2015

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Picture
Maple Devil

We were cutting canes and vines
and dead goldenrod away in the blueberry orchard
all down the rows,
when down off the mountain comes this baby dragon,
this tiny taloned hand!
Scoops up a dozen bushels of dead maple leaves
swirls them, barrel rolls them,
a big brown fat wheel of dead maple leaves
engulfs the picnic table
flips it upside down but unseen in the fracas
then pirouettes like a little dust devil
across the lawns
and sits demurely down
under the last maple.
Also, it roared.
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April 18: First Day Back

4/19/2015

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Picture
First Day Back

Sugar Maple
warm in the sun under my hand.
Smooth,
blistered,
algae on it's bark
the color of beryl.

A startlement
of snake under a quaking aspen,
warming,
knotted
around dewberry bramble,
gold speckled in an acorn cap.

The little curve
over a rise thick with low shrubs
in June,
but here
in April,
all skin and bones!

Laughing
at their nakedness I run past
trailing
my palm
over gold curls
on the big yellow birch.

I ran right past Sam's Dell,
around the tree
and under the bobcat branch
and up to the grasses
and came to a dead stop
wondering how I'd got so far
and how much I'd missed.
I turned around to find
I was standing
under the last pagoda tree
on the path.
Thank you,
I said,
for bringing me back.
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April 17: How Come Blue

4/17/2015

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Any reason the Poem-A-Day can't be a song? Hum a swing piano blues:

How Come Blue?

How come Blue
sounds so pretty?
It just rolls
off my lips.
Not like green
curled with envy,
more like red as a kiss.

How come Blue
sounds so pretty
pulling soft
at my strings?
Buried gold
deep below me
whispers low,
softly sings.

How come Blue
sounds so pretty?
It just rolls
off my lips.
For I'm blue
for the moment
for the place
where we kissed.
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April 17: One poem behind....

4/17/2015

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Bluebird boxes on a Blueberry farm. In lieu of a poem until I catch up.

Picture
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April 15: The Music of Water Over Stones

4/14/2015

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Picture
"Pantoum" form of poetry, my very loose interpretation. It has to do with repeating lines in sequence through the poem, plus it's only supposed to be three stanzas but I never read instructions and have made up my own.

The Music of Water Over Stones


If nothing else,
the place we lay together,
there, the music of water over stones
still soothes strangers into lovers.

For you, for an afternoon
(if nothing else)
I steward that place. Listen:
There! the music of water over stone.

There is a tree, named
for you, for an afternoon
that sang a few graceful hours
I steward that place! Listen:

If nothing else,
there is a tree, named
there: the music of water over stones
that sang a few graceful hours.
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