Tag: poem
member name: Lynn Doiron
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March 13, 2008 11:38 PM EDT --
The valley quail has fed the cannibal owl
and flecks red spots into a round mandala on
snow-bright squares of ground where grass roots
thatch the roof of worms' worlds and sundered
wings turn . . .
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June 02, 2008 11:52 PM EDT --
This was my gate with its welcoming bells,
this my slight entry home.
Here was my rosemary, lavender grown,
. . .
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September 04, 2007 01:25 PM EDT --
I called you Willow Woman after our creek trek.
Bound bundle of leafed stems tied at your belt,
Strong walking stick in hand, sprig of willow
Stuck through your straw hatband-
You posed for . . .
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March 16, 2008 02:24 PM EDT --
An old dog of a man squats low,
wears a utility shirt stamped USMC
with holes where a rank had been sewn.
He is under the eaves, watching
white hail miss his coffee mug. . . .
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March 24, 2008 12:25 PM EDT --
This is the homemade tambourine
of jingles from abandoned doors,
an instrument of jangled clicks
that time has tumbled houses through,
and cars - a '59 Ford, '61 Bonneville,
the minty . . .
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September 02, 2007 10:16 PM EDT --
1
Where the freeway onramp ends, there we'll park
and open doors to wild plum trees bent with birth
upon limbs, amid leaves, beyond the fence girth;
we'll take white pails from the trunk while . . .
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January 28, 2008 06:31 PM EST --
The sky is falling through the stars
above these hills, this meadow,
and there are places where night leaves
footprints on the prairie grass,
scuffing off the dewdust with drizzles . . .
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February 08, 2008 02:32 PM EST --
Look at the sky
and track a pink tricycle's skidded scrubs
of white knobby tires through blue today.
Let cold seep up
through a slab to ankles, remind of knees -
what . . .
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May 13, 2008 01:47 PM EDT --
It does keep growing high and tall,
Pushing pods to scale the wall;
Or lilts about in sun, a Sarah Bernhart pose
Of leaves that say, Indeed, I'm not a rose, . . .
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May 16, 2008 12:41 PM EDT --
Counting Aprils, I come up
with sixty-one and see
three lovers I have yet
to meet. And nine friends
plus a grandchild, my 6 th ,
that may be a boy, or
a girl (not yet conceived). . . .
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September 06, 2008 12:44 PM EDT --
The knife maker didn't start out with a perfect knife. He was a keeper of birds and at that time there were birds that came to be known as "jays" which were kept for their feathers-more . . .
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October 02, 2009 01:10 PM EDT --
I watch him anchor the hammer: blue-plastic handled, black-plastic peened, brown-plastisized tool belt. Then the Playskool wrench, screwdriver, pliars – all too big, too light. Or he too slim, too . . .
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September 01, 2007 03:05 PM EDT --
After the funeral friends and strangers parted
from me like the river splits to bypass
a stand of sand and willows.
It has been so long since we fished,
except by way of dreams about Cabo . . .
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September 02, 2007 03:06 PM EDT --
A Later Draft
An hour of heat and slight hot wind
A wind warm with bickering in trees
Trees, summer skirted with leaves
Leaves with skirted summer; trees
Trees into bickering with warm wind
Wind hot, . . .
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September 03, 2007 12:41 PM EDT --
Still night, the stars begin to turn, waver
as if in friendly departure from dawn's approach.
Our vision outdistances Time - I see signs
of radiance perhaps gone. And yet, we scatter . . .
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February 08, 2008 06:38 PM EST --
I will tell you how I mark my place,
even though the act may send shivers
along vertebrae and arms,
set fingers of book lovers all atremble,
whether burly-knuckled, talcum sleek, or parchment . . .
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May 12, 2008 06:00 PM EDT --
They had, one would guess, brought the helicopter
in on account of hope that all was not irrevocably
lost on the office kitchen floor, that resuscitation amid
coffee pot shards by strangers in paramedic . . .
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May 19, 2008 04:58 PM EDT --
Today William Stafford's many stones
made a marker under the skylight, one
of those stacks of relatively flat rocks
that say:
Some-
one was
here & placed us
just so for reasons . . .
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May 19, 2008 06:17 PM EDT --
You trust all of it, you do. Even quicksand
has a bottom. Pink is the color your heart beats, beats
above ground, picking up pigment and pace
before those toes touch bedrock - oh,
but . . .
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September 01, 2007 12:13 PM EDT --
She naps through November,
a calico feline,
back curved into the bluff
as if in an easy chair, and purrs
the stone riffles of autumn,
her tail a quiet “s” trickle
between hardpan and . . .
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