Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Mid-Valley Winter

Scraping windshields in the morning,
watching the frigid Santiam pour
itself into the northbound Willamette,
and worrying about flood stages.

Counting the days between sun breaks
and moments of seeing all things clearly
through freshly scrubbed air –
Cascades glittering in the daylight,
every star known to man at night.

The ground turning white every one of four years,
tow-trucks and drippy snow-men appearing
along with no school - lasting for a day or two,
a week at most, until the familiar gray wash returns,
sweeping away the slush. Children returning to class
with brags of height and speed and very close calls.

Sitting by windows pretending you want the gray to go away
so you can begin to enjoy all of the complaining
about the heat of spring and the swelter of summer.
Reading, thinking you should write a memoir, coffee,
closing your eyes and remembering all of the green.


Poetry Quarterly - Fall 2011
Reprinted in The Houseboat (Featured poet No. 3).

Thursday, July 7, 2011

After Work

I walk into the eager of your arms,
lean heavy upon your bounce,
rest in the calm of your neck,
breathe you all the way in.

I cradle the fair of your face,
search for the tender blue of you,
delight in the delicate nest of you,
rise to the joy and soul of you.

Suspended in the mercy of your smile,
I wrap my hands around the slender of your waist,
reign all of your fullness into all of my fullness,
kiss all of your kisses, taste all of your missing me,

and let things get out of hand.


Poetry Quarterly - Summer 2011

Valley of Soft Things

We used to picnic there,
in the bloom of our youth,
and dream right out loud
of a valley of soft things.

In those days we sat sidled
on the hard stony bench
looking together ahead –
we used to picnic there.

All we had, then, was ahead
and together and dreams so loud
we had to whisper their names,
in the bloom of our youth.

Sometimes, aheads turn misty,
burn away in the hot of afternoons;
sometimes, softs turn hard
and dreams get so loud.

We used to picnic there
on that cold stone bench
and whisper the dearest little names
for our valley of soft things.


Words & Pictures anthology that the LBCC poetry club participated in - April 2011

High School Sweethearts

That was a nasty little smirk
You failed to suppress
When you caught me
Bragging about my
Younger days.


The minimal poetry blog a handful of stones - January 2011