Tag: home

Man made — small stone


The steam chugging
Out this plastic pig’s
Ears isn’t
Natural isn’t right
A man-made atrocity
At the foot of my
Bed. What else can
Be said of this
Little piggy?


— part of the 2013 Mindful Writing Challenge on “Writing Our Way Home”

Five oatmeal bowls – small stone


Five oatmeal bowls in the sink;
Mushy grains floating.
Instead I eat Ezekiel bread;
Spouted grains toasted.
It’s true I’ve always been
So wildly different.

— part of the 2013 Mindful Writing Challenge on “Writing Our Way Home”

Thoughts Escaping


Out here I can’t
Seem to keep anything
Inside. Even with the
A/C running full tilt
And the house sealed from
Heat blasting, I can’t
Stop the magnetic pull
Of the horizon and its
Girl-sweet clouds like
Back-up singers filling
The harmony. The box on the
Corner of Timberline is
Just a birdhouse I
Flit in and out of–
Excuse I give to survey
The prairie between this
Bush and that tree and count
The acres of home where
My thoughts escaping.

Eavesdropping.


We are always eavesdropping.

The boy in the next yard admits
He forgot to do his work, and the ladies who
Race by walking exchange their bodily failures
Like measurements of sifted flour.

I hear you, little bird hiding in the Yew.
You’ve complained about the
Weather before, damn day chilled
Too quickly after a tease of hot sun.

Sounds hang damp with the long rain.

A song lifts off the bubbles and the
Grease, across my hidden neighbor’s
Drive. I hear her, simultaneously
Washing time away, and clinging on.

We are always eavesdropping.

Last Obstacles

I thought I saw something
Out the corner of my eye
And I was right–
The bright, perfect edges
Of a morning’s light
Chiseling out the
Fine details of my back
Yard:  the bark of the
Wind battered Norway
Maple flew at me
Like a knife hurtling at the
Face of a 3D film
Watcher. Just one sweet
Saturday, 6: 15 a.m.
Leaping like Parkour
Over the last obstacles
Of winter.