A strange glow calls me from my book

Come away. Look about:

Orangish yellow light behind

The lowering clouds --

Even the grass is burnished.

Poplars glow before mountains,

Heavy in dark relief--

The whole world is written in

Gold leaf, every branch and sheaf 

Illuminated, testament to glory.

Weeding

Your burrs rub me,

Hitchhike for the ride.

Your nettles pierce

Until I bleed.

Your juice gets under my skin,

and so, I itch.

The  difference, I find,

Between a weed and a flower

Is desire.

Rite

Rite

This is no mistake --

And cheaper than butchering 

A beast.

The river reels;

Wheels stick in the mire,

The ox's tail gets wet.

Be still.

This offering is equal 

To your neighbor's.

Listen: 

Pipers pipe the feast.

Memorial Day

Feeling somewhat righteous
On my knees, suddenly, it came to me --
Who will clean my grave
When I am gone
Beneath the dusty stone?
Who will find the time?
I know: none. Not one.
For all my young, it's not in you
To brood on what is gone.
Don't get me wrong.
You remember, you do,
Then let it pass on by.
My mountain grave --
Grow high with rose (with hope)
To overtake the rue.

So Dear

So Dear

Everywhere, next day, I looked 

For that helpless speckled thing,

Patient forest babe, all ears and eyes, 

Watching, waiting, staying.

Gone, as I had hoped, gone 

From underneath the tree

To walk beside her mother. 

Before long, she will walk alone, 

Gambol, jump and play.

I hope she sees another day. 

I hope she comes to stay

Where she was born, 

Where she lay beneath 

The Blue Spruce tree with me.

Deep

El Yunque National Park

Deep

How breach the invitation
Of the blackgreen dark?
How stay the shade around me?
Green-gold light above,
Surf-green blue below,
Viridian that wraps me like a gift.
I dive between the leaves,
Swim along the trees, agile as a fish.
My ultimate desire, my most fervent wish:
Deep. Green.

Between Light

A million, billion

Lights lift in our wake.

A million, billion 

Bioluminescents,

So small, they

Wink and disappear.

Above, North Star and Southern Cross.

Below, one vast ocean.

Adrift between 

Heaven and Earth,

Incapable of making light.

Nevertheless, we glow.

On the San Juan Streets

On the San Juan Streets

When I was young and hot --
or so I thought --

I, too, wore those shoes
And that strapless mini dress;

I could compete with all the rest
Of the babes who looked the best...

Now I watch the men watch you
in your Ferragamo shoe.

My heart and bunions ache for you!

What It Is

What It Is



Mornings, at the bus stop,
This one stands scraggly haired, and apart.
Solitary, sour at seven a.m.,

And I think, why not?
Poor thing, you're an American teen
Who has everything.

I'd like to hook my fingers
Through the holes in your jeans,
And plop you down in Kenya,

Where Awiti, just your age, sends one child
To the school that cannot meet
When it rains.

Or we could go to some war-torn land,
Or Haiti's slums...
But really, baby,

Everything is relative.
It is what it is, you stoically say,
Enduring your four bedroom life.

Your hundred dollar jeans
Are as full of misery
As the dust that settles

On the back of the boney cow
Herded through the dirt
By an African child.

Lines Written Upon Feeling a Warm Breeze on My Face for the First Time This Spring

Don't put me in the Narrow Bed
When at last I lay my head...

If dust -- as chimney sweepers must--
Then in the air my mettle rust --

The wind to blow upon the bones
A melody of cheerful tones,

The sun to warm a cooling heart...

A feast of CULINARY ART
For worm and grub and bug and crow...

For Pete's sake, better lay me low!

Pickle and stuff my empty shell --
Just save me from the maggot's hell!



This started out as serious thought, but even I recognize how bad it was, so...voila: Compost Tea (of me).

Happy Poem in Your Pocket Day!