Category: Poems about Poetry

THE ALBATROSS OF THE PLAINS

Beavers’ teeth never stop growing so they chew on wood to keep them at a manageable length. If they didn’t maintain them their teeth would eventually grow into their brains.

THE ALBATROSS OF THE PLAINS

I shot a beaver in my youth
who cursed me with this curse

My teeth
will be your poems now

remembering our gift unused
grows fatal to the brain

ONCE MORE ROUND THE MAYPOLE

ONCE MORE ROUND THE MAYPOLE

In leisure he revisits
things seen but never noticed in his youth
though they lay but a short arms length away

Cow with ingrown horn
then a saw-wire from repair
now metaphor for defense gone wrong

The deep snow forts of play
two Fahrenheit degrees away
from smother and a crying mother

Frost on a winter window
a forest of trees of finest lace
meant too cold to go outside today
now the music of the spheres in form

Best not to be a poet young
very little would get done

THE FARM, THE RANCH AND THE NEED FOR GOD

THE FARM, THE RANCH
AND THE NEED FOR GOD

Who pray to when the rains don’t come
who forget to thank when they do

Who curse when the John Deere breaks
and the cow jumps over the moon
(by the moon of course I mean
the fence to the alfalfa field)

Who in the long nights pondering
under the stars too cold to be suns
a word big enough for big

WRITING ON STONE

WRITING ON STONE

Pop Bukowski in his coffin
dead as hell
but reaching for one last beer
and almost making it.

Al Purdy

On the stone on my grave
I have asked them to write

I’LL TRY TO WRITE

And I will

Seeking still
some simile or metaphor

What is it like, or most unlike

Am I below or above
does it taste like dust or love

If I can’t write about it
how will I know I’m dead

How will you know
I’m still alive

12.12.2012 AND COUNTING

12.12.2012 AND COUNTING

Been out of Austin six months now
two oceans, some rivers, and a sea

Gathering material to throw
into a big pot of Shiner Bock

A pinch of limestone ground real fine
eye of salamander, blind of bat
and horn of ram from the Shiner cap

With branches from an old live oak
leaves still clinging to the stock
a dozen poets stirring the pot
and breathing their words across the top

Watch it bubble and settle and steam
something will scum to the surface soon
haiku to draw through a slender straw
and cups of couplets in rhyming itme

The Mayan calendar is running down
but I’ve got next year’s Marilyn and
ten new poems, and plenty of faith
that awe and Austin will carry on

LAND BREATHING DEEP AFTER RAIN

LAND BREATHING DEEP AFTER RAIN

This is a line that came to me in a dream
I held onto it until the dream was done
like you might with a thought in a car
hoping to remember it when you arrive
at a place with paper and pen

I let is sit for a couple of days
to wait for the gift to unwrap

The last line of a thousand poems
about what brings juice and joy
to my life, and maybe to yours

********************

You meet me at the airport
after a long away and a long flight
Land breathing deep after rain

Old college buddies gather for a beer
Land breathing deep after rain

Brothers and sisters at the lake
cousins building in the sand

AND this is the page for you
to let your juicy joy come through

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Land breathing deep after rain

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Land breathing deep after rain

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Land breathing deep after rain

etc. etc. etc.