Labor

As we got to know one another, she would sometimes tell me, “Each poem you write is like one of your children. Each one has a spirit and the potential to flourish.”

Needless to say, I married her.

Labor

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

paper

Once in a while I’ll feel as if I’ve been struck by new inspiration, that I can finally go forward with my work as a poet. This has yet to stick, however.

        paper

        I see you now
                as if for the very first time
            floating before my gaze
white—changeable as the clouds
                    full of reflection
    clear—deep as a canyon pond

        perhaps you’re a spring
    gushed from furthest mystery
                a taste—artesian

        I see you now
                    suddenly as if never before
    welling up on my eyes
            sparkling clarity
                bubbling hope

Rinse

This was drafted near the end of a seven day walk on Lost Coast Trail. I’m pretty sure this was inspired by the beach at Bear Harbor, near the northern end of the Sinkyone Wilderness State Park.

Rinse

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

nose hairs

I have spent a lot of time in poetry focused writer’s groups. These are mostly populated by people who for some inexplicable reason love the writing of Whitman, Ginsberg, and the like. When I get my turn to share my work and hear critiques, these folks generally have only one thing to say, which is something along the lines of, “Just say what you feel, man! Just write what you feel! It’s all about what you feel, man!!” Well, alright, at the moment, this what I feel, man!

nose hairs

they stand in line
  stiff and stark
rank and file
  on the march

merciless soldiers
  raised from hell
heft their siege
  in endless swell

rifles raised
  with bayonettes
they stab their way
  with no regrets

shooting always
  toward the brain
with deadly force
  unfailing aim

for each one pulled
  from out the race
a dozen rise
  to fill their place

marching always
  on the brain
marching till i
  go insane