Day Thirteen NaPoWriMo

There has been talk lately about a poetic form called a golden shovel, this is not one but it's what came as I thought of a shovel...

The shovel

Is the only tool that rests in knowledge
of worth. Year-round it is called upon,
needed to dig and scoop, pile and pat.
The garden, the yard, the flowerbeds in spring
John’s little kitten mashed beneath the tractor’s
tire. Each job the shovel comes to stoic
and silent, ready for each level of gravity.

Winter mornings, across the shoulders, it is
taken to the frozen creek to open the watering
hole (again) for the cattle.

Day Twelve NaPoWriMo

 Today the most popular place on campus was here:

The llama is a busybody, the pony aloof.
The lamb and the kids they’re the showstoppers,
the hug-worthy, finger nibblers the oh-my-god!
they’re too cute! selfie accessories. The ducks,
oh, the ducks away from the fray in shade;
happy little quackers, happy away
from the cloven-hoofed and furred, with a quick hiss
to send you away: no pictures please, no paparazzi!

Day Eleven NaPoWriMo resurrection edition

My poem for today is still struggling to survive so I thought I'd post this poem from NaPoWriMo 2006

Oh, Lord, please forgive us

The indigenous people along the Black Warrior River
built mounds in a soft green park setting near what would
become the town of Moundville, Alabama. Abandoned
sometime in the 1500’s after 500 years of use, archeologist
are still trying to understand the cultural and religious uses
of the twenty-six earthen mounds.

But what boys from Hale County High remember is that
on the Saturday night before Easter, the park would be busy
with the reenactment of Jesus’ last days. This was the one occasion
it was alright to keep young ladies out all night, wrapped
inside a blanket, hands wherever you wanted them to be
as you wound your way from mound to mound to witness
the performance. The park grew crowded near dawn,
the sunrise service drawing close, a lanky boy
ready to be Christ; hung on the cross, his blonde wig
tangled in thorns. A procession would move up
the highest mound, where floodlights would substitute
for sun if the weather failed; below on-lookers
in the shadows would watch the white Jesus, atop
the largest mound, the one believed to hold tribal elders
and holy men, and as one, as a wave, would shade their
eyes to enlightenment.

Day Ten NaPoWriMo

The first cowbird appeared

singing in a smug way atop
a lamppost. Every tree is in bloom
today. The pinks and the greens
and the soft purple across the street.
Even the moon tried to nudge
a goose off the roof, feeling
the exuberance of spring.
Curled like a kitten a cloud
launched the afternoon
into a gentle slope toward evening.
And here I am now watching
the sky blush as the first
star tickles its face.

Day Nine NaPoWriMo

The morning the red roan foal arrived
snow fell, though the first buttercups
were blooming in the pasture where the mare
and stallion, matching roans as well
welcomed this strawberry horse.

It was Easter, a cold March of a year
full of coming changes, that were already
as heavy as the weather pushing 
down onto this newborn. 

I stopped my car
along the road, leaned
into the wind and cried
hello hello hello but only felt
imminent farewells pushing
my words back at me.

                                               A morning ramble friend from Lens Belgium.

Day Seven and Eight NaPoWriMo

Last night I forgot to post a poem, I was preoccupied with a discussion for my Literature class. We usually have something to write “to” every week based on what we are reading and discuss with classmates as well. This past week we were reading and talking about Deaf writers and the culture of Deaf literature. The question we needed to discuss was about language and culture. But one of my classmates went off on a small rant re: white privilege (he doesn’t have it! – how could he, but as a young white man he has experienced racism) so I got distracted. So, I had a very even-tempered response to him today, I believe and look forward to Monday’s class.

Closer to home my neighbor was asking about the best bait for flat cats -- they are coming out of hibernation and ready to move into new burrows. They’ve spotted a couple and one has been nosing around the cars again. I gave them a supply of peanuts and this afternoon they announced they had caught one already! What this really tells me is I need to relook at the areas I blocked last year to ensure there are no breaches.

And now back to our regularly scheduled program.

At the top of the trees
like the past year’s last fruit
the robin is glowing
in this morning’s dawn
a song bright with light
the frost glistening below

(NaPoWriMo April 7)

“moth against the street lamps” (from The Hut by Lisa Robertson)

A staccato beat in the shadows
the moon full of envy, wishing
she was close enough to receive
their dusty blessing too.

(NaPoWriMo April 8)


 And here are some hollyhocks from a place long ago and far away, KFalls.

Day Six NaPoWriMo

Be good

The little bee is confused as the planet
that’s why it was slow crawling over the rug
this morning, looking dazed. Where it came in from
is still a head-scratcher but I was happy to help
by scooping a tissue around it like a lily blossom
and then to the still-tender rosebush,
out of the wind and where there is last fall’s
leaf debris and some cover for this cooler day.
And was that a bow thank you, was that a wag
dance, thank you, was the grasping of a blade
of grass a thank you again? Yes, okay, try
to stay out of the house, and you’re welcome.