autumn wind
even the dead
tree sways

the one hummingbird
I get to see
morning glories

lunch reading
a tangerine
difficult to peel

an acorn husk
     my breath
in front of me

cracked eggshells
        morning pain
behind the eyes 

the distance
between two daffodils
a cold spring

the thought
of thinking aloud
spring haircut

to a side street
bit of shade
infused / taste
of mint

and women rush past
emaciated & tanned
torsos of old men

high on Church street
a soul stares at Christ
on the boxing gym sign

this tug of war
between staying safe
and staying sane
our Australian sheepdog
squeezes through the doggie door

bound to the earth
by the force of gravity
yet I dream
of swooping over forests
perching on mountaintops

Christmas in July
fireflies
fill up the yard

family tree
we gather around
a fallen leaf

dementia
I lose the lily
petal by petal

short list, 2017 H. Gene Murtha Senryu Contest
short list, 2017 Touchstone Award

noon
the church bell
from another time

sunrise
cream coloring
the coffee coloring the cream

sunrise
in the kitchen . . . the scent
of last night’s coffee

twilight
the silence at the end
of the record

not the moon the insomniac’s middle finger

trampoline body weight measured in birdsong

where the hummingbird was a snapshot of sky

dead leaves rustling all the old cliches awake

another school shooting the breeze barely sways a patch of narcissi

morning moon through the looking glass of vodka

leafless and ivy’s still dream of tomorrow

white paint still tacky her last last cigarette

painting class
my three noses
repositioned

avalanche
rescue
poke of the dog nose

art museum all the square noses

snow melt
one carrot down

newborn baby his daddy’s nose

slats in the lattice fence
crisscross diagonally
in diamond-shaped spaces
the vines intertwine
jasmine and morning glory

 
the barn window
lit by a source
unknown to me
this evening
I read Thomas Hardy

meditation
medicine for my mind
now more than ever –
the altar candle flickered,
but did not go out

on the chapel floor
was an art museum stub
dated yesterday –
what lines and forms did I miss
that could have reshaped my world?

the dream forest at the bottom of the lake fading 

felt       thoughtfully felt       veldt       feelingly thought       thought 

guarded language testing the doorknobs of words 

in reality an analogy that never breaks down 

the more massive the number of bodies the deeper the gravity well 

one neuron to another who can you talk to 

a red crab eats everything and a blue crab eats its own 

the search for the hydrant missing in the desert

a spiral staircase lying on its side where all the weirdness comes from 

whale          unaccompanied          cello 

french horns
green the ambience . . .
forest light

a fox hunkers down 
by the river

the silence
a little deeper
in the flow

cicada cries intensify
along the fault

imago
left within our selves
not our stars

like the face now
worn smooth away
from an ancient coin

from the bathroom mirror
a moment's self-effacement

the come-down
from the razor’s edge
snowmelt

dripping the excess many
when just the one will do

under the streetlight  
even the crows have
high cholesterol

Hansha Teki
Clayton Beach

if you
ask me to leave
i will
white dogwoods lost
in morning haze 

cupped hand
her tiny life line
receives my coins

antlers turn
for a split-second
we know each other

rice sparrow . . .
picking the bones
of autumn

as if
snow in July . . .
sulphur moths

misty moonlight—
my love affair with a snake
between dreams

these arms left holding
the skin of passion

now flakes of bone
a portrait in the steel
of a rongeur

a rat gnaws away
at my memories

the wheel grinds on
whether the stars
will it or not

despite all
Polycarp is baked 
to perfection

the play of stained light
in wisps of incense 

the holy glow
of each minim mote
the dust we are

subtle accretions
of harmonies intoned

a medley
of nacreous spheres
in swine swill

Clayton Beach
Hansha Teki

strange, this life
no parents no mate no boss
to struggle against,
at night I fall asleep
to a chorus of frogs

 
young I was busy
learning to talk-read-write-think
I never evolved
a strong personality
but I sure like to tap dance