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SONNETS AND SALADS
I would love to know the precise momentwhen the consensus of critics reachedthe tipping point, that lettuce wasno longer a green, but some lesser vegetable. That would be around the time thatArugula and romaine declared themselvessomething other than lettuce, leavingiceberg and Bibb as produce outcastswhile spinach, kale and chard openly declared their superiority over allof…
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A DAY
a day,clouds drop rainreplacing tearslocked insidestones and clothred and blueunseparatedstill worlds apartorderly ranksall at attentionand silencethundering angera mad worldsoaked in peaceonly untilmidnight. Publsihed in New Feathers Anthology (Summer 2020)http://www.newfeathersanthology.com/a-day.html
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THINGS TO COME
One morning last week I decidedto plant myself at a busy intersectionand begin reading poetry, mostlymy own, I have to admit. I was generally ignored, my usualstate, and that sadly of most poets,when a scruffy, bearded young manset up easel and paint next to me. The morning seemed to relishthe stillness of this urban way…
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ON ARRIVAL
This morning arrivedwith a painful slowness, the slothof irregular dreams refusing to concedeto the light struggling to creep aroundthe blinds that hide the oversize windows. It had been that sort of night,sleep arriving and departing witha frustrating lack of constancy, my bodyuncertain of its proper placement ,the mattress offering no easy solutions. Conceding the failure…
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DOGO’S GREATEST DEPTH 鐵笛倒吹 六十六
If you walk into the roomand many are meditatinghow will you know whichis the teacher, which the students? If one sits on a higher platformwill you assume him teacherand ask the depth of his Zen.If he comes down to youand says he has no depth to offerdo not think him a fool.When you sit at…
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DOG DAYS
Growing up my family always had dogs,only one at a time, of course, since wewere a modern suburban family,which may be why we had a dog. It clearly wasn’t because they loved dogs,they tolerated them on good days,ignored them the rest of the timeand the good days were few if any. I never asked for…
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CUTTING THOUGHTS
My wife pauses by the placardin the nature preserve and tells methat what I have been calling grassesare in fact a sedge known as sawgrass. She points out the warning thatit’s serrated on the edge and earnedits name from those who graspedit without knowing or thinking first. I feign listening but she knowsmy mind is…
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NOTING WEATHER
The weather, he announced to no one in particular,ought to be musical or at leastincorporate some jazz. Spring is bebop, Trane and Parker,the sudden clash of Blakeythe downpours of Dizzy and the hint of what’s to comeon the fingers of Monk, andKenny and Milt. Summer brings the slow easingas early Miles slides in, and wesink…
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A CITY LIKE ALMOST ANY OTHER
somewhere within three blocksof here a limo is disgorgingor swallowing up passengers a child is dreaming of takinglessons on a piano or violinof Carnegie or Alice Tully Halls a woman is rememberingwhat the touch of his fingersfelt on her cheek, tracing her jaw, not shattering it,a tagger prepares for battlecarefully loading his makeshift holster after…
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WHAT’S IN A NAME?
He only wants to knowmy spiritual name, “your falseworld name is of no matter.” I tell him I have only one name,the one my parents gave me,and it has worked to this point quite well, and no one has eversuggested I might need another,although my Jewish friends have two. “No,” he says, “your spiritual nameisn’t…
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