Poems

the robin stands in stillness
on a patch of winter-faded lawn
beside the straining daffodils

they are about to burst
yellow trumpets
ready to blare on cue

but the robin does not move
none of the usual hopping
and listening

the robin stands in stillness
no turning of the head
to betray the spark of life

rusty breast feathers
rustle in the cool spring wind—
taxidermy or contemplation

perhaps the worms
she hunts have themselves
stopped moving

only the restless wind persists
the wind will outlast it all
even the waiting

The evening sky longs for the moon
Still at rest beyond the horizon
Not yet ready for starlight
Not yet ready for adulation
Of its silver luminescence
So beloved by romantics
Canidae’s dark howls
Hunters quiet night wings
Travelers need of a path
In the quiescent forest
The sun forever in search
Of its reflected light

Nature will kill you without thinking twice,
There is a long term plan that you are only
A small part of, as long as you stay within
Her parameters. I'm talking to you, T-Rex.

Nature is not worried about your feelings,
If you are in the way of progress, she will
Let you know by wiping out you and all your
Friends, do you hear me, Hipparion, you three-toed horse?

And if you are driven extinct by the foolishness
Of some other species, don't look to Nature for help.
She has other things on her mind, Passenger Pigeon,
Your last three kin will live under glass.

Nature does not tolerate dissent.
It's just a matter of time before we all get
Our come-uppance. Someday our names will be
Added to the list. If anyone is still keeping track.

Your heart’s a clinched fist,
Forever undiscovered,
Unknown to cartographers,
Impenetrable to mirrors.
Baffled explorer’s turn to
Other hearts for treasure,
No matter how tenuous,
No matter how unlikely,
For hope is a necessity.

when you tell the ladies
at social services that
you want to adopt a child
they will ask you a great many
probing, personal questions

about your marriage
about your drug history
about your sex life

and then, at the end
of this verbal finger
up the wazoo, they
(meaning a young woman
in her twenties, fresh
out of college, with the
approximate life
experience of a salmon fry)
will say "what do you think
will change once
you have adopted a
child?"

the easy, glib answer
(the one you will give), is
"everything"

but the truer, more
confounding answer
is

"my ability to write
poetry will greatly
diminish, but my
ability to tell
anecdotes will
greatly increase."

put that down on
your form, kid