Each night I set my boats to sea
and leave them to their bawdy business.
Whether they drift off
maddened, moon-rinsed,
or dock in the morning
scuffed and chastened—
is simply how it is, and I gather them in.
~ from “Describe Yourself in Three Words or Less” by Rita Dove
(this poem and eleven others here)
Fall Colors burned Singed Like a hot brand
A discarded set of orange plastic vampire teeth A friendly blue blob waving from a tree A pair of scissors A pair of scissors?
Ah yes, drought… I survived February. But this papery-thinness is how it left me.
That crazed girl improvising her music. Her poetry, dancing upon the shore, Her soul in division from itself Climbing, falling She knew not where — “A Crazed Girl”, William Butler Yeats Soul in division from itself… I can relate. To return to sanity and wholeness I’m digging in dirt, listening to birdsong, and walking. Ahhhh,…
The Grungy Grays sometimes walk through the night, howling in their secret language at the moon. Or they ride on a hodge podge of mountain bikes, road bikes, and falling apart bikes, their graying hair flashing like sparks in the moonlight…
Hasn’t this been an interesting year so far weather-wise? Will Spring ever arrive and stay? What about summer? As we wait, might as well notice what’s been interesting about it. Tree Moods Trees move me Even when downed Mystery wrapped in texture Individuals Changing with seasons The rush and robbing of light The dogs and…
