Today is the last day to download my book from Amazon for free. Thanks!
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I want to say ‘thank you’ to everyone who has visited my blog and supported me in this new endeavor of sharing my poems. For the next three days, the Kindle version of Awaiting the Images is available as a free download from Amazon.
This offer is available to anyone, so please pass along the link if you wouldn’t mind.
We followed him and believed he was unaware
of our presence. Out the front door, across the yard,
then around the corner of the garage. We crept
forward and held our breath, anticipating the moment
we gave ourselves away. But he walked from task
to task, pulling weeds, clipping yellow flowers,
sweeping leaves from the pathway. Then we became
more bold, chuckling quietly to ourselves until,
with one masterful flick of his wrist, the garden
hose sprayed gallons of water into our hiding place,
sending us laughing and screaming across the grass
while he smiled larger than I ever believed possible.
In the mailbox today…looking forward to reading it over the Thanksgiving break.
there are always words,
even to say there are
no words. spoken,
unspoken. thoughts
in pictures, narration
of the soul. in silence
we disregard them,
do our best to ignore
symbols. yet we strain
to describe anything
meaningful since words
remain when we’re gone.
one more stone then crush
his eyes open and light falls
on fields he once knew
where wheat baked beneath
the sun and scent
harvest beckoned his all
now the daylight fades
and his body lies still
a silent crowd scatters
* “arriving home” first appeared in Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Number 18, 2002, and it is also in my book Awaiting the Images.
wandering through time
the gunpowder soul startles
the senses. it reminds us
the past is just a parting shot
barreling backwards through
a black hole of memories.
mid-winter ice falls
in sheets. everything groans
under frigid weight. nothing
stands without risk.
once it stops we emerge
on skates, eyes wide
with wonder as we glide
through tiny clouds of breath.
I believe
God spoke
to me when
I was young,
but now all
is silence.
Thomas said
the echoes
return slow,
but it was still
his voice
obscured
by the jagged
rocks on shore.
If God can
take the form
of the air
we breathe,
wait for echoes
to whisper love.
* Originally appeared in Awaiting the Images. This is a slight modification to the structure.
I remember the smoke
above the horizon,
spreading out until dusk
swallowed it whole.
People stared across
the plain, tested the wind,
wondered which way
the fire would turn.
But I was transfixed
by something invisible
attending to our sorrows.
* This poem is based upon a memory of a prairie fire near Littleton, Colorado when I was three years old. It is one of my earliest memories.
the first frozen
day and my whole
world is swallowed
in snow. quiet air
chills my bones
as i draw each breath.
exhale.
every grey puff
is winter’s sacred
meditation chime,
an invocation
of gratitude as time
fades quickly away.
Special thanks to Jamie Dedes for her Wednesday Writing Prompt. She graciously included winter offering along with the responses from other poets today on her blog, The Poet By Day. If you don’t already follow her, I recommend it.
Awaiting the Images 