farewell, 1995

virga-veiled sunset gleams greenly
Spring, too full of life
paints the sky.

bloated apricot clouds hang
in aqueous air
almost midnight.

Solstice light now for coven
witchy word women huddle
and prepare one of their own.

tell stories of bayous thunderstorms snakes
pirates and pigs
Strange romance.

funny things these heart
Strings
begin but never end.

later, mist shrouded moon
Speeds my flight home
godspeed yours.

to parched, foreign place
you will make it bloom
with your words.

Image by Gabriele Diwald via Unsplash.com

Published
Categorized as Poetry Tagged

Harbingers

We should have known.  All the signs were there.  The slow drift of feathers across the yard. The crow in the leafless tree, feasting upon the body of a songbird.  The relentless cold, even as the calendar advanced to days when the soft edge of spring should have cut into winter.

We ignored the dire portents.

Then a phone call.

Now it seems so odd to take out the garbage, bring in the mail, walk the dog, all while knowing you are not here.

Image by Charles Tyler via Unsplash.com

My Immune System

“What?  What is that?  Oh. My. God!  What did you let in?”

“It’s no big deal.  I just saw my doctor, it was time.”

“Are you kidding me?  It’s huge, it’s going to foul everything.  I’ll be cleaning up this mess for a week!”

“Calm down.  Why do you always make such a big deal–“

“Calm down!  Big deal!  How dare you.”

“Stop.  You’re giving me a headache.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side, you asshole!  You’re going to have more than a headache.”

“Why are you being so hysterical?”

“I’ve had it with you!  Five years ago it was shingles!  Now this!”

“Uhhhh.  I feel sick . . .”

“You bet you do.  And it’s gonna get worse.  Pneumonia vaccine my ass.  I’ll show you pneumonia.”

Image by Hannah Fulop

PS.  This is an imagined conversation between myself and my immune system.  It is not an anti-vaccination manifesto.  GET VACCINATED.  Even if your immune system is a wuss.  RA

 

As the Crows Fly

birds in flight at sunset

Each evening, one half hour before sunset, crows fly to roost

Copper light by strange alchemy turned silver on the black gloss of their wings

To light the moon or the night gold eyes of owls and bats

And to draw in the hapless moth for a midnight snack

 

Image by Diego PH via Unsplash

Haiku for October 29th

I enjoy my consciousness
he said, but then died
leaving us to enjoy ours

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Image by Chris Anderson courtesy of the Estate of Chris Anderson