Saturday, November 15, 2014

Minding the Melt (A Sonnet?)

Minding the Melt

Walking without a wrap, despite my recent cold,
the morning air stings inside my tender nose,
and trees patter down so much melting ice,
they must be wringing out the moss
that coats the crotch and purfle of every twig.
A gray squirrel with his tail fluffed wide
skids in fearless leaps from leaf-patched grass
and scales the nearest trunk.

Above the scene, the November-angled sun spotlights
his fast acrobatics and embosses the glassy
chilled surface of everything – curbs, shrubs, puddles, mud.
The trees don’t seem to care who might venture under
their sagging limbs. They distill a private
rain song from last night’s freeze.

(Nov. 14 & 15, 2014)

Wednesday, October 22, 2014


After warm rains, a
brown marmorated stink bug
hangs on my bed stand.


Apparently these are an invasive species accidentally brought to the U.S. from Asia a few years ago. They are considered pests because they damage ornamental and crop plants. We're seeing a lot of them in the area right now.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Equinox (poem)


Soft, slender, pallid moon
untouched by cloying, custard clouds,
unmoved by graying steely sky,
unmatched for delicate features.

Acorns dropped on dusty earth
(to separate the brown and shade)
recall how fast the twilight fades
on a late September walk.

A dog breaks a stern note.
Ashen green and stony must,
the path is worn by summer tread,
by grass, by footprints, by twigs.

The measured hour has passed again.
Comes soon the starry dark
and brings the cooling, sweaty dusk:
no bird, no breeze, no rain.