Tag: nature poem
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Each Morning Before Dawn
I wrote Each Morning Before Dawn after noticing how the small rituals of care—refilling a bird feeder, waiting for song—can reveal the violence beneath domestic calm. The poem began as a record of sound and silence, but it evolved into a meditation on expectation and dread. The mockingbird and squirrel became emblems of persistence and…
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Birds and Milkweed
Birds and Milkweeds emerged from a moment of listening—pressing my ear to my wife’s chest and imagining wings. The poem enacts the illusion of flight that love offers, and the beauty that remains after we fall. Butterflies and milkweed form a memento mori—not of grief, but of transformation. I wanted to write a poem that…
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The Cursed Land
Long the land watches for death or harvest amongst the lulling black mounds a slumber in piles, huddled so neatly without blankets from the shivering wind blowing meanly under the sway of the killing night’s climb. Underneath are all bones, life clutching the long tilled soil, the farmer’s harlot oft despoiled, denied wages, seeds…
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Gynandromorph
The gynandromorph exists in its own perfection in the middle of the branch, the center of all birdsong— two parted whistles ending in a slow trill; the right mixing of cardinal ZZ and ZW, brother and sister; enough inheritance to be rightly hued, but not enough to be brightly sung and thus forever mute. –…
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A bird flew out of my mouth.
“A bird flew out of my mouth”, my wife said, when I busped (half burp/half sigh), an exaltation of larks, a pause, stop, dash; a murder of crows, (probably chihuahan raven, the way my dog barked at me and questioned mark her body, maybe reading herself in the onomatopoeia of unknown syllables); a dole of…
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Ice
Ice – The ice in the gully flowed over the leafs boundaries – as clear and as unconfined as light and the water it always was, – a lick for a thirsty dear if not miles away, – ice almost alone melting naturally in the sun, – until a man waking his dog on a…
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The Butterfly Effect
The Butterfly Effect – The last Monarch Will still Flap its wings Aware of the Miracle Of the butterfly effect- – Knowing that The Greatest Sentence And worst sentence Is “I am.”