poetry

Orionids: Lake Poso

Orionids: Lake Poso

on the dock
in the dark
I stretch out long
let the robe of stars
fall over me in folds

without seeking
I find him
the Hunter
a midnight visitor
from the familiar north

here out over the black lake
he’s different
not just a belt and shoulders
his features finally fully come into view
and for the first time
his bow is plain
clutched in his left hand
aimed over the water

before I can settle in
he fires a long streak across the sky
bright enough a trail of light lingers

I wait what feels like a long time
but the sky stays still

thankful for being at the right place
at the right time
for that one volley
I stand to leave
get my bearings on the railingless dock
then search the sky one last time
but fail to find his form

wondering was it dreamwork
a trick of the watery air
I turn back to shore
and he greets me again

of course:
prone, I realize,
I craned my neck
and found him there behind me

everything’s just as it should be –
pure magic

poetry

the joy of being sedentary

the joy of being sedentary

sitting still
in one place
going nowhere
doing nothing
being here
we discover
the sandpiper’s
loud whistle
and surprising
boat-gunwale
perch

poetry

ice: traveler’s temptation

ice: traveler’s temptation

the slick angular cubes and prisms
beg a tongue to lick and linger
to feel the polar opposite
of oppressive equatorial heat
thick with humidity, deferral, languor

don’t think about the risk
the bubble-studded beauties plead

and we weak temperate beings
succumb to their promise of cold
berak-berak be damned

poetry

defining concepts

defining concepts

terror:
the unpredictable unthinkable
happening to someone
you might love

anti-terror:
gifting stability and certainty
to someone
struggling to survive

*we are all beings in a ring*

poetry

turning off hate

turning off hate

one little step toward peace:
disconnect the loudspeakers

how much violence begins
as annoyance –
the simmering ire of being woken
when you just want rest?
the Christian dawn singalong
jars as much as the
Muslim call to prayer

in America
we have our own sectarian divides:
D vs. R
blue vs. red
north vs. south
east vs. west
white collar vs. blue
agnostic vs. religious
educated vs. working class
haves vs. have nots
(note the bias –
all my own assignments
stated first)

imagine if Fox News were broadcast
over speakers in Memory Square
or if my grandparents were forced
to take in a daily podcast
questioning their faith?

even good people break

silence saves our sanity

poetry

a path through the dark

a path through the dark

trekking in the dark
with no torch
I glide along uneven ground
follow the pale ribbon of path
keep pace with my son’s
pale calves below black shorts
try not to consider
snakes
do my best to noiselessly
fade into the grey

poetry

Palu Museum megaliths

Palu Museum megaliths

the thousand-year-old figures
show the body plain
and filled with power
fierce naked stone spirits
all eyes ears nose genitalia
perceiving generating nourishing life

Alex told me about the cadaver
what they do to help the students
view it as form not being:
cover the face (obviously)
but also the hands

the hands disturb them
when they wield the knife
too personal and desperate
too likely to move

every day everywhere
we learn what makes us human
all us apes gathered in a clearing
thinking about the ones before us
who chipped stone with stone
to leave for us these silent symbols
saying who we were

poetry

off the beaten path

off the beaten path

straddling intrepid and foolhardy
being brave yet reasonable
managing risk and reward
fear and amazement
like balancing black and white checks
on the temple guardians’
chessboard sarongs