dogtrax

Near the bridge, where the building doubles in reflection on the running water; our eyes doing a double-take

We're noticing the horizontal line where the real and the imagined connect near the bridge, where the building doubles

She leans over the wall's edge, to reach in for ripples, and I am there, beside her, in reflection on the running water

And above us, a heron flies, its shadow a specter on the surface of water, our eyes doing a double-take

for #VerseLove

The envelope, sealed, sits waiting on the counter, until the last day

for #VerseLove

Just A Ghost Of A Game

Every so often I think I hear the sound of a Whiffle ball on bat – imagine that – there's nothing there — only the faint memory of a run-down, rutted path the boys had built on the backyard grass, but even the trail of those tracks have disappeared - just a ghost of a game from over the years – so that now my wife and I are the only ones left in the stands with a wide window view bearing witness at the state of play — standing in the kitchen, remembering those days — years away from the excited cries of a home run hit with a blast, the whistling ball set sailing over the wooden fence into our next-door neighbor's yard, sneakers falling off darting feet - like a banana-peel cartoon reel - as they race on with a quickened beat: sliding, diving, arriving at home - our hound dog watching the whole show with a chewed-up ticket-stub rawhide bone

video version: https://youtu.be/_EpFduj0JQQ

Four small Cardinals dancing in half-time, inside the empty Ash tree

for #ds106

Four red Cardinals dancing in half-time, inside the empty Ash tree

for #ds106

These woods we know so well seem empty as we walk. I let her off the leash and now she is the lead, and I am the follower. I sense the river, swollen now with the early Spring rains and late Winter melt. She looks back, constantly, to make sure I am with her, and I am, with her, moving forward, noticing but never seeing the orchestra tumbling towards some distant sea.

A river roars through, out of eyesight but still, there, a voice, shouting: time

for #VerseLove

Just as the day rises, we're up and at it, early: birds with poems like worms

for Algot

Prepared Piano

You have to nearly crawl inside the rib-cage with the tools in your hand —

the Maestro will never understand —

Lean your body in to find the strings you hope to change

Lean out to press the key, to watch the hammers in motion, a simple machine

Each note, rising and falling:

a jagged edged hailstone a soft quilted cloth marbles on a kitchen counter top, one by one by one, dropping off

until the odd song, composed, is finally done

for Poetry In Motion workshop in Amherst, using Wedding Vows by Wyatt Townley as mentor text

I do love me a list of all the many things I need to get done,

and the satisfaction of my pencil scratching, 'cause it's one

less thing to worry about for the day; and now I'm on to something fun

for #VerseLove

I might write more in a day than I am able to do now - stories, poems, a novel, perhaps, even tackling that musical play taking up space in my mind - when I have more time; it just might happen, but who knows? Thinking on writing's a little bit different than doing the writing: some drafts just never get written

for #VerseLove