Gita Quiet is your wrath, little cat. Marsupial-eyed, impassive, You sit like Rhadamanthus on his terrible throne. We beneath your crouching glare are Burdened by your malice— As you lose interest In us and Doze.
Cardinals Cardinal couple at the bird-feeder today, he all in red, she in orange-gray. They’re not like us, this mismatched pair, she on the snow below, he circling in the air. They never part but seldom unite, conjoined by love and freed by flight.
Dichotomy It was by our old garage door beneath a spot long favored by birds to build nests of mud and string. The neighbor’s cat had not yet found it, though by dusk its deathbed would be merely flattened grass and a tuft of down. Perhaps I had seen this one the day before, its … Continue reading A Sort of Dark Poem About Summer
A Meeting, Eventually It was a taking-away for you— eight years of Providence slow unfolding— like cloud-shadows passing over low, green fields— as the obedient soul yields to its story’s ending. Perhaps I shall yield as well at a point I cannot foretell— though you may see an altered course: a truck weaving up the … Continue reading A Mother’s Cancer, In a Poem
Early Flowers Pale purple crocuses crowd beneath the apple tree by the stone foundation warmed by a mid-March sun. April, I know, brings Spring but also snow, feather-flaked and heavy, bends the creeping rose low to the garden’s cheek. If the cold should come again, will the huddled crocus, mustering crowd of luminous stem and … Continue reading A Poem About the Early Crocus
With spring here, I figured I'd post another short poem—this one about a tiny purple plant. To Lithops Optica cv Rubra Merely two turgid leaves of purple— more haiku than sonnet. Yet, like Caesar’s Tyrian robe, there is grandeur in you. Note: The Lithops optica cv rubra is a south African plant no larger … Continue reading A Tiny Poem About a Tiny Purple Plant
So...I've never posted any poetry on this blog before. But before I turned to nonfiction and, more recently, fiction, I wrote a ton of poetry. Animals are one of my primary subjects since they seem so immune to the stressors that plague humans. I figure every now and then I'll post one of my shorter … Continue reading A Poem About a Huge Toad
Mostly I blame T. S. Eliot, though he’s not the only one. There’s Charles Dickens and James Baldwin, too. I could come up with lots more culprits, but there’s no need. The effect is the same. These are some of the writers whose work most inspires me. Yet the same extraordinary talents that produced The … Continue reading The Anxiety of Influence and Getting Over Yourself
When it comes to posting on my blog, I take my responsibility very seriously. I aim to post at least three times per week. I have a schedule that maps out five discrete but related content categories—or, as we call them in content marketing, pillars. I try to identify subjects that, while perhaps seen through … Continue reading The Delirious Art of Writing About Absolutely Nothing
This post is about T. S. Eliot, not about killing helpless marsupials. So don’t say I didn’t warn you. On a recent night-time walk in the Bloomsbury district of London, my wife and I came across the original location of Faber & Faber, the publishing outfit where T. S. Eliot worked for 40 years. Outside … Continue reading Murdering Old Possum