2023, home and garden, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, winter

Day 29, 2023

What then, almost at an end
this month… we’ve had quite
the Fool’s Spring Prelude
our hopes lead toward
talks of the garden

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2022, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, river life, summer, the no-scape, work

the unscripted evolutionary track of night shift river critters

these nights a man might grow
back into a bird into a lizard
some feathered gator
razor teeth sitting waiting
that 2nd eyelid closed
at rest aware

it creeps up sudden-like
doesn’t skitter
no not some wharf possum
more like plodding focused

there is intent oh yes intent
the silent genes kick in
latent DNA manifests

you don’t notice
you’re not a man
you don’t notice
you’re resting
and your eyes are open
like a dog a hawk
a river lizard

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2022, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, summer

That feel of the knob and how it always skipped over channel 6

This season grows tired of me.

The rain, deceptively June or even late May, falls odd against the backdrop of the first browning leaves.

It always takes longer than in the movies — we remember seasons changing like channels on old tube televisions, ignoring the static of early September.

No I don’t once the meaning of every little thing. I’m just trying to focus

on just this one.

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