Poems for Workshop

Tuesday

Quickly descending the wet concrete steps
A family of crows emerges noisily from the grass
my foot in a shallow puddle goes pish
earthworms stranded on the sidewalk


Walking quickly

As I drink coffee I get hot
Looking at you make me hot
it is hot inside but cold outside
inside my body is hot
if I were cut open I'd steam
like my hot words in the cool air
as we walk quickly
throught the light rain

Smoke and Seashells

Seashells and cardboard masks,

the old farmer picking

grapes, mines full of smoke.

Birds drop into the sea, rolling

down thermals, and all crumbles

over nothing.

Our goal is creation,

our destiny may be

the honey and the milk.

On the edge the land is

constantly crumbling,

cascading in the cold sea.

I pick at the sand

in search of little seashells.

I like the oval ones that

shine all copper in the sun.

They stole it, the black

letters, black caps and silver

badges. Towers like treetops

fill the city skyline. Smoke pours

out of the window where

a woman in a white apron leans out,

to catch the letter on the breeze,

the letter from her lover, gone

to Louisiana last year,

that magic letter written on metal foil

that shines all copper in the sun.

Toasted America with Rice

Old Spanish nun,

where are your eyes?

The necklace of the holy

in the stern golden garden

No one here looks angry,

The blue square in the silver sky

Tower of babble,

go to sleep world America!

The din of continually failing

Communication, each meaningless cry

A different pitch, same drawn out breathe

Quiet poet sitting in the dark corner

What are you writing?

The rhythm of steps and

The angle of the eyes

My ragged cap and

A bottle cap on the concrete

The troubling fetus

each day our people birth us

troubling news on the table

next to toast and eggs