The Undiscovered Country

We
are the uninvited jockeys,
thundering toward death,
through the last furlong,
untrammelled and alone,
not hearing the crowd,
nor giving the whip hand
to our slathering mount.
We know,
finally.

I love the winter,
how the year slows it pace,
I love the winter,
and how it stops
to look at the moon
through the bare
tree limbs.

Tellio boosted

I broke the road
to find some earth
so we could build
with the mud and the clay
and we all laughed
together.


@tellio

We Make This Road

We
suffer
under the assumption
that because
we talk & teach,
students listen & learn.
God laughed.

Who knows,
maybe somebody
just kicked out the cord.
Go ahead.
Plug it back in.
See what happens.

The cold
rings
out
like
one steel bearing
on
one
old anvil.

A Prayer

Dear God,
let my granddaughter
hear the cackle
of a pileated woodpecker,
let her feel
the belly of a corn snake,
let her know
the squeeze of our hands in hers
as we walk
toward the million spring peepers
in the wetlands
by the creek.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Let us
redeem
her world.

I have been alive almost 66 years.
I have been married 42 years.
Our oldest child will be 40 next year.
I have been teaching for 25 years.
I have been sheep farming for 25 years.
I have lived in the same place for 31 years.
Nowhere in that illegible catastrophe
Is there an interview question.

Busted. Threadweary.
I am that man on cardboard:
"Will work for respect."

@dogtrax

Blood on the poem's
margins
from all our teeth and lips,
rhymes and
tongue slips,
rhythms incarnadine
on fingertips,
paradiddle yawps
and yips.
Shout your own
songs,
spatter wordblood
from
your red ellipse.

Books remind us
of what we love,
ethical blazes
lit by others
banked
then stoked
every time we return to them.

Spine and margin and cover and leaf bursting to light and heat.

Paragraphs burning bright as meteors,
metaphors leaping as shiny as minnows,
our hearts
ardent
and
catalytic,
skimming
from page to page.

How will we survive
what no one knew
would come?

Who will we become?
What will we do?

We are uninvited guests
in an undiscovered
country.

And no one is coming
to save us.

Improvise.

The world
is swept clean
by the threshings
of poets.
Clear and sharp
as storm ozone.

Pan's Hour

At sunrise,
when the day is at the treetops
filtering through, 
all that's pending is revealed:

Spider filament
&
pollen
&
falling frass.

The smallest gnats
&
dragonflies
&
dew drips.

Life in freefall.
Unveiled.
Delivered.

Prime numbers never rust.
They are careless AF.
They don't know meaning.
Ever a broken heart.
Only knowing one art.

@dogtrax

Even though waltz time
is 3/4
It's still a perfect square,
the only even prime,
a two-step,
itself plus one dance two in four
Coupled.
Level.
Mirrored,
Symmetric.
Almost indivisible.
Now consider zero.
Dance to that beat.

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