28 April 2016


                                                     
                       so many mountains …

                                                    sudden april snow
                                                led to a slow morning
                                       i watched startled daffodils
                                             played a tune or three
                                                           and
                            (in search of some now-forgotten word)
                                            surfed the dictionary
                               a good old-fashioned hard-copy tome
                             i must have been meandering through the ms
                                                              and
                                    stumbled across “monadnock”
                           an isolated hill or ridge rising above a plain
                before i could say snowflake i was in new hampshire
                                         sometime wayback
              staying in the shingled guest cabin of friends of friends
                  all night i lay awake listening to pine-cones or critters
                             dancing falling dancing on the roof
                    in the early morning mist i stood by the door
                                looking at a new landscape
                                                        and
                                           mount monadnock
                     
                                                         now
                                              a few hours later
                                            the snow has gone
                                       the day too is almost over
                                                leaving me
               listening to pine cones and smiling at invisible mountains
                                          courtesy of etymology

          …………………………………………………………………………………………………………
                                

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21 April 2016


                                                        sheepish expression

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14 February 2016

Old Words With A New Picture Taken On A February Morning

09 February 2016

09 January 2016

30 November 2015



                         floored

                         perhaps a sign of age
             i stumbled through boxes of the past
       searching for things to forget or throw away
                               an old zippo   
     trinkets past their “best before” display dates
                 letters to which i never replied
                                       then
              amid all the other temporal detritus
                 i found papers left by my father
                              a poem or two
                birds forever still in a pencil sketch
                                         and
            a simple drawing labelled “snowflake”
                    i don’t know when he did it
                                    boy
                                teenager
                                     or
                               old man
  my skills with pencil or brush amount to zilch
                     it all looked good to me
                           but then i paused
            his snowflake had eight sides
                  the real thing has but six
                                     now
                my dad taught me many things
            where and when the trout will rise
                                 names
                                    of
                              butterflies
                                   birds
                                   and
                                flowers
 man i thought he knew everything about everything
                         this hit me hard
            (aghast at a blast from the past)
                                  then
           i remembered the artisan tradition
                        avoid perfection
           that deliberate errant stitch
         in the weaving of a Navajo rug
    the line which doesn’t reach around the pot
    the flaw which gives the soul the space to breathe
                           and
so it was with this reminder of a man long gone
                       not a fault
                           just
 a better way of seeing the whole picture

         ……………………………………

                                                November 2015



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26 October 2015

Glenbrittle Beach 26/10/15