Wednesday, September 18, 2013

THOUGHTS WHILE SITTING ALONG THE LOWER POTOMAC


Wind and waves hold power here;
resolute action is tidal.
Fish and crabs know nothing
about the left and right sides of aisles;
partisanship exists only with regard to bait.

Rivers and creeks are the corridors
in which history is made;
measured in bushels, and in the size
of jimmies, rockfish, and blues,
and the ones that got away.

The only monuments here
are stacks of crabpots and
piles of oyster shells;
an old deadrise sunk in a creek.
Marble is reserved for the graves
of watermen when they no longer 
go out in boats at dawn.

There is tranquility here—
found on the river at dawn;
seen as an eagle circles out over the water;
felt when easing a hook out of the mouth
of a fish too small to keep.

We may think all that is important
lies upriver, along grand avenues;
in meeting rooms and marbled halls,
but everything flows in this direction;
the lower pulls down the higher;
the way overcomes from below.

Monday, September 16, 2013

SUNDAY MORNING: POTOMAC RIVER


Waves lap gently on shore,
rise and fall slow along the jetties.
River nearly flat, in contrast
to Saturday’s whitecaps.
Windsocks at end of pier hang down.
Heron presides from atop pole,
watches the river,
as do I (from the porch),
me waiting for fish,
he, for words.

Friday, September 6, 2013

Two Poems in Free State Review

Issue number 2 of the Free State Review has been out for a couple months, but I am just now getting round to posting that I've got two poems in the issue:  "I Was Priest to Your Confession" and "The Potato Eaters."  You can find the Free State Review on-line here.  To read the poems, you'll need to pick up a copy of the journal.  I'll post the poems to this blog eventually, but for the time being, the wonderful editors at the Free State Journal need to make a little money.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

IN THE CENTER OF HONG KONG I READ TU FU IN CHEUNG KONG PARK AND WRITE A FEW LINES





Water flows over stone terraces;
through man-made pools.
Waterfalls soften the sound of traffic
on the Queen’s Road down the hill.
A savior breeze flows uphill;
cools me on this humid day—
a gift from the gods at Man Mo Temple
where I lit incense and prayed.
I could say this is a beautiful place
if only you were here.

IN MAN MO TEMPLE IN HONG KONG, I LIGHT INCENSE AND PRAY TO THE GOD OF LITERATURE

In Man Mo Temple
I light incense sticks
and place them with care
before the altar--
the first for the heavens,
the second for the earth
and the third for myself,
to bring completeness
and harmony.

And what of the words I write?
Smoke on a white page.