New poem at Kumquat Poetry

My poem "Four Geographers Find the Quintessential Baltimore Rowhouse" was published today on Kumquat Poetry's website.  The Kumquat editor described it as "delightful"-- it's a quirky little poem, much like the city in which it's set.  And, it's based on a true story.  Four of us geographers set out on a trek through Baltimore to find the quintessential Baltimore rowhouse.  Well, okay, not quite a trek.  We were four geographers who knew Baltimore very well.  We started our search in Highlandtown, walked maybe two blocks, and quickly found the house that met all the conditions we'd established:  painted screens, formstone, ceramic cat, marble steps.  The old woman in a house dress was an added bonus.    She did complain to us about her neighbors, thinking that we were from the City government sent out to investigate the complaints she'd been lodging.  When we explained we were only four geographers from the University of Maryland, she stopped for just a moment, then continued telling us about all the problems her neighbors were causing.

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.

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.

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.

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.

WHAT WONDERFUL DAYS THESE ARE

Mary Townsend Ratcliffe, Marshall County, Spring 1859

Spring has returned to the prairie.

The sky is a beautiful cornflower blue,

the air still more cool than hot,

and my family is happy and healthy.

John plows like he’s cutting glass,

absorbed in the precision of his work,

stopping only to run

the black soil through his hands.

I tend to the garden,

pick daffodils and jonquils—

narcissus poeticus and jonquilla—

to brighten up the kitchen.

Tonight, when the boys are asleep,

John and I will go down to the creek

and wash the day’s toils from each other.