Daily Archives: February 9, 2022


THE SHOCK of it.

A mother telling her son: “My son, I won’t let you go to California.”

A young man carries her baby all day long in slings telling him to grow.

Music is ringing into an empty silent room
: a woman lost to grief; and a boy unable to place her
and then her voice and him singing a hard melody, so darkly ironic.

A little singing voice sounds in the distance about a fist coming down hard
on her right breast which hurts beyond words —

: a shadow on the porch

a young woman
a single mother —
chasing blackbirds;
a ghost.

Damp gravel slush raining down on a wood tree, big as a house
covered with silk flowers.

A light touches its branches, fades:


Mama cries: “Can you make a fairy home out of this?”

“Yep,” I say —

“that’s what I do all day.”

burned bird: the bird must go

(She alone will turn my face to this flame)
bunch of very small black bodies: flocking, in a shadow
of magic, so small, they see their souls away across the ocean
within bird-wings is a full moon.


HUNTING BOY at the butcher

pink of his heels: she hands him

the armful of feathers

of a dead hawk’s nest,

“now,” she says,

“a nice plumy body and yellow bill.”

// :: 02.09.2022 :: \\


Yeah, a small green valley where blood runs slow
said the little voice inside

and oh so alone long strands of silver on bright
grass alone

SCREAMS the young soldier

with opened mouthed, a mud pillow of ferns beneath
his head

CRASHING terrorizing sounds of death
long-body stretched in heavy undergrowth

Ah, woman. You leave me as i die among flowers
: an infant smile — gentle without gile.


:: 02.07.2022 ::


The boy is working very quickly now, Mariketa; very fast.

A blue light spreads through the garden, enough to make the plants wilt but not kill them.
He’s collecting knowledge so quickly, Mariketa, that we’ll lose our advantage.
He’ll get away, Mariketa.


He thinks that the white wolf can control a dark servant; and we’d lost our one such, the Butcher.
Can he?

We need to send the boy back to die.

She’s talking to me through the Wolf of the North.
The Butcher of the Red Brotherhood, the Butcher that should have been destroyed years ago, that he should have killed years ago …

The Wolf was silent.

The Trollocs have the field.

I feel them move on the far side of the river, not too far.
Can they turn that loose, to come on here?

No, I don’t think they can.

Their beasts can’t cross the river with their backpacks and soldiers and equipment.
The wolves are too small.

I can sense the other beasts moving in the distance, hundreds of them, coming to the caravan.
It’s a war party, a massive one.

The wolves, though, cannot cross the river.
How large is the caravan?

I don’t know.

I only know that the Trollocs are looking to turn loose a good many beasts here.
He makes a move with his head, as if nodding to her.
He’s saying, “We move the battalion, take these beasts and flee.”
So he’s gone.

I let him go, Mariketa.

He will take the unicorn.

I sense it.

His demise is only a matter of time.

The land is left over, the Grey-Jeweled Queen, and the River Raedah.
No others come to us.

The three armies turn and march back toward the tents.
There, the work starts all over.

The army camps downriver has retreated to the riverbank, providing a covering fire to turn back the Trollocs on the road.

The tents are ready, the tent troops and riding troops have been gathered.

Tales and councils are given to the men to get them moving.

The fires were taken out as soon as the supplies were unloaded, and the area is being kept dark.
That means this part of the plan is at last done.

:: 02/07/2022 ::


LONG winter days
then City nights
Unplowed fields
full of snow
lit by millions of lights

Wearing tears from living
Wonderous painful life
Not sure what it’s suppose to be
Oh love if it’s not the world
then it must be me

A lover first for words
i believe in paragraphs of
discovering me; a lover’s thirst
for humanity —

the poet does not envy
does not boast
and is never proud

without a pencil we crumble
toward the ground____
the paper; a scroll of the soul
for all eternity.

:: 02.09.2022 ::