11/30/2020

 Things That Fall Out of My Pocket

 

A Field Guide to the Birds of North America

I intentionally drop that to flaunt

my false scientific credentials

 

blackberries from the Appalachian Trail

dried in the sun, set aside for a necklace

for my sweetheart, I wonder will she wear it

 

ice water from a North Carolina waterfall

distinct from your garden variety kitchen

freefall faucet floundering

 

keys swiped from a desk drawer

meant for Yale locks and gates

but you know all about gates

[RK, 11/30/2020]

Things I Carry in My Pocket


Numberless, half-remembered resolutions.

Flint and pyrite: fool’s gold.

Charcloth, charcoal, and touchwood.

A tinderbox set with a burning glass,

lighters, and lucifers.


[LSS, 11/30/20] 


Creative Outlet


Unplug the lamps, the clocks, 

and all of the appliances. 

The walls should listen too 

to that lovely music you 

haven’t played in years.

[LSS, 11/30/20]


11/29/2020

 Persephone (Your Octopus Heart)

 

This pomegranate I cut into has seven chambers

and I question how many months you  

must remain in the underworld, each year

 

four, six, seven, and then I google octopus

remembering something about how they have

three hearts, and how the systemic heart

 

tires easily, as you must tire when you

drag yourself up from down under

year after year after year

[RK, 11/29/2020]

 

Collateral

 

your cell phone aimed at my stained palm

tart unripe blackberries mixed with

the sugared fruit you stuff in a pie

 

overcast bears misread our footprints

run critical eyes over recently cleaned

pink Depression glass plates, collected

 

collectible, used as collateral against

pennywhistles, tin drums, soprano

saxophones bleating an arpeggio into

 

the cedar three ring wax wing, hovering

above the Ganges, Nile, Mississippi

Amazon, Indus, Danube, and Yangtze

 

rivers, muddy shores lined with almost

human-like footprints, the picnic hamper

dishware is a dead giveaway

[RK, 11/29/2020]

Rhetorical Device


I am not prepared

to tell you where

I have hidden the parts 

of your machine, 

which I dismantled today

while you were away

at the philosophers’ 

convention.

[LSS, 11/29/20] 


A Jury of Trees


Peaceful and still, waiting

for nothing, 

silent,

their only job to listen

to the evidence, 

meditating,

preying on the words 

I lay before them.

[LSS, 11/29/20]

11/28/2020

Espris de Corps

The troupe have only just now 

finished licking clean their plates 


for the spinning act the dancing bears 

have been working on to welcome 


the road-weary cedars to the big-top sky.


[LSS, 11/28/20]



The Snake in the Dark


The existential

will to communicate 

eating its own

glass tail.


[LSS, 11/28/20]

11/27/2020

 Bears

 

four and twenty blackberries

caked onto the waiting sky

sliced wide open, dripping

juice stains on linen

 

a one man band follows you

sops up wet pie crumbs

trailed through kitchen, yard

forest, past your forever gate

 

thicket, brambles where you

ramble unhindered among

trampling bears who render

and validate your language

[RK, 11/27/2020]

 

 

Tornado Watch

 

we waited and watched

the sky darkened

nothing happened in the sky

in the sky nothing

could happen, the lake frozen

unable to reflect the nothingness

of the outside, or the somethingness

of the inside

[RK, 11/27/2020]

When No One Is Looking


After she gobbles down the blackberries,

she picks the thorns and seeds from her teeth 

and bakes them into a pie.


[LSS, 11/27/20]

11/26/2020

 The Question About the Broken Plates on the Lawn

The cedars must have borrowed them 

to practice their plate-spinning act 

before running away with the circus.


[LSS, 11/26/20]

Your Blackberry Roman Á Clef (after Romance Novel)

 

chapter one lays out the groundwork

by turns, friable, loamy, overlain

with mouse footprints

 

chapter seven delves into character development

the antagonist is made human

through a single selfless action

 

chapter eleven our heroine, protagonist

flutters about the thorny patch partly

trampled down by thoughtless bears

 

chapter twenty-two a throwaway moment

from chapter three shudders into sharp relief

the narrative suffers repeated setbacks

 

chapter thirty-eight’s plot lines tangle

fast and precarious, leaving the reader

uncertain of who to cheer for

 

the penultimate chapter describes a resolution

of sorts, in emotionless detail, the woods

around her house offer solace and safety

 

chapter one thousand and one she crushes

blackberries in her hands, gobbles them down

when no one is looking

[RK, 11/26/20]

 

 

Fear

 

a stingray, a silver dollar sized

silver fish, kingfishers rattle above

playful cormorants dart beneath hulls

 

overarching mangrove trunks, tangled

roots, shallow intercoastal communiques

mangled by a cell phone photo map

 

unfeathered paddles whack branches

every plus and minus balanced

even though balance is improbable

[RK, 11/26/20]

 

What You Heard Me Say When I Said Yes

 

I’m not sure

do I have to?

it doesn’t need to be like that

is that what you want?

I disagree

what are the options?

I don’t want to

is there an alternative?

I don’t like it

[RK, 11/26/20]

 

 

Slipping Away (after Combing the Beach)

 

eddies left by paddles

a bare choppy sea lit

inescapable light, lingering

 

long after the passage of boats

what remains unsaid, measured

with cracked gray oysters

 

clinging, surrounded by gnats

here on the rising tide, rising, 

floating, and falling,

 

rising, floating, and falling, 

rising, floating, and falling, 

falling, falling.

[RK, 11/26/20]


Root, Trunk, Limb, Twig, Flower, Fruit

 

one of those winding conversations

without beginning or end, for example

our mutual distain for a consumer life

lmade easy by a dependence on oil

 

viewpoints which join us at the hip

while the unspoken stories remain

tangled, sixty year old roots hidden

in split rocks and sludgy clay

[RK, 11/26/20]

11/25/2020

 Things That Happened Today When I Was Not Paying Attention


On the way to pick up my order from the farm, I missed my turn because I was listening to an interesting story on the radio.


The view from Maxwelton Beach where I turned around was nice: white caps and beach walkers and a tomorrow-is-a-holiday mood.


When I arrived at the farm, the interesting story was reaching the end, but I forgot to sit still for a moment longer to listen to the final words.


My produce order was not ready yet. I had forgotten to note the time before leaving home.


But now here is your poem with the truncated list at the center of my attention.


[LSS, 11/25/20]


Late One Late November Afternoon


She’s using stencils 

to ink some letters 


on the unprimed canvas 

of her summer dress. 


She’s using all the numbers 

and all the symbols too. 


The number eight 

and the cents sign 


lie exhausted on their sides, 

asking when it got to be 


this dark and why can’t she

just go away and leave them 


to their private language.


[LSS, 11/25/20]

 

One

planning to be without

the group I once joined

then turned away from

one map, one bicycle, one

[RK, 11/25/20]

 

 

I’m Forwarding This with My Original Comments

messaging and emails make it easier

to make more mistakes, imagine more

misunderstandings

[RK, 11/25/20]

 

 

Worrying About Things that Could Happen When I’m Not Paying Attention

house painters trampling the garden

flat tire at night on a rural state highway

bears following for no apparent reason

lightning charges burning out a router

 

changing affections

loss of friendship

prostate cancer

death

 

the list naturally truncates itself

[RK, 11/25/20]

 

 

Did You Do That? (after I Never Do That)

I stitch together paper and canvas, paint and pencil

(did you do that?)

yes a long time ago

(it doesn’t really count anymore, does it?)

there is a glow in the ashes

(you can’t eat ashes)

one does not eat memories, one handles them gently, like ghosts, or roughly, like rugby.

(where are your philosophical and mathematical proofs?)

at the side of the road, with my ideals

(that must depress you excessively)

let me be more exact: at the side of the road, two thousand ninety-one miles and eight thousand and thirty days behind me

(did you do that?)

yes a long time ago

[RK, 11/25/20]

 

 

Awareness (after Taking Down the Screens)

the implied line of defense

provided by window screens

when damaged and removed

 

the importance of yard lines, septic tanks

roof tar, weather stripping, locks,

bolts, clean gutters, a secure mailbox

 

snail mail, social media messages

telephones, correct email addresses

the commitment between just two

[RK, 11/25/20]

 

 

Bread (after Common Ground)

will we break the bread?

only if it is made from rice flour

 

language will connect us? yes or no?

confrontation is part of communication

 

agree to disagree?

the easy way out!

 

is there a gluten intolerance?

very well then, I contradict myself

[RK, 11/25/20]



How To Draw Exactly What You See


the horse has four legs

or does it?

there are three vanishing points

or are there?

the saw-whet owl’s eyes face forward

or do they?

autumn leaves are

or are they?

photographs never

or do they?

this is what you

or was it?

[RK, 11/25/20]

 

 

Distribution (after Diagnosing the Problem)

how many bags are needed

to solve the luggage problem of distribution

 

how many jars of peanut butter

did we bring

 

why do you question my desire

to photograph a stack of drying dishes

 

the dishes are part of the distribution

of elegantly packed memories

 

I throw your need for appropriate behavior

upward, it revolves around the earth

 

moments are spent awaiting

the solution of orbital decay

[RK, 11/25/20]

11/24/2020

 

Number Nine (first version)

 

the flooded trails and single vulture

shorn of clouds and raccoon paws

 

squelch the mud, rise the pine

charred by lightning, testament

 

the fool, the star, the three of swords

unseen fox in daylight passes

 

bench number nine, discussing how

commitment follows up conviction

[RK, 11/23/20]

 

 

Number Nine (second version)

 

sandy hummocks, charred slash pine

flooded roads and insect lull

 

elusive scent of cow and mud

vulture tease and hunger glow

 

lazy ease of wind sea tree

dove and jay a thousand wings

 

sun that leaks of ice and please

climb back up onto the road

[RK, 11/23/20]

 

Room 235


drinking adequate coffee

perched at the edge of a dry tub

in a motel writing this

temporarily it makes sense

 

inexplicably the water

quivers in a gallon jug

from an unknow tremor going

through the building

 

plastic curtains, a window the never opens

climate controlled generic furniture

the all-important fire evacuation route

clearly posted on the door

 

two towels smell of

a remembrance of times past

something colorful melted in a drawer

the missing Gideon Bible

[RK, 11/23/20]

Romance Novel


She never could just be 

walking to the library 

to pick up a book on hold 

when she could be 

ripping through the brambles, 

shredding her sleeves and skin, 

leaving a story behind her 

for the other pedestrians 

to read along the way.


[LSS, 11/24/20]



I Never Do That


I never make doors out of paper with dental floss hinges. 

They never stay closed.


And just this morning, one blew open and fell away completely.

I had to make another paper door.


[LSS, 11/24/20]


11/23/2020

 In Case of Emergency Break Glass


Nail Night Sky directly to the wall. 

Forget about all of the old framing devices. 


This piece will never be finished, 

and you’ll just have all that extra work 


sweeping away the glass in the morning. 


[LSS, 11/23/20]

11/22/2020

 

Out, Out, Out (after Signal)

 

“I burnt my finger on the oven element. I never do that.”
“Run cold water over that.”

“I think it’s a first degree burn.”

“Cold water.”

 

next day the slight discoloration has vanished

I didn’t care even though you cared
it was

turned around, turnabout, turned over

and out, over and out, over

and out

[RK, 11/22/20]

 

 

Does What You Want Make It Important?

 

we spent the day working out our writing

for a friendly impromptu reading

our engineer reveals the soul

of a poet, knocks us down with simple words

our nurse winds through the

echoes of academia and medicine

our teacher reaches for the

ineluctable universal wonder and

shows a predilection for internal rhyme

I unravel a list of what, when, who, and why

leaving off the impossible ‘how’

 

what species of tree is that?

when was this road graded into the mountain?

who moves between past and present effortlessly?

why did we and we and we and we connect?

how [imitate a raven with crossed, flapping hands]?

how [changing facial expressions]?

how [sailboat sail filled up with wind]?

[RK, 11/22/20]

 

 

Palimpsest

People Passengers wait choose

to live out a strange lives house 

for the missing are always with us chauffeur 

to arrive. arriving and never leaving

 

Out on the street, 

people choose to a different passenger 

boards a bus 

they step over and finds the driver 

asleep on the floor.

They end up going nowhere.

 

Meanwhile, you fail forget 

to get time off for exemplary behavior the train

when you reach

your destination

and end up they force you to back up

back to where you began.

arriving and never leaving

[RK, 11/22/20]

Rough Draft


Her tongue flicks 

a figure to life 

and draws a chair 

to the table, 

inviting it 

to share her lunch 

and patiently wait 

for the others 

to arrive.


[LSS, 11/22/20] 

11/20/2020

Running Out of Things to Count


Squalid squab and dirty pigeons 

roosting in abandoned places.

 

Burned-out houses, rusty bridges, 

silos filled with rotting grains.


The counting outs 

we teach ourselves 


so we can fall asleep.


[LSS, 11/20/20]




The Shapes of Seeds and Nuts


One must not confuse 

the tender pepitas 

snuggling one 

into the another 

inside a fleshy 


squash with these 

lonely walnuts 

forever insisting 

on maintaining their 

brainy distance.


[LSS, 11/20/20]

 

Not Rhetorical At what point  does what you  are looking for  become what you  are looking at. [LSS, 3/23/24]