Sunday

5 Poems from Exile in Paradise





Wind and Rain


“Out here in the woods few social affairs”
rush to town to make a hasty purchase
the fog just flowing over the hillside
stands of redwood and fir veiled in mist
as if emerging from the ovens of creation
the one walk I planned looked like rain
phone call I made went unanswered
family comes and goes like the tide
shopping school friends movies and more
keep them on the go fueled by petty
arguments and blind ambitions
there was a party or was it a dinner
rush of wind and rain made inconceivable
events over which I have no control
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Wild Onion


“Idly looking at winter aging in the garden”
wooly unkempt like me over a long weekend
much needs to be trimmed cut chopped raked
still heavy with rain row upon row of wild onion
water stained irises droop unfurled too soon
I tread carefully the leaf covered muddy path
deer gnawed strawberries haven’t come back
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Fire Season


“The sun high mist shrinks”
lower humidity broadcast
a warning not to spark
hence the leisure of my pace
the nap of tall yellow grass flat
in advance of a wicked wind
about as dry as my humor
hesitant applause of dead leaves
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When More Than Fresh Air is Needed


"Ducks in pairs drift on the morning river”
only remind me of my particular solitude
a fisherman wades out into the green water
orange jacket a stark contrast to somber tones
a mist hangs about the top of the tree line
low clouds form a soft indistinct ceiling
blackberries still red suffer the mild summer
yellow bus empty of kids returns to the yard
the lottery offers a chance to win millions
with odds about the same as finding true love
who would stand still for being struck by lightning
a neighbor’s gate sags rotted around the base
workers must gut the old building to make it new
my own house strangely transformed upon my return
inhabited by my family still I am home alone
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River Through Seasons


“It is a river fed by streams flowing west”
green in summer swollen brown in winter
blue heron nests above in a lean conifer
white egrets wade in the shallows
glossy headed mallards and brood
navigate the irregular sandy coves
a common willow feathers the banks
occasional kayak or canoe will crease
the scintillating sequined surface
the splash of bathers around the bend
or in late autumn framed in amber
and red gold of deciduous splendor
when no one is looking or about
in a bed of tall trees and tangled shore
it returns to its placid ancient self
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