The Nature of Horses

The Nature of Horses

they live in

          fractious   behavior

when he paws the ground,

          she responds in kind

although he may be-

          well suited for a wide range of uses

                    

with obvious stallion physique,

                teasing, wild play, posturing,

it is somewhat amazing

               (and i could be mistaken)

these tendencies toward

                breeding

will eventually with age and time

                naturally

calm them as they graze   

                under a night sky

The Death of Roscoe

I look at him

He looks at me

I cry.

By the refrigerator

I watch him

He waits

He sits by me. 

He lies on me

His heart has a tiny beat

His tail is is tapping

I touch his bumpy spine

I say I love you

His eyes squint a little

He sleeps

He staggers a little

I look at him

He looks at me

I cry. 

Last Fall

Geese move in and out of formation in shimmering ribbon

Tied and crossed over, wrapping the sky.

Yes, I asked to be cleansed of judgment day

and what binds me now is loosened in the north pointing arrow

my hardest heart lifted and the sun comes through the gray clouds.

Dear God I asked them all the family stories, and see

that this could be lifted out by the roots.

Bare

There's a deer pounding down the snow with hooves, 

and my gosh, sometimes you just gotta lie down,

bend, tuck, collapse into the bare white bed of winter. 

Cinderella's New Year

My mind thought with my eyes,
it might be better for me this morning.

I barefooted around the kitchen,
opening and closing drawers
full of Knives, Forks, and Spoons.

How truly alone is it to wish for a prince.

Counter crumbs are for small mice.
Dry roses curtsy in a vase.
Stale champagne is poured down the sink.

The day has too much heaviness to be
the start of a new year.

The little cocktail

August says here is the way,

take small portions of sweetness

like the little bees on the Black Eyed Susan.

A hummingbird moth hung in midair 

flicks at high speed to the next

tiny dip of summer nectar.

Wands of wavy Buddleia blossom

are suckled by the upside down

butterfly with the blue eyes. 

Ripe color is greedy.

A yellow ribbon snake wraps

the black iron of the garden gate. 

Dear one, you thought you were missing it, the fleeting

moments of brightness, each moment 

tallied together as a summer. 

August says, here is the way,

take small portions of sweetness,

sip the little cocktail while you can. 

The 4th of July

Poetry takes space and well I

have so little of that.

It’s the 4th of July and I’m

considering freedom.

And the box I live in and 

the box I will leave in.

God’s eye above must

see me swaddled in

Striped sheets, soft

fur and purr sunrise.

Wonder what

I will do with my free will today.