Caveat: Poem #949

Outside my window, western hemlocks
tower and confront the clear air
while stale snow begins to melt.
But in shadows it’s cool;
amid broad blue skies
there are all these

Caveat: Poem #946

Blue mooncraters embedded in ice.
Blue sky overhead making light.
Blue tickmarks counting the hours.
Blue ice, scored by the stones.
Blue, baroque bubbles.
Blue curvatures.
Blue, broken.
Blue thoughts.


Caveat: Poem #944

So I attempt to move ahead,
to set aside the brooding things,
but moods assert and dwell like dead –
like ghosts adrift on empty wings.
The spider webbing fills my head
with self recriminations, rings
of cloudy doubts and dreams, all led
across landscapes controlled by kings
who rule the shifting realms unsaid
and quite unsayable, till springs
snap shut and render into dread.
Perhaps in moving forward, then
I’ll figure out solutions. When?