Category: Book 1

(Poem #423 on new numbering scheme)

Solitude from crowds
is possible in cities.
I walk home at night.

(Poem #422 on new numbering scheme)

Es azul el cielo, pues...
pero no sin alegría.
Árboles prefieren gris,
porque promete la lluvia.

(Poem #421 on new numbering scheme)

So let's not speak of cities' meanings till
we understand their impositions, vast
and artful, such that dreams are burned against
the teeming complications landscapes have.

(Poem #420 on new numbering scheme)

I had a dream in which I saw
a scary giant snake
But then the snake got sleepy and
thus failed to stay awake.

(Poem #419 on new numbering scheme)

No tree avoids time;
trees MAKE time. They push out leaves,
bring the looming Fall.

[daily log: walking, 1km]

(Poem #418 on new numbering scheme)

Some poetry flows;
some fails to flow. The night air
is cooler these days.

(Poem #416 on new numbering scheme)

I look down the street.
I see the leaves of the trees
are starting to change.

(Poem #415 on new numbering scheme)

The woman sitting next to me at work
is very sad these days. Her sister's life
is running out because an alien
has moved in. Cancer's staked a vicious claim.
I guess she's not so happy seeing me.
She'll think, "But why was he preserved while mine
will perish? Does my fate abhor what's fair?"
I sit with awkward silence. What to say?

(Poem #414 on new numbering scheme)

Well-formed clouds progress
across the sky, pushed along
by the autumn wind.

(Poem #413 on new numbering scheme)

Hey, grab those verbs and make it happen - now.
Put nouns in too, to give it substance, please.
Then decorate with some nice adjectives,
and throw in function words as ornaments.

[daily log: walking, 1.5km]

(Poem #412 on new numbering scheme)

I like to see clouds.
My window shows them to me.
Outside, I look up.

(Poem #411 on new numbering scheme)

Nothing poetic
happened today. The sun shone
and a light breeze blew.

(Poem #410 on new numbering scheme)

The little girl's black shirt said "optimist,"
but she was frowning with the saddest face
that one could possibly imagine. So...
dad joked, but failed to get the least result.

[daily log: walking, 3km]

(Poem #409 on new numbering scheme)

The central part of Brisbane seems to me
not so unlike the kind of city found
across America; not famous ones
but rather boring cities full of cars
and buses and historic buildings now
just banks and farmers' kids who've fled their towns
because the dust and sun no longer give
them any hope - the city, though, is not
so big, yet people don't know who you are.

(Poem #408 on new numbering scheme)

Somehow entropy
reverses and can become
a morality.

(Poem #407 on new numbering scheme)

I walked on highways made from earth and smoke,
Congealed by time's long thoughtful discourses:
A dreamlike, dark assemblage faintly seen,
Engravings wide inscribed on broken stones,
Tectonic disputations, spoken gaps
Between the layers stacked up deep in dreams,
Abstractions merely cast away by stars,
Untouchable lost ages all arrayed
Like heaven's bland mementoes filed away,
And sun-slaked silt that's filled up ancient seas;
Constraints all drawn like lines upon a map
To paint the present's smooth soliloquies.

(Poem #406 on new numbering scheme)

An ancient blueness dwelt beneath the day;
and leaves were lifted to the sun and moon
without regard for what the earthlings say:
those moody trees might fly away so soon.
The cool green frog announced her patient tune;
a bird or ten sang songs in answer, then;
the stones partook with geologic swoon;
the clouds were only dreaming it again.
Some grasping stars told all the plants that when
they dared to push against the ground, arising
up heavenward like ghosts in unison;
they'd show the world their strength, uncompromising.
But plants are slow to act despite their needs.
And finally they only hum, just reeds.

(Poem #405 on new numbering scheme)

The spirit worshippers aligned themselves
against oppressive tendencies and sought
to bring about tectonic shifts among
the swaying trees of popular belief.

(Poem #404 on new numbering scheme)

Without those landmarks time can give,
unmoored from daily grind,
with ease I ceased to write my verse -
no blog posts came to mind.

(Poem #403 on new numbering scheme)

Did you perhaps think
that rushing water could go
anywhere but down?

(Poem #402 on new numbering scheme)

A wallaby is nothing more than feet
against the earth: aggressive pushing down
transformed to forward motion but without
the least conception as to reasons why.

(Poem #401 on new numbering scheme)

Impossible delusions flutter down
like moths disturbed in sunbeams raking air
and mornings then congeal to blobs of hope
that can't be tasted absent time's consent.

(Poem #400 on new numbering scheme)

I saw the bright moon
smiling down at the round earth.
And it saw me too.

(Poem #399 on new numbering scheme)

The night is darker
here under the world's round rim.
I think I'll sleep well.

[daily log: driving 175km]

(Poem #398 on new numbering scheme)

Just a metal box
hurtling along in the sky
among summer clouds.

(Poem #397 on new numbering scheme)

The sound of airplanes passing overhead
reminds me, passingly, of summers past,
when airplanes passed like youthful memories,
and mowed the air, and shortened history's arms.

(Poem #396 on new numbering scheme)

So, having issues that relate to guilt,
I thought I'd cope by setting sneaky traps.
The guilt would come, but guileless, gambol through,
when suddenly a guilt-trap would bite: snap!

(Poem #395 on new numbering scheme)

I stepped out, looking for the purple clouds.
A giant head was floating just above;
it sent out lines of force that underlay
the shape of space and warp and woof of time.

(Poem #394 on new numbering scheme)

Inscrutable, the god chose not to speak.
Instead, he hovered, watching all the souls
that sought him with their yearning eyes and hearts
and failed to note his mediocrity.

(Poem #393 on new numbering scheme)

The rain came through fast.
Is that the taste of autumn?
A moment of cool.

(Poem #392 on new numbering scheme)

A fragment of air
stalked through my room. "Listen, please,"
it whispered hoarsely.

(Poem #391 on new numbering scheme)

I slept and dreamed I took a trip.
I met a playful child.
He circled round just like a song,
recasting all as wild.