Orange sky, red ground
Climate is getting warmer
This is not a dream
sky
Buzzards (a 6-word story)
Bullet (a poem)
I wake before dawn and think
how I’m different from yesterday
and the day before that,
each day, hour, minute lurching
closer to a murky grave,
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Pull the Moon Down (a poem)
Silence of Winter (a poem)
the silence of winter is not
such a terrible thing –
graying snowbanks by roadsides
reduced to slush & a thick sky
cold & like the finest cotton,
naked trees, dying leaves
hanging for dear life
reminding me of sledding down
icy hills, red plastic breaking
leaving shards to be buried below
like black bears snuggled in
warm caves
(Photo by Fabrice Villard on Unsplash)
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Yellow Moons (a poem)
be careful, son
don’t delve into
too much mystery
it’ll consume you
pray to yellow moons
inky-black skies
howling wolves
green wilderness
cycles of rebirth
summer turns to autumn
the land sustains us
be careful, son
& brave
(Photo by Izabelle Acheson on Unsplash)
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Orange Sky (a poem)
Desert sands of deception
flames of futility
growing in the wilderness
under an orange sky
baking us at record temps –
Our Planet is dying
screaming, crying
and she’s angry.
(Photo from Insider.com)
Note: This poem was a meditation on the wildfires happening in California right now. I haven’t read much about them, but I do know that much of it is being caused by the increasing damage of man-made climate change.
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The Blues (a poem)
Bask in nighttime blues
stars dot the sky like flecks of white paint
Mothers moan for lost children –
we want rhythm, but not the blues
the aqua blue of deep seas
the blackened blue of bruised eyes
the blues guitar of the Mississippi Delta
the crystal blue eyes of your lover –
sing the blues, young one
sing ‘em while draped in a blue dress
drowning in muddy waters.
(Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash)
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Rock Bottom (a poem)
Alcoholics like to talk about rock bottom –
the moment they recognized the bottle is filled with lies
the moment when they open their eyes
+ know they don’t have to drink anymore
I hit bottom in a rehab far from home after unkind words
from a social worker who told me
I was running from life – but that’s in the past
I’m still running, I know not why
the sky is falling, fireballs shooting like comets
+ I think this recovery thing is never over –
it’s a life-long process that can’t be defined
by our constant categorizing.
(Photo by Adam Wilson on Unsplash)
