Tag: the body


The Soul of Poetry

Please,
take me back
into the soul of poetry.
This is my prayer.

Geese fly overhead.
I hear,
I open the window to hear.
I open the door to see
countless, three long diagonal processions
one after the other.

Cold moves across my fingers.
The sun is low and red …
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The Last Bigfoot

raspberry patch
On Sundays, the last Bigfoot
leaves his mournful burrow,
secret life expanding
in Sunday's quiet
to invite footsteps
through the daylight,
across the small world,
and into the raspberry patch.

As Bigfoot plucks the berries
—ripe today, spoiled tomorrow—
the loss of the old Bigfoot gangs moves
not further into …
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The Wordless Place

On good mornings, I wake
and start with faithful work
to build the wordless place:
two mugs of coffee, two slabs of butter,
cushioned space where a body
can recognize itself.

I do not think
therefore I am not
a hero or a failure
or a laborer
or a mind …
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Rain

During this dry spell
watch this farmer.
Too much rain is depression.
Not enough
and with every passing rainless day
the smile grows hollower,
eye contact grows briefer,
and the movements of the body
grow rigid and clumsy.

In this sunny summer
I smiled,
I grew,
and now
I hope …
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Three Deep Breaths

Reading the news
and all the angry discussion
about which lives matter
enough to be angry about, particularly,
and which lives matter not
particularly but only beneath
a blanket statement of generalized compassion
(assuming compassion and prayer
are a zero-sum game),
I keep thinking
about my body
and about three …
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