Tag Archives: poems

Evening Poem, February 2, 2022

I recently had a conversation with an old friend who had just bought a copy of the novel I published over 20 years ago. I hadn’t looked at that book in a very long time, so I picked it up … Continue reading

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Morning Poem, February 2, 2022

(I actually wrote this one a long time ago, but I remembered it lately and, after all, it is Groundhog Day, so let’s do it again.) – The people of Hot Springs, Arkansas Don’t have no cares about nothin’ at … Continue reading

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Afternoon Poem, January 19, 2022

Pappaw kept a lettuce bed behind our house There was a little rectangle of soil between the back wall and the alley Shaded almost every way He dug and hoed until the dirt was fine as sand And rimmed the … Continue reading

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Morning Poem, April 28, 2021

First thing I hear is the sound of a train Did it wake me? I know its route It comes out of the south Will it take me? It bellows and moans, like a calf in pain.

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Evening Poem, March 25, 2021

. At twilight the great birds gather In the naked sycamores Their black wings rasping as they move From branch to branch Now they lift slowly As if through water Their wing whispers multiplied Wild and magical sound of blessing … Continue reading

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Mid-Day Poem, April 25, 2020

The dirt on the head of the mattock Has been there since who knows when I don’t think Pawpaw has used it since they moved here That was before I was born. But I lift it from the wooden workbench … Continue reading

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Evening Poem, May 6, 2018

The sky darkens And the air grows light It’s mid-spring and mid-evening A star here and there in the long heavens And the very last of the birdsongs . The blossoming dogwood Is incandescent in the twilight As if it … Continue reading

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Evening Poem, May 6, 2018

The sky darkens And the air grows light It’s mid-spring and mid-evening A star here and there in the long heavens And the very last of the birdsongs . The blossoming dogwood Is incandescent in the twilight As if it … Continue reading

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Morning Poem, April 26, 2018

     It doesn’t matter What I do It’s never quite Enough for you.   copyright 2018

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Coldwater Morning

The crimson birds flit From stem to branch In the bright, brittle morning. Across the gentle slope behind A fine sheet of frost Glows faint like a ghost Disappearing into mist In the rays of the silent sun. . Who … Continue reading

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