This is Oregon
Her coastline a tattered skirt torn from the sea
Stiff boots of stone propping
Up the dear old lady and baring legs of old-growth wood;
Her ferns are showing but she doesn’t mind if you look.
Yea, no
After the last big
speech and debate game
more citizens started saying “Yea, no…”
“Yea, no we ate at McDonald’s.”
“Yea, no he hit a deer on the way to work.”
“Yea, no double binds suck but
whatcha gonna do?
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We are gathered
Beloved is the word
we share round
today’s wedding of
reader and poet.
We ring this word
hither and dear
with each waltz
into the microphone.
Unshod
If only man did not tether us
we would fly widdershins,
kick up clods at the sun,
make clouds of turf swirl round our heels.
Instead we pace and crib to get high
in the sterile gold stalls of Olympus.
Here the social feed smells mean
and riders mimic predators.
The Stag Horn and The Thorn: A simple stream-of-consciousness poem
The stag horn and the thorn.
The blood and the flood.
The rose and the crow.
The taste and space.
The touch and clutch.
The ice and the dice.
The eye and the sky.
The ear and the deer.
Life: An Open Mind Poem
Astral – Feathers of Light
Branches and Seeds – Silver Moon Reach
Trunk – Living Stone, Faery Door and Ring
Roots – Proceeding in Mother’s Shadow
Fruit – Circle of Golden Elixir
Flower – Perfumed Dust of Life
Leaf – Green Veins and Shade
Untitled Moments
She sobs like the storm clouds,
Loudly. Never ending. Rocking, rocking,
in the wash of the open faced, omniscient moon; with each tear,
it magnifies her (un) placed (un) heavenly beauty, reminding the God of
Eternity. For only a moment.
Where the Sidewalk Endsby Shel Silverstein
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
Sometimes a Great Notion
Living statues everywhere
mime the mighty act.
Pilgrims, smiling for posterity,
uphold the old tree of stone.
We almost didn’t come here
on this shiny day in Pisa.
Too cool for clichés,
we’ve seen zombie kitsch before.
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