A little oasis lives in the city of man,
a place insiders drink to divinity.
Their libations skim the surface bare —
lauding scapegoats, mocking strangers.
Jesus
Barefoot, transient, swaddled in rags, born in a manger. Friend to the marginalized, the lepers, the homeless. The sick, the sad, and the forgotten. Radical Revolutionary. Peaceful leader. Turn the other cheek, Give the coat off your back. Wash the dirty feet of neighbor, stranger, and friend. Deliverer of hope. Lover of souls. Healer. Without […]
What Jesus smells like
Everything he ever laid a blue-veined compassionate hand on even the one with the spear that touched Him through a shaft of wood and a head of metal many of us are built like that dense and piercing killing that we’ve only just begun to love Jesus smelled like that like unrequited love and passion […]
Get a Life
Reflections on life overheard at the old Bill’s Tavern, the heart of
Cannon Beach, through the dark Mac’s brew and smoky fiddle wail
on a July Saturday night.
Forest Quartet
One of two old Sitka spruces,
The stately old lady we call Iluvatar
Shades the east side of the house.
Where roots meet earth, she is an altar—
To approach her, you must ascend.
Poem for Iraq
Iraq
I imagine you a desert flower,
succulent and needle-sharp
on the cracking white earth. The color
of mango, or a woman’s wet lips.
The Dignity of Decay and Dispossession: The Poetry of Travis Champ
As a teenager visiting Spain, I encountered a series of still-life paintings that astonished me. Instead of the usual perfect fruits laid out in state on starched tablecloths or gilded plates, galaxies of mold damaged these fruits, the tablecloths had been scorched in the act of ironing them, and the plates were cracked. I stood […]
Velella Velella
Say for example, that you are a poet, and you want to write about a particular type of purple jellyfish washing ashore on the beaches of the Pacific Northwest of the United States of America. And this particular jellyfish has a perfect name… Velella Velella. A poets dream. Say it aloud…. Velella Velella. Romantic, yes? […]
Elk
Elk
if i could smell what you smell
be led by scent
down capricious highways
intrepid
forlorn
ALIVE
10 часов — Ten Hours
It takes ten hours to get desperately lost in Olshanka woods, and find yourself again.
Lose your grandmother where the chanterelle inlaid trail weaves among blueberry fields.
Let the marsh have your boot.
Sob, wail, whimper. Say farewell to your life of 14 years.
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