Milton Road Poem

attention drifts to a barren tree

...that's a big bird

an owl, a hawk, a  raven?

no

the head is blended invisible

into the grey November sky

a bald eagle

scanning for rabbits

along the cold creek banks

the season

macabre pumpkins melt

rotten orange goo 

between deck cracks

snow skiffs swirl

blowing a pinless poppy

into the ditch

newly unboxed lights

LED brightness beams

sparkle over new snow

fragments from the road

rearview make-up applied

gas pedal pressed to make up last time

stop signs rolled and full out blown

Lexus bumper suspended

with shredding duct tape

bent plastic fenders line the ditch

"kids" laying rubber out by the lake

Coors can rolling on the shoulder

beside the new black stripes

El Día de Muertos

a little wall hung shrine

golden framed photo

of a tiny one

born with a broken heart

ceramic knick-knack 

kept on display

for 45 years

cross stitched art

dates of birth and death

not a mote of dust

today - this 

el Día de Muertos

a new candle is lit

forest edge poem

bits of wood flying

from a dead tree hole

woodpecker

red squirrel

a porcupine?

masked face looks out

surveys the forest edge

yawns

curls back inside 

a long ringed tales

blows in the breeze

the fence

a few holes

here and there

rotted out cross beam

about to fall

whole section sagging

posts leaning

into the yard

tired monk approaches

tool belt over robes

boxes of nails, and deck screws

sawdust in sunlight

fresh new wood

(donated at that!)

fixed straight and true

lastly

the gate is rehung

latched up tight

and that's right

 

When you've got so much to say it's called gratitude
And that's right...

gratitude 

collected compiled

in a new leather journal

pondered

before one drifts to sleep

thinking back 

over precious moments

a smile

a laugh

a minute of peace, 

quiet solitude

or

spotted and appreciated

right in real time

constant

consistent

beautiful

gratitude

and that's right