storm shaken

dawn storm
       interrupts
ritual morning walk

temple dog hears
the thunder rumbles first
looks to the sky
bolts

back to the safety
of home

a stuck poem

the poem
     small as it is
bounced and skittered
off the b-string
plink

now it rattles
like a lost pick
sound hole deep

sand

he said to bury my toes
wiggle 'em in the sun warmed sand
feel the tide reach in slow

I buried my toes in the wet damp earth
just some mouldering leaves...

no sand here



somedays the universe humbles you - and maybe that is a blessing - Peace to all you poets - 

Brother Ollie

scales

pentatonic scales
sliding around
reaching, searching,
finding the key
bending low gauge strings
looking for hidden half notes
hammering on
hammering off


deep in tired monk method

80% of the notes ring true
100% played passionately

hearts

a sad cycle repeated
a generational blood washed theme
from babies
to lingering grandfathers

more scalpels, tubes, purple scars
oh these sputtering hearts.

monk's tools

chip off the lingering rust
grind it
down
to a sharp sheen

refit the new sanded handle
in good n'tight

can't fix anything
with broken tools