Friday, January 31, 2025

End of January Notebook Fragments

 i. 

the pendulum is stuck
jammed up real good
rusted red

a shattered wooden shoe
a sabot
crushed in the gears

listen all y'all it's a sabotage

ii)

experience chart paper hangs
sun bleached
brittle
full of faded ink
           faded ideas

iii)

wild turkeys watch
safe
across the long icy ditch
lone coyote walks away
slow and steady
through new snow
on his long lonely path

rabbits run 
into the cedar thicket

iv)

F150 rumbles into the curve
black ice fish tails
tires shoot frozen gravel 

crows scatter
fly into barren trees
land on a rusted out
Alice Chalmers tractor

Thursday, January 23, 2025

The Monastic Heart 3 - Antiphons

mantras of the moment

bracketed off in 
ponderings and poems
maybe a little rough
Kerouacian pop Haiku
(or American Haiku)
messy dashy lines
capturing the thinnest
slice of a slice
of the never ending present
a few flaps
of a songbird's wing
flying to the next pine

mantras of the moment



Friday, January 17, 2025

The Monastic Heart 2 - Statio

Statio is the monastic gift of taking a deep breath between things. 


racing from here to get to there
traffic weaving chaos
busting verge of road rage
blowing stop signs
leaning heavy on the horn
yelling curses at the radio

a side trail
near the recreation path
looking down
a cold creek ravine
taking a deep deep breath
gathering my scattered heart

Thursday, January 16, 2025

The Monastic Heart 1 - Bells

The monastic heart is a  heart that goes through life on a wave of common time.

 a bell rings
attention is called
to this moment
a thin slice of a slice 
of the never ending present
in this micro moment
I think of you
and pray

Saturday, January 4, 2025

pond hockey

sounds in the forest
continuous popping growl
ice sharp steel shredded
then massive slapshot CLACK 
little voices yelling "goal"

sun sets early
slow snow falls
catching quiet on pine boughs

Thursday, January 2, 2025

these are poems

these are poems
pulled from
fading metaphor mist
deep pocket hidden
in phantom robes
words etched and spun
from a mustard seed
or a glimpse
out a frosty windshield

that's all we have here
poems