Across the augmented valley,
Dells unroll in melismatic musics
Harmonizing with morphing cloud shadow
A scent of mushroom and wet pine
Snakes through glades as a descant
With overtones of cinquefoil in sun
For the creatures of fertility Read More
Across the augmented valley,
Attention Writer/Artist friends: If you are a regular reader of this blog or if I have read your poetry on your site, and if you have books available in print, please leave brief summaries of your work in the comments and links to your preferred purchase method. Oh, and children’s books are more than welcome too. Thank you!
(Please do not promote your book here if we have had no interaction yet. Thanks for your understanding.)
Remember how after Tsewang and I wrote the bilingual love ballad with the first line being so intentionally cheesy because I only wanted to hear Karpu’s passionate ten year-old heart sing it, but his sister stated as a matter of fact, “No. He’s badly tuned.” And remember how after tea and before our long, bumpy cab ride to Swayambhu from the Nagarkot tower where Tsering Medo and Nima along with a couple dozen college kids hopped the barbed wire to stand on the gravity station to get the ghosts to come out, Joshua suggested to our party that we find a toilet. And Tsering asked with a naughty smile, “Little little or big and long?” Remember how on the sunny laundry day in Kathmandu, Read More
Where do I put this sequin when the sequence
Falls like notes from the cellar door?
On my knees searching on the dirty waxed floor
Hands graze gypsy mambo scuff-marks
And dirty martini olive-swords.
Candles glow in distant red bulbs,
My search waxes dim.
How does poetry save the world like God? Read More
Don Carlos, the professional classical guitarist from whom I rented a room in Medellín, asked if I would feed the five tortugas in the atrium paradise under the lime tree and bougainvillea, and then accompany him in singing Renaissance music. We spent the afternoon learning lullabies and laments, and after much digging through ancient sheet music, he found the treasured García Lorca song arrangements. Read More
The bus dropped the five of us exchange students at the far end of Tagong town on the Tibetan plateau. Packs on backs, wide open grasslands laid before us like our certain bright futures as Mt. Yala rose up Read More
Breakfast beating at the hunger hour. The cobbler ate clams and drank Meritage, and Charlie from California called us all ‘homies’ while the phones kept buzzing. Bzzz, and Tim with his mandolin and Levon with his grooving views on duty and Dao while the ball of sun-dried tomato/basil whipped butter sat there wuwei… They were billy goats gruff and I coveted their lack of sensibilities. Merv, that ancient free spirit of a shoemaker, wandered town as a troll at SnowDown and asked around about “them hill-billies.” Read More
Here we go ‘round the prickly pear, full circle needing prayer
Ashes to molasses, dust to suckling star dust
Sing your celebration, don’t compensate for your salvation
Only to look upon Creation and see what you must: Read More
Hey you over there it’s my birthday come have a beer don’t mind the Doberman, name’s Prince, and I’m RD and that’s Paula, Tom, and Chris, was best man in my wedding. –It’s my birthday tomorrow,– that’s when Geronimo died. He’s my people. –So you’re his seed still running around.– You’re sexy, I like your hair. Don’t see that except on TV. Yeah, RD, tell her how that song goes. Anaawakoto matabalula la… Read More