You can’t write good til
you’ve written a lot of poems
Here are the bad ones
Coming
We aren’t under the
tornado warning,
at least not officially,
but I can hear the sirens
from a long way off.
Like any whistle blown
in advance of a train.
The protests sound
out loud and clear:
Pay Attention.
Put down what
you were doing.
Look,
Black lives matter.
Now, what
you do with
your one life matters.
Where will you stand,
in the old weather
circling back around?
Hunter
He’d found a pic of a WWI
soldier who looks just like him.
It explains a lot, he says.
Why he dreams of helicopters.
Always felt old. And that was only
our first year of college.
At the time, reincarnation,
just as a concept,
was enough to change us.
Poem for the Obvious
I feel sad.
That’s ok.
Makes sense.
(And if it didn’t?)
Things the Buddhist Teacher Said Would Teach Me to Separate Perception and Reality
Love is the direct opposite of anger.
Trying to locate a rainbow,
you are only disrupting
particles of light.
Sit and feel the fly
move on your skin.
