Shifted out of Time

I thought my city shifted out of time this morning,
I saw no faces I knew on the usual bus.
The sky had tipped and tilted over toward storming

and all I saw was new faces on the usual bus
riding toward downtown with half-awake and vacant
expressions. I felt strange to myself. All of us

riding toward downtown, half awake, leaving vacancies
in warm beds and at breakfast tables, came together
in silence, overlooking our mutual vagrancy

from warm beds and breakfast tables. We came together,
a collection of strangers randomly assembled
with nothing in common but the world's uncertain weather.

A collection of strangers, randomly assembled--
well, that describes many teams forged for terrible purposes
like the guys who built the bomb. But we didn't resemble

a team forged to execute some terrible purposes
under a sky full of portents and storm-warning.
More like a shifting heap of windswept debris
I thought, as my city shifted back into time this morning.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Floaty

An airmail package of
multi-colored canoes
or a flotilla of banana splits.
A drift of paridisiacal feathers
or French-cut green beans
rendered in futuristic nano-resins.
A flock of psychedelic pipefish
or swans migrating
in a polychrome storm--

but look at the delicate and sepia convergence
of their shadows on the parquet floor.

--image courtesy of Magpie Tales
Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Stuff...

Forgot to note that I had another post up at the new Write Anything: it was on Poetic Collaboration.

Also some recent news: My sonnet "Camellias" was accepted for a sonnet anthology being edited by Mary Meriam. "Fluid Boundaries" was accepted some time back for a villanelle anthology, The Book of Villanelles, edited by Marie-Elizabeth Mali and Annie Finch: they have finally found a publisher and it looks like that volume will be out next April.

Science Poetry, including "Truffle Shuffle", should be out very soon, and Pirene's Fountain's Japan anthology including "Stranded" is slated for December release. So all in all, it's been a productive year for me for anthologies.

For you local poets: the Oregon Poetic Voices project is recording Oregon poets this Friday from 1 - 5 downtown at the city archive (1800 SW 6th Ave, Suite 550). Check it out.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Helpdesk Maven

He was born in Arkansas,
grew up chasing his daddy's coon hounds
through the pine woods. He trained those dogs
himself, with a handful of Cheez-Its
spoon-fed them yogurt when they were sick.

That qualified him for a job
in customer service. He learned to talk
like a character in an old British movie--
a technician from Bletchley Park, one of Turing's lot
who cracked the Nazi ciphers, laying bare
the U-boat routes and telling the public
it was all done with radars.

He sounds so polished.
He hasn't touched a dog in years.
It's all done
with radars.

--another word salad poem
Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Wamura Sleeps

stretched across the bay, his bones
a shining rampart, 51 feet high.

Ravenous waves rose from the sea
crests snarling white, 66 feet high

but turned back from the wall
he dreamed into being, 673 feet wide.

Fudai villagers walk their cliffs
staring down at water 330 feet below

and homes like tiny toys, scattered
on the slopes, a few feet above sea level.

Everyone said it was crazy, a waste
a project that cost more than thirty million dollars

but sleeping Wamura smiles, cradling
Fudai safe through one terrible moment.

From The Asian Reporter, V21, #11 (June 6, 2011), page 20
Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Spin

Happy Solstice. Morning fog: the willows
drag their fingers through the murky shallows.
Water's high with melt and angst. This summer
everyone's on edge. The TV's stammer
can't console, relating royal kisses
to the hungers of the jobless masses.
Shots ring out at night and voices quarrel
while the dizzy streetlights Tilt-a-Whirl.

Spinning helpless, I can't read the patterns:
global vision is denied me. Lecterns
crowned with talking heads, like executed
murderers, confine my views. Refuted
points point inward only. I aspire
to seek the edges of the widened gyre.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside