Poems
When the last role of Charmin fell
I was mowing, probably for the last time this season, when I saw it. The whole reason for the mowing in the first place was to mulch all the leaves that were falling. I explect things to fall. Mulch, mulch, mulch. I wasn’t expecting this. It could have hit me, for cryin’ out loud. I remember that... more »
(De)Constructing 4C(s) (Con)ference T(it)les: Attending CCCC again for the first time
And now for the personal challenge. Sarah threw down the gauntlet in regard to my claim that I could write a poem completely from Postmodern CCCC 2008 conference titles. (Yes, in one broad sweep I’m lumping Postmodern and Deconstructionist et al thought into one binary basket. Mercy!) In truth, I think such titles are... more »
at age 15
Guest poet Kylie writes in honor of Maia’s fifteenth birthday. at age 15 she does a squirmy dance. hair of a man on her legs, on her head; of a goddess. wearer of Chacos, whose eyes disappear when she smiles a grin so wide her face should split. heart of a lioness. squeal of a pig. peals of laughter come from deep within a soul untainted. no... more »
On stopping by Blackhoof on a sunny afternoon with Keith and Mocha
Winter showed a chink in her armor today. “I hope you don’t mind dog shit,”? he says. A rumpled black plastic bag covers a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. Springer Mocha snuffles modestly. I shove my skis in the back. Later under a blue sunlit dome we load sled to be pulled to the shack behind skis. Tool bag,... more »