Long Unhatched Poems
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When the snout of lush abundance is full and flowing,
when all prey and creature-kind spill upon the verdant swards,
then it is that I worry night and day,
for the stoat, fox and hawk are at work,
they scythe in the whelm and nimiety, they hack and harrow.
The kits and chuckling’s are many, the light too bright;
for then the foragers forgoing fright, are palpable and open.
The long-eared nibblers, hairs on scattered rodents laid bare,
they scutter, skitter and twitch much in the open
greatly prone to be pounced upon;
their paltry pelts all unhidden, and being many,
and not running, they are huddled; yet not strong.
If this slew not ease, if the grabbers not falter,
if the singled-out dither, the glut not wither,
then the green snake will climb to where nestlings hutch -
they all so easily plucked and quickly snatched.
I worry for the wee brown birds; mottled shells still unhatched.
I fear a winnowing, withal a harsh hazard of gorge and sate.
I fret for the freshly delivered, the teeming,
the newly produced, all the bounding bounty
for those too easily found and so, arrived too late.
When the green snout is full
rabbits spill on the lawn.
I worry night and day,
because the stoats and the Red Tails
are at work
even in whelm and nimiety
they hack and harrow.
The young kits are many,
the sun too bright.
Foragers forgo fear,
are palpable and open,
not just
the long-eared nibblers,
the hairs on many scutters
are laid bare,
the sniffers thrive,
are prone to be pounced upon;
their thin pelts all unhidden,
and being many,
and not running,
they are huddled.
If this spill will not ease.
If the grabbers not falter,
the singled-out dither,
the glut not wither,
then the green snake
will climb a way
to the nestlings hutch;
all so easily found
and quickly snatched.
I worry for
the small brown birds,
their mottled shells
still unhatched.
In this gorge and sate;
I fret for all this new life
that has arrived too late.
There’s a boy in the cellar with a stone in his mouth.
In the stone is a bird.
In the bird is a future unhatched, unborn, unclean.
Unbeknownst to the world, he is dead.
In the dark there is laughter from faces unseen.
It is here you will stay and alone in this place you will
dwell.
With them.
With it.
For all time.
But I’m here, Mamma’s here.
I wish I could help you.
I wish I could hold you.
I wish I could save you from me.
I wish I could stop this.
I wish I could help this.
I wish it could somehow be better than it is.
But it’s not.
And I’m me.
And you’re you.
You’re down there.
I’m up here.
So it goes.
There’s a wound in my heart that won’t heal, and it bleeds.
It’s your fault little boy, yours alone and I’ll snap you inside
like a twig on a tree ‘till you’re still and at peace in my arms.
There’s a boy in the cellar with a bird in his mouth.
In the bird is a stone.
In the stone is a future reviled, rewritten, repaired.
Realized by the world, he is born.
Oval
Orange speckled rock
As large as a giant dinosaur egg
Sat in the scratchy field out back
Of our lakeside A-Frame cottage
Next to McLaughlin’s orchard of cherries
Where honeybees are fanned to clover fields
And Torch Lake swings below
From the corners of the hills
Like a hammock spilling of sapphires.
I suppose this giant rock had rolled for millennia
In the blue pouch of a Great Lakes glacier
Before dropping with a thud and a scar
Right here
Warmed in the sun for another 20,000 years
Unhatched unmoved even an inch
After travelling for hundreds of excruciating miles.
I climbed atop this rock as a thin teenager
Cartoon lizard drawn from the crayon of sun
Chest hard
Hair long and curly
Tongue sharp as an elbow
I must have strummed
A hundred thousand chords from my Washburn guitar
Atop that rock
Trying to find the perfect melody
About sex and forever.
I loved a Florida girl named Wendy
Who read her Harlequin
And whistled tunes to REO Speedwagon.
She read my poems over and over
Folding them in her bikini.
Upon my surprise visit today
With my feet clamped in their wing-tipped shoes
And a dick tucked away more like an after thought
The A-Frame is plowed under
Those fields are stacked with empty condos
Honey bees a legend
But Torch Lake remains painted with tall blue sky
The rock still unhatched next to it
Waiting
After all my few years
A lean
Of my shoulder into its unmovable ache
I step from the land
I slide into the lake.
Fortune alone is slippery, so sleek
It slides fast and vanishes so quick
Surprising us rarely, once or twice
Not from our tossed coin or rolled dice
But from sweats where we reap the prize.
Hostages to fortune are easier to catch
Like counting chicks in eggs unhatched
Coming frequently when election rise
So many promises over unexpected lies
Causing betrayal, cutting strong bonds and ties.
Hostages to fortune throw impulsive acts
Sorts of gambling taking risk to the max
It’s lighting hope on a melting candle wax
For a wheel of fortune to roll out from the box
In the end, business catastrophe or fiasco rocks.
A red-throated hummingbird, betrayed,
begins the annual rite of packing up his nest,
in response to the mercurial spinning of winds,
and the twisted temperaments of weather.
Distant friends once conspired together, chasing sunbeams,
beak-seeking nectar beckoned from blossoms' tease,
thoughtful temptations from the breeze who taught him to fly.
Without warning, save the predictions of history,
the wind turned her shoulder, hiding the cold,
smell of snow on her breath belying denials of inclemency.
Taking only what he needs, tucking it in next to his breast;
an odd stick, a tuft of newborn lanugo for the sake of nostalgia,
unhatched plans of a portico he had intended to build.
Red bird perched on bare branch, in morning bids farewell,
takes flight on desolate breath, his load less heavy now,
having left his heart with the unsteady humor of sylphs.
Valentine's Day 2021
Yours truly not necessarily
romantic fellow at heart
more accurately methinks myself
lame and inadequate sorry excuse
for reasonably rhyming spouse,
but courtesy after sipping
(née - chugging away
like snorting caboose)
Welch's sparkling white grape juice
maybe accompanied with entree couscous
generic and garden variety
run of the mill by the floss husband
ordinarily fancy free and footloose
feigned being inebriated
noisily squawking - imitating
deafening honking lunging goose
creating ruckus whereby resultant outcome
whereby wife playfully threatened me
to hang me (all choking aside) with noose,
(I needed to gibbet a chance)
as ye can accurately dead deuce
nearly turning unnatural shade of chartreuse,
thus I immediately called truce
after hiring team of animated experts
Rocky the squirrel
and Bullwinkle the moose.
Once upon a time I
bouncing up and down
analogous to yoyo
rode proud on his high horse whoa
considered himself, albeit kiddingly
as pure as the driven though
fell prey to basic proto
human barking animal propensity
desire under the Elm you know
all to well that biological urge
goading species to reproduce
when consummated minus
utilization of prophylactics
to aid and abet begetting embryo
unborn or unhatched offspring
in process of development,
particularly human offspring during
period from approximately
second to eighth week after fertilization
(subsequently termed a fetus).
Back in the day
gathering rosebuds while I may
thy pure motive to lay
me down with barenaked lady
futile (yet Prince Valiant) attempt
to placate seething hormonal secretion
surging testosterone seemingly went away
(I strongly suspect absent libinal longing
courtesy side effect half dozen medications)
bodes ill with spouse
marriage doth severely fray.
How bird-like a new fetus is,
like a chick in an egg,
the delicate spine curved,
all the fine bones promissory wish-bones
tucked into s floating nest.
Unseen embryonic pathways
are not yet cleared, diverse divisions
are still dividing. Genetics uncertain
for an interval, a pause.
In the blood bound sac
a reptilian blastula
breaks through to be human,
a primordial development
reenacted as a timeless secret.
As a young child
I really thought I was Superman.
I would jump off ever higher elevations
arms outstretched
until at last I broke my legs.
Reality was my kryptonite.
Yet like a fledgling
I was just readying myself for flight.
My mothers womb was closed tight
within it still the residue of broken wings;
they would have to be expelled
before I could be forever grounded.
Songbirds now come to my bird table.
I listen to their chipping beaks as they
crack seeds.
None stay long for fear of the circling hawks,
yet they sing on the wing,
to me, they seem to warble triumphantly
of eggs hatched and eggs
unhatched.
A tapestry lay in an ancient sun,
Basking neath a ventrous day yet unspun,
Colorful hues of ocher and saffron,
Draws aqueous fumes that moist production,
Every eye, blossom, unhatched egg, greet, opens,
Fortuitous bounty spreads emotions,
Gathered, skins, feathers, and scales, 'bout all strewn,
Harken a flightless prayerful dove a tune,
Invocates breaths to cite a liturgy,
Jolts loose a cloak of boundless energy,
Kingpin meanders its righteous release,
Lifts a poised sky veiled like an altar piece,
Mirrored echoes o'er a restless domain,
Naked beings wild, nay wear traps of vain,
Oaths show side-by-side, generating warmths,
Pleasant touch between life, light and air, calms,
Qat leaves pools a creeks hold, stirs brew a tea,
Raven espies to hover, pecks a spree,
Symmetry fulfills in a baseless realm,
Tenacious wanton rhapsody days' whelm,
Universe descendants be a joint trust,
Vast spectered spectrums spirals to adjust,
Webbed stars a new sky, quietude abound,
Xenon fades into a nulled swarty crowned,
Yielding yawns, surrenders lids to be froze,
Zzz's orchestrates descents towards a lulled doze.
Date: 06/01/2019