Friday, October 22, 2021

Poem: Wrong Way Earthworm

Sitting on the front porch during a rain, 
a long earthworm meandered out of the irises onto the concrete. 

Knowing that they can drowned like the rest of us breathers, 

I did not interfere, only watched. 

In my time that has been much longer than the life span of a worm (so far),

I have seen many wriggle upon concrete 

only to die away from native earth and dry in the sun.

This one made it several feet away from the soaked ground

 only to stiffen a little and reverse its course back to moisture.


As it turned back, it lost the way

 and moved closer to the bricks of the house. 


From my point of view, it seemed confused. 

Do I help it or let choice take its course? 

For a time it sought shelter in a crack between the concrete and the bricks, 

but was too large to fit. 

It gave up and moved on, the concrete drawing away the water from its body. 

The trail it left glistened. Then it turned and moved back toward the rain. 

A question of conscience arose. Knowing that higher ground was so near,

do I help? 

If it received help, would it expect the same help in the future? 

What if I wasn’t near? 

Is there something above me watching with the same conundrum?

Friday, October 15, 2021

Poem: A Living Ghost

 I am a living ghost. 
A walking memory of someone else who says, “Remember when he—“
I engage with and move past other ghosts, but they have stronger ties to existence. 
They do not know that when they go, others will continue. 
I know. I have. I will. Until I do not.
Made of star stuff and touched by an angel is all bunk. 
Some say that energy cannot be destroyed, and we are energy. 
They mix science with religion and comport being now with being after. 
I do not feel like energy.
I feel like the empty space between a nucleus and its electrons. 
There are forces and particles moving through me, but I am zero space. 
At least, I am a location. 
This place is haunted by me. 
For now.

Tuesday, October 5, 2021

Haiku: Birds

I think about birds
Birds are not the same at night
At night they are words

Words in the darkness 

Are only sounds in the air

Waiting for an ear 

Whispers on the wind

Hiding the secrets of flight

And truth of being. 

Birds are glorious 

As long as they are shitting

On other people.