Writer’s Block


a tree in winter
like a brown buddha
serving
reincarnation time
in my back yard

rooted in one present moment

with every idea
he ever had
buried beneath
the numbing snow





Poems
(two tanka)

poems
that are never written
deep
in the woods
the song of a thrush


just after
my Kindle
awakens
I open a book
of zen poems





A Book Of Poems


I like to stroll down Sonnet Street
where love glows in iambic gardens

or sleep outside
in a haiku tent –
with all those stars and so few syllables

or sit on a front porch with Whitman
and watch as he whittles his metaphors.

My favorite, though, is a four stanza home
where a poem by William Stafford lives.

When I visit, he gives me a piece of heaven,
something he happened to save one morning
before the dawn flowed over the hedge.



Credits:  "poems" first published in Skylark 2.2; "just after" first published in Atlas Poetica 24;
"A Book Of Poems" first published in Verse-Virtual 1.5