More Twitter Poems

the bones of the day
rattle down the street
all night
and I am restless
until dawn

I share the woods
with everything
that runs away

the wind
curves around
her absence

edge of morning light
lost in gray wisps

the interesting life
I can’t remember

in darkness
we see the farthest

all the old heroes are dying
replaced by new legends
whose names
sound foreign
on my tongue

I push my worries
down a flight of stairs
shut the door
and write poetry

rituals of loneliness
the distance
between our words

ever more forceful
our words splinter
against each other–
I mind the sharp edges
as I sweep them up

all these thoughts
braid together
a ladder I climb

distant friends–
eyes and ears
for the places
I’ll never go

he wants to talk with
is already dead–
walking slow
through the cemetery

in this digital age
I am the king
of smoke signals

the creek shadowed
and frozen–
days nothing changes

leaves blown
down the road–
loneliness turned sideways
pushing away those
he wishes were closer

burning brush
a mouse flees
into the empty field

winter grave
the backhoe doesn’t care

as time
in the dark

Twitter poems

a glint in the eye
of the bird who flies–
he knows where he is
though we lose sight
of his wings

buzzard circling
I check
my pulse

gather stars
from morning dew

in the past are
closer than they appear.

I bend
to belief
my raging

The moon let itself in
but stayed in a box
on the floor.

the sun can only stand
to look at us
for so long each day

old friends
found again
this library
of typeset souls
page after page

grown men

crisp edges

the day bright

soon folded
in the cedar chest
of memory

warm december
waiting for the world
to bloom at christmas

running fingers
through forever
carved in stone

all their faces
bend toward each other
as I stare back
through the tunnel of time

bare tree
filled with
starling leaves
it sheds upward
in one great burst

The vibration of waves
crashing on the shore
reaches us here
at mid-continent–
fluttering grass.

when I dream
and sometimes cease to be–
uncharted journey
into morning

I judge myself
by my reflection
and get it all backwards

on the bank of the Yangtze
in thick fog
nothing to photograph
yet I remember
like a snapshot

I saw all my yesterdays
rush into the woods
I follow them, lifting leaf
after leaf to find
only this moment

a poetry
of broken words
lacerates my tongue

vulture’s red head–
in the winter wood

the most broken
people think
they aren’t

a dance
between memory
and imagination–
they trip over
each other’s feet

Reading Other Poets

The ear
waits, alert
for the faulty phrase,

the one word
toward insincerity

or saccharine blush
in a bower
of pansies.

trims the “that”
that has no business here,

weeds the snarl
of ubiquitous,
blooming adverbs.

in minutiae.


to pithy haiku.

A poem for dVerse Open Link Night

Some more twitter poems

Bar coded
anonymous souls
bright red sticker
in the discount bin.

Warm sun
breaks the pond’s

Put off everything
until the day after
you’re dead.

I peeled the onion
till there was nothing left.

Japanese officials
whistle in the dark.

Moving slow
between thoughts
I rest.

from fishing net.

He walked miles
between memories
the rest
a muddy

window sill
flush with foliage
broad leaved

The pond: a blue bruise between two mountains.

black circle
world drawn
in silhouette

I gather mountains
grown smooth
small and round.

A seven course meal
of nightmares
no more appetite
for news.

Facts hidden
behind a battlement
of words.

Hell: eternity between a coffee grinder and an espresso machine.

He picks up
glinting shards
of the day.

Morbid fascination
inversely proportionate
to involvement.

Some Twitter Poems

Trilling high
coyote howl.
Starlight trembles.

animals who hunt in packs
we don’t like competition.

follows the chisel’s path
on highboy medallion.

Rain froze
on wooden steps
for the top heavy

My father a carpenter
I’m ever nostalgic
for unfinished rooms.

Wood shavings
and sawdust
further art
by getting
out of the way.

I step over
the chalk outline
of yesterday.

No flamethrowers for rent
at the Home Center.
The apartment stays dirty.

I scrape burnt toast
until a square hollow,
nothing to salvage.

Skyscrapers stand impassive.
All the emotion
swarms their feet.

Wood grain
better to finish
than drink.

He clings to
concrete prose,
incapable of butterflies.

Trees sway
to the shattering jolt
of miles away.

to the slender center
of peace
as mountains

I listened
to rain
fall soft upon the earth
how sun could ever return.

only trace the outlines
of your sorrow.

Twisted steel
a monument
to absence.

Griefs repeat
yet always strike
with a fresh blade.

Peeling raindrops.
Pour out
the dust inside.

Old woman.
Small scar on her ankle
from mumblety-peg.

New Twitter Poems

All poems by me, just to clarify….
I invested
in the stories
of old men
and found myself
lost comrades
far too soon.
Wrap cold sorrows
in music.
Dance past death.
Devils flash their teeth
while gnawing
angel wings.
Snow melt:
grateful tears
for spring.
Brittle memories
leave crumbs
on the floor
when eaten
by time.
Finger traces
quilt stitch
in the dark.
Empty days
tossed over my shoulder
in nonchalance
now pried loose
from fearful grip
Puffed rice cake
Styrofoam squeak
on teeth.
White porcelain doorknob
on weathered shed
opens upon dust.
Burnt onion clings
to flour, salt and pepper:
Mom’s fried chicken.
Stabbed by a shadow
but I kept walking.
I chew hearts
for half price
the day after
Valentine’s Day.
Full moon
dusted clean
by swaying limbs.