Monday, June 25, 2012

St. William's Day

Boil water twice over
coffee grounds
to stretch a cup into
the next need for it.

Birthday coming,
I'm short a grill,
clover too high to

My Closer Walk With Thee
gets me through the kitchen.
Blank page staring
like a bus window leaving town.

Folk's talk about
having your cake,
meaning humble is the best
slice of pie.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Mother Told Me

Six wheeled trucks through
the residential,
low pine branch broken,
dangling accusation
on the march of cement.

Below the bluff house
of the forgotten Hurok
tsunami jetsam confounds
the beach.

A carbonated footprint
on the sands of time,
celebrating trees
with plastic magnets.

My mother told me
to forget poetry
and write bumper stickers.

The margin for prophets
wide as streets paved in gold.