Today, I have decided to share some of my poetry with you.  Yes, I do try to write poems.  Some are not so good and I won't be sharing those!  Some are ok-ish, at least I like them, so I'll share them with you just for fun.  Here's one I wrote after reading Hayden Carruth's beautiful poem, "Naming For Love",

NAMING ROCKS

            (After Hayden Carruth “Naming For Love”)

 

There are bedrock dips and strikes.

There are upthrusts and troughs

where deep loam forms,

given time, wuthering, heat, water.

 

There are weathered rocks

that crumble and flake, or,

changed by heat and pressure,

rock that is brittle and dense.

 

There are grey somber rocks.

pink rocks, white or greenish rocks.

translucent rocks.

There are opaque rocks.

 

There are cinder cones, lava cones,

and composite cones.

 

There are folded rocks

and fissured rocks.

Those are only two of the flexures in rocks.

 

Wherever you are, you can bet

there are rocks, some like Gibralter,

and those too deep to see, smoothed,

cushioned over with hills of sand and gravel and soil.

 

There are hoodoos and xenoliths,

turbidite and welded tuff,

all kinds of stuff to stand on.

But there are faults and sinks you have to watch out for.

 

 Here is another fun one that I like.  It's about a heron that comes and fishes at our tiny little pond near our house.  It's a real pond, not a lined garden pond, and it has all kinds of fascinating creatures in it,

 

GREAT BLUE

 

A ballerina-legged bird

often stands near our pond,

sheltered by black pussy willows.

 

Her body puffs out

like a fringed tutu

and plumes of stringy

hair-like feathers

 

fan from head and neck

with a rakish air.

A fleshless, skeletal leg

raises elegantly,

 

bending at the knee

as the heron steals along

stalking frogs

or fish.

 

Statuesque among

the pickerelweed,

she sees us

and glares with disdain

 

down the slender supercilious beak.

With a deep squat she unfolds

uncanny long wings and

emits a throaty, guttural

 

Thwack! thwack! during lift-off.

Circling over our house,

she glides through

the trees towards

 

the shallow water beaver pond

and a new fishing place.

 

 

 

I would love to hear what you think about my poems and if you'd like to read more of them in this space.