poet, interviewer, musician, traveler
midway, Allegheny Mountains
midway, Allegheny Mountains
parked at a gas station
for iced tea and chips
I check my email
read your unexpected message
it snows for the rest of the trip
but I don’t mind; in fact I smile
the whole way to Pittsburgh
24 January 2014
Pittsburgh
photograph
she is looking away from the camera
one pierced ear, the suggestion
of her nose, a pale cheek
languorous curve of the jaw
sliding down into the neck
as it disappears below the frame
hair — long, dark, shining in the
studio lighting — meeting the
jawline like a wave against the beach
a cameo carved out of light and
shadow and film, an unrepeatable
combination of atoms stopped
on the page, a single moment
trapped like an insect in amber
lost to time, untouchable
/ / /
21 January 2014
State College, PA
four pounds of pressure
he’s in the living room, can of beer
in one meaty, sweating hand
seemed like some harmless fun
they took a couple rifles up the elk range
watched the huge bulls tramp down the frozen grass
he remembers sighting along the barrel
seeing the rack like the leafless
branches of a winter-struck oak
even now, after a day has passed
he’s not sure what made him shoot
the clickbang of the rifle followed
a split-second later by the imagined sound
of splintering bone as the big bull dropped
its herd mates scattering into the trees
his buddies clapping him on the back
full of liquid courage and testosterone
now he waits for the knock on the door
the series of sharp raps that mean jail
he imagines the faces of his elderly parents
the murmurs and sideways glances of neighbors
his life forever changed by four pounds of pressure
8 January 2014
State College, PA
/ / /
This poem was inspired by this story.
Image by Carol Mulvilhill.
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magic
the very first words in this notebook
are your name, the source of your magic
just two words and notes from our first meeting
no visible sign of the love affair to follow
those simple syllables still hold my heart
in a clenched fist, still open the floodgates
making my blood rush through my veins
like snowmelt down a mountainside
does my name raise bumps on your arms?
does it bring the red of an Alabama sunset
to your pale cheeks? do you feel me
in the secret places only lovers know?
I say to myself this is the last poem
I’ll write about you, but I said that
the last time, too
2 January 2014
State College, PA
hunting
the snow has stopped
men in black parkas
move among the hulks
with long handles
excavating their most
precious commodity
water is leaking
from somewhere, spreading
a slow dark stain
the thick glass
keeps out the sound
of the whipping wind
leaving behind
the low, heavy, silent
sound of a dream
as salesmen circle
their prey
in the showroom
31 December 2013
State College
you
Dave Von Ronk is singing
about John Henry and bamboo.
I’m sitting at my desk, waiting
for the sun to rise, thinking
about the same thing this morning
I was thinking about last night.
30 December 2013
State College
Sunday rain
awoke to the sound
of the rain on the roof
I turned to put my arm
around you
but you aren’t here
29 December 2013
Oak Street
this too is science
there are freckles
just below
her collarbone
like a constellation
of tiny stars on flesh
when the sun is up
she covers them
beneath a lab coat
or a blanket
of unpopular opinions
at night, she
slips off her second skin
draws black lines
around her eyes
steps into the darkness
where the laughter is loud
& the music is louder
people jammed together
like atoms in the Big Bang
this too is science
28 December 2013
Oak Street
Dizzy Gillespie At Newport, 1957
wailing
everyone is wailing
trumpets splitting
the blue Rhode Island sky
bringing the crowd
to its feet
in a surge
the dam breaking
women in summer dresses
men in linen pants
white short-sleeved shirts
they swirl and jump
hands grabbing
sweat on their foreheads
back on stage
Dizzy is dancing
thick black glasses
years ahead of his time
bell pointing at heaven
the saxophones slither
as the song builds
to a crashing avalanche
loud enough
to compete
with the howls
from the lawn
when the ending comes
it takes the people a moment
to realize it’s over
then their screaming gets
if anything
louder
until Dizzy says
“silence”
and the crowd obeys
just another collection
of instruments
on this summer afternoon
28 December 2013
State College
almost
she has a one-eyed dog
named after meat
sometimes she has
red hair
but sometimes not
she’s a bright moment
in this strange world
of near connections
the people we almost
but don’t quite meet
28 December 2013
State College
/ / /
Photo by Yvan Morin
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a poem for loud lovers
I don’t have a real bed
(& my inflatable bed died)
but there’s carpet on the floor
and half the fun
is scaring the neighbors
or making them giggle
as they look toward the ceiling
in fact, if we’re particularly good
we might convince them
to turn off the TV
make the downstairs
as loud as the upstairs
which, to my way of thinking
is nothing less than a public service
27 December 2013
State College
/ / /
Image by ee cummings
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Christmas Eve, 2013
I’m sitting in my apartment, one lamp on,
watching old episodes of Doctor Who, from
the first year they made it in color. There’s
nobody here but me, because the boys are
at their grandmother’s house, and I’m not
allowed past the front door. And not even
that far, if she has her druthers. They’ll be
here soon, though, to take me to their house,
where we’ll play some games and wait
for the arrival of Santa Claus, in whom one
believes and one doesn’t. If you’d told me ten,
or even five, years ago that this year I’d be
cut off from my entire family (except for my
sister) and living alone in my least favorite place
on Earth, I’d have hoped you weren’t clairvoyant.
And although I’m much better at staying
in the moment than I used to be, there are some
moments you hope pass quickly. Still,
later tonight I’ll get to tuck my sons in,
pet their dog, lay my head down on a real bed.
And in the morning they’ll open their gifts,
we’ll laugh and we’ll hug. That’s what I’m waiting for,
as the clock ticks away the minutes on Christmas Eve.
24 December 2013
Oak Street
tengu
it sits quietly waiting for a new sound
the six lights that make up its closed lips
pressed together in anticipation
its eyes slowly pulsating as it listens
this odd little creation is meant to be
an interface between sound and vision
intended to express visually
what its mechanical ear takes in; it’s easy
to forget when its mouth is synced with speech
that it is nothing more than an ear, a sensor,
a series of facial expressions, but then again:
which of us is any different?
22 December 2013
Oak Street
American Fool
It was the summer that John Cougar’s “Hurts So Good”
owned the airwaves. I remember it was playing
in Todd’s room when I got there. Plymouth, Massachusetts.
Our family’s last stand in our home state before
the final dissolution. Before we spread across the country
like dandelion seeds scattered by a strong wind.
It was also the summer of the Kinks’ “Lola,” introduced
to me by a Doctor Demento parody called “Yoda.”
“Y-O-D-A Yo-Da.” All three of those songs are bound up
in my memory like the sight of the sword Todd laid
on his bed, a gift from the grandfather we didn’t share.
The one who’d been an officer in the Knights of Columbus.
It was the last summer of trips to see Plymouth Rock
or the replica of the Mayflower. (“April showers bring
May flowers. What do May flowers bring? Pilgrims!”)
After that, seeing Todd meant a trip to Wisconsin.
It wasn’t the same. Even later when I moved to Arizona
where he lived, things had changed. Too much time.
It was the summer I came home from my grandparents’ place
round as a beach ball from all the Ring Dings I’d eaten,
sitting in front of the little TV in their den watching Star Blazers.
My parents made me run a mile a night until I was less round.
One of many clues I didn’t notice until three decades later.
By then the bullet had hit and passed through, leaving a scar.
21 December 2013
Oak Street
birds unknown kind
A dozen birds — unknown kind,
beaks into the December wind —
cut through the pinkening sky
like ink spots on a silk sheet.
A full morning moon shines
in the ice patches on the sidewalk,
sharing a laugh with Jupiter.
19 December 2013
State College, PA