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Archive for October, 2015

Three Humblings

lost in the corn maze

for hours, always knowing

exactly where I am not

*

acutely aware

of a much larger dance—

blood moon

*

the young magician

made the coins disappear—

longing to hand him my guilt

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Last Lunch

For the last lunch on the Titanic,

the kitchen served corned beef and dumplings.

We know because one of the men

who was saved in a lifeboat

kept his menu with him,

and over a hundred years later

someone bought the old scrap of paper

for eighty-eight thousand bucks.

My friends, just in case I die tonight,

and just in case it’s a dramatic,

exciting death, I want you to know

that for lunch I had Lay’s potato chips

and a Caribbean Spice smoothie

with protein powder. I didn’t

save the menu, I know, what a bummer.

But it’s written in chalk on the wall

at Heidi’s Brooklyn Deli, and if you take

a picture, well, somewhere down the centuries

it might just make a fortune for your kids.

Unlike that lucky survivor, I don’t happen to have

a Turkish bath ticket I can send you.

Too bad. I would have loved one today.

But perhaps at auction

you can make a few extra bucks

if you throw in the knowledge

that the sunflowers were in full bloom,

and the cottonwood trees were golden,

though it was already October 3.

The whole sale would be more profitable

if only I were more famous. Sorry.

Oh yes. Two pickles. I nearly forgot to mention.

They throw them in free with the kids’ sandwiches,

but those pickles might be worth a lot to you.

I hope not many others will die in this disaster,

but know that I am aware as I write this

that there is a sweet danger brewing,

and there are no life boats.

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Sounds Crazy But It Happens

so parched she walks miles

for a drink not noticing

the well in her own back yard

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10-5-15 Finding Poetry in Life

Join me in Grand Junction at the library this coming Monday, at 6 p.m. for a conversation/reading/presentation as part of their ongoing “Inspiring Presentations” series. Free!

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Hey poetry friends, I want to share a new site with you … Heard of Poets: Poems from Colorado’s Western Slope is an interactive poetry map that I’ve created with San Juan Independent. There are eleven poets on it to start, and every Wednesday, I will add another, so keep checking back. Wallace Stegnar said “A place is not a place until it has a poet.” Well, as everyone knows, the Western Slope is a very special place, and it sure does have a proliferation of incredible poets. What a great way to re-learn your geography–with a poem written in this big backyard …

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A Lesson in Shading

So first, you imagine the light bulb,

he says, then he draws one on the page

so I won’t have to imagine too hard.

And then, he says, you draw a dark line

under the object, assuming that there

will not be much light underneath it.

He moves his pencil forcefully

to darken the bottom of the square.

Next, he says, you move your hand

as far from the light as possible

and make it darker there.

I watch as he fills in the spaces

where white has been.

There is something vital

in all of us that leans toward the dark.

I notice the depth that the shadows

have brought to the page, so like the shadow

into which we are pulled and pulled.

Even now, the darkest parts of us

are kindling our greatest light.

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