Name Your Poison

Gustaf Tengrren      sketch for Snow White     Here’s a poem from my book  Scattered Showers in a Clear Sky: Name Your Poison   Apple morsel choked Snow White Belladonna, called the witch.   Bloodroot floods the forest, cousin to monkshood, Jack in the Pulpit, companion to crowfoot, dogbane, devils’trumpet, deadly orchestra.   Back home,

Depths down the glacier pool

Here’s a poem I wrote about summer in my childhood. It appears in my book At the Year’s Elbow:   Head First   Eight years old, Sleek as a seal in my shiny wet swimsuit, I climb the ladder to the high diving board.   Eight feet up, balanced by thick summer air, I slowly

The Spring Witch

  Ten years ago I wrote this poem about George Wilson’s painting “The Spring Witch.” It appears in my book Vexed Questions:       The Spring Witch   Her farmer’s foot sturdy, toes gripping the soft moss, treads between the white crocuses cat clever. She’s in a trance of one just called to wakefulness

Bridal Wreath

  This poem appears in my book Vexed Questions: Bridal Wreath   Bridal wreath – what does that flower look like? Like tiny roses glittering in full sunlight, fluffy in the breeze on its thin branches.   In the yard of the house in Morstein, maiden aunts and ancient grandmother, bush bared by my cousin

Connections

spiral orbweaver web fromCurbstoneValleyFarm spotted orb from bugoftheweek Here’s a poem from my book Scattered Showers in a Clear Sky:   Connections   Orb weaver, shy and harmless to humans, cast herself down a bare basement bulb, climbed back up, cast a parallel line and a cross wire between. At the intersection of leafmeal smell

Great Falls in July

( photo from findyourchesapeake.com) Here is a poem I wrote a while back when I spent some time at Great Falls Park in Maryland USA.  It appears in my book  Scattered Showers in a Clear Sky. It’s a formal poem, a rondeau:   Great Falls in July   Although the heat sinks into stone, the

Crop Circles

photo from inverse.com   Here’s a poem of mine that appears in my book Scattered Showers in a Clear Sky: Crop Circles   “Early in my writing career I came to believe that the stories I wrote were already written in the unconscious by a hand other than my own.” – James Lee Burke