a poem for Lillian- published by Medusa's Kitchen

DOUBLE WEAVE

For Lillian Elliott

Here are painted birds.

Here is the fly shuttle.

Here are the floats

High over the warp.

Here is the morning

And its unusual shape. The

Selvages are gathered and overspun.

Here are the reeds, even and full,

The canals of heddles between here

And the moon. Here are the villages

And the rivers poured through them.

Here is the hand and here too, the eye,

Caught in the pattern, framed in the making.

Here is the loop and here is the needle.

Here is time, ignored for centuries,

Left on the edge of the jungle.

“We’ll be right back. We have

Gone to gather raffia. Wait here.”

Here is the blue sky or perhaps

It is the indigo from the hole, which

Reflects the tops of the tree.

Here are painted birds.

A spider I like

Koi Pond- Elk Grove, CA

Niagara Whirlpool. Don't know who took this shot.

Niagara Whirlpool. Don't know who took this shot.

Cyphostemma Juttae

The Giant Niagara

I've been looking a lot at dandelions. This one has an ant on it.

Here is a photograph of my frogs.

Town of Niagara - Late 1940's

My favorite place for poetry, Medusa's Kitchen published this poem recently. I hope you enjoy it.

TOWN OF NIAGARA – LATE 1940’S

Here is where the railroad tore

Through the edge of our town.

Black earth, black air and the perfect

Angel, steam, sung by whistle

Toots and a language of flags,

Brakemen’s lanterns and the booming

Freight cars tearing dark holes

Through all the seasons.

We were Town of Niagara boys.

The city boys knew it because

We walked in the streets when

We crossed Hyde Park Bridge

To go into the city together.

We didn’t have sidewalks.

Our barber shop in a drear

Apartment building called

The Ten Commandments.

Mr. Brunetti’s grocery store,

Where he reigned, cigar mashed

In his face, his wife, small,

Watching from the shadows.

Brownie’s gas station “If you can’t stop,

Smile as you go by.”, the sign

Facing cobblestones of Hyde Park

Blvd. There was a war in Europe,

Japan. It seemed exotic until

The dead came home and we

Knew their names and faces,

Their mothers and fathers.

The flag-draped boxes and crisp

Ceremony. Taps at Riverdale.

It was good to be from there.

Where the air always smelled.

Chemicals and hot slag in the night

Poured into open fields from

Midnight trams, glowing as our

Lives glowed, brighter than radio

Dials tuned to the news and spoken

Fictions churning it all together.

The town, the trains, the Ten

Commandments, the cigar, the dull

Gas station and nights filled

With the crazy wonder of it all.

Nancy Gotthart sent me this lovely video last night.

It is called RAIN.

Medusa's kitchen published this photo today. It is looking through the gazebo at the birch tree in the yard.

Horses At The Edge of The Sea

This poem was published in a very limited broadside edition by Tom Kryss at Black Rabbit Press and by Medusa's Kitchen

HORSES AT THE EDGE OF THE SEA

The horizon is far away, a sullen

Fog, a brooding and endless grey,

Begrudging the evening light,

Holding it for minutes then allowing

A spot of sun, red light on waves. It dapples

The hides of the horses, then quickly

Excuses itself and wanders up to the sand cliffs and gets lost

In the canyon leading to the water.

There is a stillness to all this.

The sound of air in and out

Of horse nostrils. A shiver

Across the back, small pawing

On the sand.

Somewhere a bird knows something

About all of this and makes its special noise.

Eyes roll toward the sound then back

To the edge of the water.

The horses are seemingly doing nothing.

They have come down here for the evening, as

We do, without expectations or purpose

Beyond just being there at that moment.

We watch them grow darker in the fading

Light until they are shadow forms against

A sea moving back and forth on the edge.

Now there is land. Now there is water.

Now there is light. Now there are horses.

Now there is nothing to see.

Light drawing

Geraniums-photo by D.R. Wagner

Viola's at St. Joseph's Church, May 2009

published by Medusa's Kitchen

Roses: photo D.R. Wagner

Light drawings

Where The Stars Are Kept

Rattlesnake Press has published my book WHERE THE STARS ARE KEPT. Check out Rattlesnake Press.com for details. They have also reprinted by book from 1968 originally published by T.L. Kryss at Black Rabbit Press, San Francisco, CA, THE DIMENSIONS OF THE MORNING. They stayed pretty close to the original on this and did a lovely job. I still think it is a very nice bit of work. You may want to obtain a copy. Inexpensive too.