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Collected Poetry

    (rd king dot net)
poetry and digital art

The Big Picture  

Groups of short poems.

  A Wet December


1:   Clouds

An emu in the horse pasture with
some unsheared sheep, llamas.
Gray, stratocumulus light—orange
foliage here, there, while going
to select the Christmas tree.


2:   Clearing

The afternoon warmed; the sky
clearing—broad vistas from
the slopes of the ambling tree farm.
A difficult hunt, an easy cut—then
quite a bit of tax wrought upon
      the tree.


3:   By Jingo

On the bumper of a septic truck,
American flag decal.  Clouds
drifting against the familiar ridge
like a turban.  A not quite removed
motto on the Post Office brick wall:
      foresee yourself.


4:   Merry Nights

Stepping outside, bare-footed,
for firewood I pause to enjoy the chill.
Stars twinkling in a moonless sky
or strung from my neighbors' porch rails.


5:   Snow

Waking at midnight to rain, cold
shoulders; then waking again to quiet.
In a steaming shower I linger—
driving to work, snow on the ground
and rooftops, but the road is clear.



6:   Northern Gauguin

A short jog on a cold, cloudy day
I took through the pines and tailings
of the old mine, whereupon I met
a dog I hadn't met before—orange-
furred, sweet-faced:  Red Husky.


7:   Winter Chores

Raking the lawn yet again, recovering
my little rectangle of questionable
success; placing the leaves in the yard
where the wild grasses would grow—
if leaves were nickels, I'd be...
      (burdened with nickels).


8:   Winter Sun

A short jog after a light snowfall
I took.  Patchy clouds, patchy snow,
a bright sun with seemingly little
warmth—except for steam drifting
from one, sunny pine trunk:  A Friday
      before Christmas, 2001.

9:  You Go to My Head

28 December, 2pm:  Louis Armstrong
in the tape player.  Sitting, drifting
on a wooden chair, staring out
at the rain--makeshift nacimiento;
I hear the heat click off once again.


10:  Year-End Chores

29 December, 2pm:  making the longish
trip to the mall—our thoughts drifting
to classical music, our own desires.
We pass a flock of wild turkeys
foraging in a cow pasture, in the rain.





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