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Collected Poetry

    (rd king dot net)
poetry and digital art

The Big Picture  

Groups of short poems.

  July 



1:  Summer Song

Yet another summer evening.
The windows open.  A fan
oscillating in a dim bedroom.
A woman singing, softly
      (Blue Bayou).


2:  An Old Photograph

We were surprised, somewhat,
to find Billy at the boat launch.
You wore a short dress over
your swimsuit.  Billy coaxed us

to take our photo.  We then
paddled out onto the lake
where a surely different view
of all things became apparent.


3:  Tree Pollen

7am in a rented cabin—dense
sinus congestion—standing in
      an unfamiliar kitchen
quietly drinking sake and watching
lovely women walk their big dogs.


4:  Dutch Doors

A woman singing, quite earnestly
(Rodeo Girl).  1pm in a rented cabin.
My Grandson playing catch near
the aspen with my wife.  She scratching
insect bites from the night before.


5:  The Next Day

2pm in the rented cabin.  Here
alone with a sudden sickness.
Reclined on the quiet sectional.
Nausea, chills, fevered reflection.
Anxious aspen leaves blur the
      window panes.


6:  Nominal Magic

4pm at the rented cabin, still
reclined on the couch, nursing
a beer.  Listening to music captured
and replayed in a digital manner.
So many songs sung by the dead.
      (So many good ones).


7:  My Living Room Window

Drinking sake in my favorite chair,
8am.  The morning walkers pass by,
some with dogs.  Garbage trucks
rumble around—the sound of glass

colliding.  My neighbor fetches
his paper—his two sweet dogs.
The lawn sprinklers cycle on.
Garbage trucks rumble elsewhere.


8:  July

I like summer because it is hot.
Sitting in my chair, half-empty
glass on a coaster.  Avid, joyfull
sweating.  The oscillating fan

here and then not. My wife returns
from the garden, complaints:    fawns,
turkeys, tomato worms, the evening
heat, life…:   life as we know it.


9:  Summer Song:2

Yet another summer evening.
The windows open.  A fan
oscillating in a dim bedroom.
A woman singing, softly (Blue
Bayou).  Half-empty wine glass
      left on a coaster.


10:  Bunk Beds:2

7am in a rented cabin—dense
sinus congestion—standing in
      an unfamiliar kitchen
quietly drinking sake and watching
lovely women walk their big dogs.
In a room above, my grandchildren
      chortling.


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