Monthly Archives: October 2015

October poems

Five poems for October.  Enjoy!

 

Boiling bones

Boil bones for stock
beef and pork
first roasted dark.

Cool overnight
strain and strip
gristle and cartilage
treat for the pups
fresh bathed and brushed.

Chunks of meat
tacos, burritos
lunch for the papa.

Yet itches the pubes

Five ridges finger
lush flank of Poás
down from mist
cool to fever
pasture and patch
long reclaimed wild.

First light jungle
swells in chorus
constant streaming
water through rock.
The earth sighs
treetops tremble
parakeet shoal
clamors the draw.

Vulture soar
mark through canopy
broke cobble back
snaking the crest.
Trailside scatter
poured cubic stones
poke from the ground
bones from the grave.

Fringe of forest
young brown body
flashes near naked
babe clung at hip.
Follows another
breasts belly swollen
slip into hush
of midmorning heat.

Too many words
spoken, written
too much made
too much done
all now forgotten
yet itches the pubes.

Recess

Pause the rain
fog drift patches
sunlight filters
shroud of cloud.

Oropendolas a score
still eucalyptus
gurgle and preen.
One, another
off glide the canyon
wings beat
a slow rhythm.

Throng above
Crimson-fronted parakeets
cackle cavort
kids at recess.

Penis captivus

A gargantuan bug
foreparts looking
much like an ant
abdomen dragged
behind thorax
six legs straining
a sack of guts
plated with armor
shining black
bigger than thumb.

Two males circle
smaller half the weight.
One mounts behind
legs stroking
her belly pulsing
in rhythm with
each tender caress.
The loving done
female drags off
male towed in reverse
insect performance
of penis captivus.

Parents once having
friends over for dinner
they bring their dog
to play with Tippy
(tail dipped white).
Out back in the yard
a bedlam of yelps
kids scramble to see
dogs glued butt to butt.
Mom Dad, what’s wrong?
Hands over child eyes
hushed back inside.

A young man
a boy really
driven hard by
like hormones
gripped by a girl
won’t easy let go.
Years dragged
lawyers getting free.

P1080150

Quick trip to town

Early Sunday morning
streets fill with people
walking, strolling
fresh lovers entwined
gait easy the old ones
words touch enough.

Women in pairs
and clusters chat
babies in arms
settled in strollers
daughters in dresses
hands held in hand.

A man and his son
side by side amble
arm draped the shoulder.
A tractor men banter
young boys play
the cart hitched behind.

Joggers sneakered and shorted
lope up the hill down.
Shining with sweat
males strip their shirts.
Cyclists brace climbing
coast the return.

Crowd at the church
milling the entrance
curbs parked full.
A line at the car wash.
Driveways and road side
men kneel scrubbing wheels.

Just a quick trip to town
Gran Bodega for a piña
Rosvil for rum
(killed the bottle last night)
tortillas and leche
salchicon for the pups.

September poems

Five new poems for September. Enjoy!

 

Fading chatter

Fog rolls up
the canyon green
dissolves in gray.
A hundred parakeets
shoal into mist
fading chatter.

Why fiddle

Why fiddle a poem
far better to play
in golden soil
hand and clay
no sense or why
texture, color
ahh just so.
Poem or garden
but for an instant
reclaimed by wild.

The sculptor

Irina’s father
Wilhelm Loth
worked women in bronze.

As he ripened
focused the navel
heavy with thigh.

Asked the meaning
he’d scowl his face
and spit hey look
if I could talk it
I’d been a writer.

Little he knew
if writers could talk it
they’d been professors.

Exile

1.

A boy too young
once avowed Mom
I’ve never done anything
of which I’m ashamed.

Chorus

Too young to see
to be born is to sin
Buddhists witness
to live is to suffer

the path unfolding
as it must.

2.

Ligia and Marlene
sisters cleaning
drop broom and mop.
Son Isaac the gardener
abandons the whacker
in yard the garden cart
sits half-full
to rush beside
abuelo braving
last throes of this life.
Exhausted a morning
they resume the chores
sat at his side
at the hospital
all night.

Chorus

Boy grown gray wanders
self-blinded in exile
murdered the father
bedded the mother

or some such
weighing the heart.

3.

A moving zazen
shade of morning
a sparrow trills
the mind settles
rhythm of breathing.

Drive the car down
for an oil change
Taller Barrantes
José fiddling a chain saw
amigo waiting
in gardener togs
fixes it for free.
Ferries me back up the hill.
Everything’s good.
I’m healthy.
Family’s good.
Father’s good.
Life is good.
Lets me out
top of the driveway.

Move plants around
a wasp nest first.
Lunch and a nap.
Quiet afternoon study.
Drift of mist
up the canyon
ranks of ridges
fade, vanish
grumble of thunder
purr of rain.

Cocktail time
Marilyn and Paul
goat cheese and bread
roast pork and wine
laughter and talk
books and writing.
Marilyn wants
asparagus crowns
displaced by bromeliads.
Shot of rum
early to bed.

Chorus

Blood cooled
furies relent
cloud groves of Poás
swallow the bones

known to neither
kith nor kin.

Epiphytes

Sitting in a chair
beside a wheelbarrow
making planting mix
for epiphytes —
orchids, anthuria —
Maria’s recipe:
rotted wood
charcoal
lava rock
styrofoam pellets
break into pieces
hands and shears
blend with a hoe.

Flitted by butterflies.
A daggerwing
dark near black
edged a red brown
underwing half white.
Wings striped orange black
courting passionflowers.
Low beating slow
a huge blue morpho.

Days later finally
figure the daggerwing
a photo with wings up
proves dispositive
black and white
a waiter in tux.
Tiger stripes abound
isthmuthian forests
only Isabella
trails white dots.
Striking and unique
morpho bates breath.