Monthly Archives: January 2018

Diary: el Cajón de Grecia, January 2018

Three new poems for January. Let me know what you think.

Full Moon

First night
the new year

Moon voluptuous
bedazzling

Orion pallid
a scant tracing

lips touch a palm
rises in homage

eyes squint
against the bright.

Kalliope

I.

The table of Justa
roast chicken fried yucca
talk of poetry in Spanish
of not knowing of any
to fire the belly
Justa stands
leaves the room
returns with a book.

Read this
Justa says
work of the poetess
Rosibel Morera
like spirit of yours.

II.

In a dream Iris
tinted of prism
bows her form down
speaks to the poet

The muse sees
your poesy holds promise
though your feet mired in mud
your nib of stone.
She sends you a gift.

Iris hands the poet
an ancient text
pages sewn with silk
bound in fine leather.
The poet opens
to poems of Kalliope.

I can’t understand
the language strange
the poet bemoans.

That is part of the gift
Iris replies
the tongue of the gods
for you to decipher
for you to master
as her form fades
to nothing.

The poet awakens
book by the bed
each day sculpting
path through the words
at the end of day
the eyes falling heavy
to dreamland.

Regarding his struggle
the goddess touches
embraces the poet.
I laud your effort.
Now take my hand.
We walk together
the precious realm
of poetry.

The musician

I.

Old man
alone in the mountains
labors fruitless
name unknown
fate uncertain.

Comes a visitor
singing a Siren
of the shores of Chapala
Don’t have to speak Spanish
and cheap, the food fresh
eat out every day
golf, tennis
movies, plays
music and dance.
Classes for yoga
clubs for bridge
painters, writers like you.
So close to home
come see for yourself
you’ll stay, I’m sure.

II.

Saul troubled in spirit
feeling far from God
sends for David
to leave his sheep
to bring his lyre
to play for him

and for him David sings a psalm

A man’s days are like grass
bud and flower in field
the wind passes over
his days soon gone
and a man’s place
knows him no more.

and then yet another

Sing praise to the Lord
o you his saints
give thanks to his being.
His anger, evanescent
his favor, life lasting.
You may weep the night
but each morning brings joy.

and as David plays
the evil spirit of Saul
fades away.

III.

Never wanted to be king
just to make music,
Larry says
you know, Americana
singer-songwriter stuff
somewhere between rock
and rocking chair.

Chirinquitos del Rio
Saturday past noon
cars squeeze shoulders
the old road to Alajuela
waiters bring orders
chulupas, chifrijos
cold beer, Cacique
a hundred grayed Gringos
young Ticos, a few.

Tin-roofed rancho
no walls to block view
of the jungled river
Larry thumping guitar
Steve teasing mandolin
voices pluck heartstrings
as skies crack and explode
deluge-drum drowns
the music
musicians.

Band boys mingle
grab a bite, a drink,
a drag on a blunt.
Sun comes out
players pick it back up
just a long break
between sets.

Diary: El Cajón de Grecia, December 2017

Five new poems for December, all of a theme.

Canticle of the earth

Wind fluting through the night
the sigh of a far sea.
In the morning quiet
the movement Water through Canyon
is played pianissimo.
Clouds ensilked
waltz on the ridge
in the arms of the trades.

Rails croak in the deep woods
chachalacas cry out in the trees
a cuckoo whistles in the orange.
The trill of a wren
tsk tsk of hummingbirds.
In the pines up the hill
whoo-whoo of an owl
the laugh of a falcon.

Human toes tickle
dirt dried to crumbly
and fingers pluck
at overgrown green
prink at the flowers.

An ensemble performing
the cantical of the earth.

Ear worm

Polar wind slips
far down from Arctic
quilting a continent
with frigid air.
Snow falls in the deep south
California breathes fire.

Highlands of Centroamérica
cold blows fierce
the shoulders of Poás
shredding leaves
snapping limbs
straining roots.

Shrieks worm the ear
racking the mind.

Temblor

In the middle of night
off a beach near Jacó
Temblor turns in sleep
rustling
his matting of mountains.
The bed sways
windows rattle.

Vulcán Poás

Poás belches
stinking of sulfur
coughs and black ash
peppers the patio.

Convergencia and Alisios

Convergencia eyes Alisios
blowing in from the east
of a sudden picks up
and leaves shouldering
her moody ways.

Sweet in spirit in spring
and through the mornings
snappish after noon
but her pique soon passes
she calms to sleep
wakes again in smile
freshened and blooming.
As her season ripens
her spirits darken
tantrums of temper
grow tedious to endure.

His disposition is sunny
but he’s sometimes a blowhard
gets on your nerves
rarely offers a drink
but he’s welcome
for a change
for a while.