Monthly Archives: May 2019

Diary: El Cajón de Grecia, April 2019

It’s been a few months since the last post. During that time I’ve not been working on anything new, rather I’ve been assiduously polishing up “The Book of Noah,” getting it ready for publication. The book is now ready, awaiting just the finishing up of the cover design, and should be published sometime this month. If you’d like a free copy in the meantime, email me and I’ll be happy to send it to you. Please specify either ePub or Mobi format.

An announcement: all of my earlier books – A Year of Days, Sketches of Poás, Meanders – are now available at Smashwords. The books are “you set the price” – please feel welcome to download them for free. And please, leave a review at Goodreads and Amazon.

Or if you prefer, you can go to Amazon, IBooks, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, etc. and pay $4.99. If you’d like paperback editions, they’re available at Amazon (A Year of Days, Sketches of Poás, Meanders).

I have a draft ready of a new poem I’ve been working on, about the visit of a friend. It’s not done yet, but I’d like to hear what you think.

A poem for Mac

Mac here from Fort Worth
BJ on his arm
known each other since law school
time to time, paths crossing
walk at long last together.

Mac has kind eyes
can look at a face
divine a soul.
The lines, features
he says you can tell
what a person’s been through
what’s bechanced, become
savored, suffered.
People, thinking
they might remain younger
get wrinkles erased
bags smoothed
a life lived, gone.
Tell me why would anyone
want to do that?

Early the day, walking
path down to the casita
a Steely-vented hummingbird
blue tail distinctive
samples tiny red flowers
stalks of rabo de gato.
Mac sits on the porch
not moving, the morning.
You don’t have to go
out looking for birds.
Just get out of bed
sit still on the porch
the birds come to you.

I tell Mac a little story
a pair of wrens
big ones, Rufous-naped
known for duets
whistles chatters and gurgles
making a nest in a palm
coconut fiber, stolen
from baskets of orchids
hanging in the potting shed.
Yesterday I watched them
Mac says, all day long
fly into the greenhouse
then back again, out
in their beaks, tufts of fiber
flown off up the hill.

We sit in the quiet
then Mac softly speaks.
When we arrived we kept running
first this way, then that
the coast, the cloud forest
wanting to see.
We came back, realized
we’re already here
a place, special
nature, beauty
feeling flow inside pulsing
intense, overwhelming
not moving, doing nothing
life itself being.

That evening, dark
standing at the veranda
watching, waiting
mist of light rain.
There, look! Mac pointing
fireflies, streaking
first this way, then that
zig zags of light rabbiting
like the path in your poem
the whole time on bright.
Back home he says
fireflies just blink
a flash on, now off.

Mac, you should know.
Those lines of light
traced just for you.