Poetry

10/04/2013 #2

The tip of the moon's
white fingernail wipes the sky
clear of dusty clouds.

Jagged white fangs of
a frozen Hurricane rip
through blood-coated clouds.

A cold rain clicks the
leaves like a skilled typist's nails
on old-fashioned keys.

My dog, dressed in her
pink and white thundershirt, curls
calmly on my lap.

Titan snores beside
us on his pillow, wrapped in
a pilling gray throw.

The forgetful tide
swallows the shore only to
spit it out once more.

Streetlight glistens through
thinning maple leaves; raindrops
slip from pointed tips.

An impossibly
slow display of fireworks;
sumac leaves alight.

A pack of arctic
foxes wag their proud white tails;
pampas grass in seed.

A smiling sun lifts
the black and yellow blossom
to its shining breast.

Summer mists weave their
gossamer strands into thick
webs of autumn rain.

Land of famine and
war, your only possessions
violence and death.

Keep what you own. The
world knows enough suffering
without your cheap wares.

An uncertain moon,
pale and fading with age, peeks
through misty curtains.

The sun wrings out its
last ray of warmth before
the equinox arrives.

Reflection on a
harvest moon, golden mirror
to the sleeping sun.

Dawns's pink mist gently
settles on distant mountains,
frosting icy heights.

dusk tucks a drowsy
world in leaving on its light
yellow companion

Reverberations
lightly ringing on the Sound;
cymbal of the night.

Purple asters strut
along the stem, their petals
fanned like peacock tails.

Warp, wrinkle, rip, and
peel; the madrona sheds
its leathery skin.

Seattle's storied
summer, bound on both sides by
crocus and cherry