quiet road
at night
when headlights
cease, time
of possum
raccoon and
the skunk
they wander
on asphalt
journeys, while
we sleep
they sniff
and scurry
when the
moon is
full or
waning, under
stars and
foggy skies
they are
out there
yet unseen
but come
morning sometimes
stiff dead
bodies, and
we just
swerve, in
a hurry
Category: Poetry
Birth of a Poet
i lived five years
without screens
never bought
anything online
or watched
tv
or had
email
at home
never got a phd
but five years
without screens
that was my
doctorate
and what did i do?
oh, you can guess
i read and read
and wrote
instead
October Walking With Hudson
wind
blowing
orange
leaves
through
the
sky
as
we
lunge
to
catch
autumn
in
our
hands
Self-Checkout
no more checkout clerks
at the grocery store
now it is us and the machine
little bar codes, red light
that beeping sound of
credit card accumulating debt
and no one smiles anymore
or says hello, or says
how about that football game
no, that is all in the past
now it is us and the machine
and sometimes we wonder
is this progress?
Only These Four Words
only quiet these woods
bark green leaves, smell
of jasmine is everything
we wished for this
only ocean gray waters
sand sun toes touch
cold salt wet time
here on winter beach
only nature and words
my notebook of memories
we walked up mountain
your eyes forever sky
only everything, this air
we breathe in together
life, all of it
will go on forever
Tooth Extraction
twisting he tugs
as i imagine white roots
appearing like hardened snow
on gummy blood, my
molar protruding unnaturally
dangling out of jaw socket
waiting for the final yank
and this is what
i came for, the concluding
moment where self leaves
body and is gone
he holds it up for me to see
that indeed life is real
and things do end
Listening to Chet Baker
again we remember
to love on
this day of
chocolate and red
hearts swoon or
pretend with hallmark
memories of
cold february wind
blew cupid arrows
and i loved
you too, all
of you, were
once my funny
valentine
By the Pool
sunken ground, watery
blue, it whirls
with summer sun
dug into the
dirt and rocks
pushed aside for
me to be
here surrounded by
ants and trees
bees and breeze
on my perch
like a dragonfly
watching the earth
Avoidance
no, not the
details, foreheads trickling
blood of children
and i’ve seen
this before in
israel and gaza
the photos and
headlines, hopeless
but then i
turn off my
phone and it
all just disappears
and i think
about the basketball
playoff game instead
Sonny Rollins Is Alive
when enough times passes
we begin to think they
are all dead
those jazz musicians
who cradled gold
instruments, lung life air
pulsating into
penetrating through everything
with their reverberating
notes of truth
it all ends
but his saxophone sound
is still here
and perhaps
will be
forever
Daniel W. Polk 