glistening grass with morning
dew, like a spider web
pulsating, wind whipping, sticky
threads catch life, then
death, how nature works
constant miracles, colors, petals
insects submerged in nectar
pollen dust travels, floating
on bees feet, sun
greets this day with
warmth for all, moon
at night, bright dreams
silent stars, flickering light
Category: Poetry
Soap in the Shower
when i think of all the times
i’ve caught the soap in the
shower, i wonder if i could
trade this for immortality or
winning the lottery or another
miracle beyond slick clumsy
fingers losing a fragrant
rectangle, only to somehow
cradle it again, like a touchdown
this, while contemplating whether
it is just me who performs sudsy
magic, there must be others who
exhaust all their luck behind
foggy plexiglass, others who silently
celebrate the meaningless and divine
Perhaps Forever
I pause when
light looks like
heaven might
evanescent glow
white tufts, airy clouds
barely covering sun
I stand in awe
shifting sky
gazing upwards at
all we can’t know
alive, this moment
perhaps forever
Apples
fuji, granny smith
red delicious, original
ornaments before christmas
was christmas, stems
like umbilical cords
dangling juice bulbs
filled with tree
strength inside
each one sways
growing seeds
bark, trunk
roots, sacred
dirt, water, all of
life between teeth
while chewing
this earth
Of Love and Things
black friday
pop up ads
vanity fair
folded perfume
possess, covet
objects of pride
I’m better than you
insistence that
moneyed hierarchy
is the answer
will solve
all woes
sorry, not sorry
to say, this
accumulating life
is wasting time
on things (and
you’ve heard this
before), stuff won’t
make you happy
but instead, yes
love, it is
so simple
also free
Harness the Stream
and when the time
comes, the sentence will
appear already begun, as
if words were writing
themselves, this is how
the subconscious works
creating narratives that are
never heard, only thought
until someone tries to
put it all in print, and
then what happens? so
tricky to harness the
stream, all this like a
dream become understood
or forever a mystery
So I Keep On Writing
Mary Oliver writes of
flowers and she does it
very well, as I just stare
at words, wishing that
goldenrod could mean
as much to me, stuck in
this urban world, nature
on the fringe, everything
I cannot see, because in
the car I move too fast
to even smell the air,
but excuses will never
win, nor are they really
true, so I keep on writing,
this much I know to do
Country Music
Charley Pride on bathroom
laptop, while I shave, his voice
forlorn longing, whiskers
collect on razor’s edge, this
morning mirror apart from wife
and son. I feel for Merle Haggard,
travails, time on the road, love
found and lost, like Loretta Lynn
in Topeka, daydreaming of that
different life, away from crumpled
hamper laundry and the last
cereal bowl bits clinging to old
milk. Somewhere in Nashville
they are still singing with Jesus,
waiting for my return.
Mount Tamalpais
we talk about life
stumbling upward toward East
Peak, the fog slowly
disappearing into blue sky
day on this mountain
where we remember thirty
that age when last
here, ascending together as
if time remains still
but no, five kids
between us, balding heads
failing vision, and all
the rest of middle
age, to think in
another fourteen we will
be sixty, how long
will the mountain remain
ours, before it nudges
us off fire roads, away
from crow filled branches
we look down on
Lake Lagunitas, that water
holding minutes like a
Jim Croce song that
lasts forever, then stops
Porcupine
glistening needles
high beam light
soft snow
falling on
Umbria mountain
we freeze
this moment
black cactus
scurries
into night
Daniel W. Polk 