please move the deer crossing

that sign with the buck
leaping over an xing
is not a warning
for drivers to slow down

but an official
wildlife-approved
crossing zone
in our treaty
with the deer

along with hunting season
it should be honored
only there

because deer can read
and know where their crossings are

it must be true

i heard it on the radio

Inspired by this.  You really, really need to watch/listen to this.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CI8UPHMzZm8&feature=youtu.be

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reflections–octpowrimo day 14

the beauty we know
simply
this dance
of light
and matter

their rainbow game
echoing
you to me
in diffuse
spectral reflection

spinning colors
you are not
to dazzle eyes inside
snapped angles
in all directions

unneeded sun
you give back
unknowing

and grateful
i bask in it

 

Double reflection: The sun is reflected in the water, which is reflected in the paddle.
Image courtesy of Wikipedia.

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if the dead do anything underground while they dream they do not learn, but remember

i do not worship bones
or light candles on graves
like i saw on all soul’s day
after sunset
when i was a child.

living
across the street
from the oldest cemetery
in town, riding bikes
on those quiet drives
and memorizing the names
of children carved in stone
freed me of worry
about those who sleep.

laughter does not wake them
or candles.
if the dead do anything
underground while they dream
they do not learn, but remember.

my daughter holds her breath
when we walk past a graveyard
afraid she will breathe spirits
but that is not how haunting starts.
if i could, i would haunt you
alive,
my ghost calling to longing

not fear.

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shroud: haiku heights prompt

shroud me in silence
the unspoken things you are
wrapping me always

***

i have bathed my dead
with tears, swaddled them gently
for their new mother

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prelude to a 30-volume love letter

cogito ergo sum
carried by blood
to the place i hear words
not spoken but dropped
between the ears
before i wake today.
Descartes dreamed
as eyes open is tricky–
i am uncertain these words
capture my i-ness
the way sum ergo diligo would
if i dreamed dead languages often.

diligo diligi dilige diligiamo diligete diligono

i think; therefore i am.
i am; therefore i love,
because what flowers
under this skin
sweeter than jasmine
only night-blooming
has petals that dissolve
in sunlight. impossible
to press for scent or study
as the mind leaves
these fields of secrets;
bright poppies weaving
a brilliance
bitter on the edges.
i need to drink deep.

i think; therefore i love.
i love; therefore i am.

this passion.  this thirst
for whatever is given can never be met
part-way, half-assed, only on the weekends
and stored under the bed or on the closet floor
in boxes.

i am; therefore i think.
i think; therefore i love:

and that love covers
page after page after page
unmetered and raw
written
to this earth and everything

sum, ergo credo

***the rudimentary latin in this is first cogito ergo sum=I think, therefore I am; sum ergo diligo = I am, therefore I love; sum, ergo credo = I am, therefore I believe.  The diligo/diligi/dilige/diligiamo/diligete/diligono is a present tense conjugation of diligere, the Latin verb for to respect, to esteem, to love.

Day 12: Where passion resides.

Day 12: Where passion resides.

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the bones of it

a sugar maple
after the first hard freeze
knows the essential
& lets everything else
go

releases red
to run rustling
in front of wind

we call it falling
but the core stands
bare

the stripped simplicity
of a monk
one more layer
shrugged off

with casual asceticism

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What can I say but, oh!

eulonia's avatareulonia country

tonight is not the night you will come back to me. i have not been playing mandolin all of my life for this moment when i am twenty- three wearing blue nail polish waiting for carrot cake to cool. it is autumn, the favorite time of year that is not spring or summer when the ground at which we will scratch comes up dusty crescent bowls of fingernail. i couldn’t write poetry or sing so i made cupcakes.  grated six roots by hand and ladled out the cinnamon soup not expecting peace but hoping to satisfy some small bodily want in this walk-alone-weather: the tongue’s cut for sweetness, a grain of brown spice window that keeps                        opening and                                           opening. black dog led the parade today through forsyth once in the morning and then again to tie up the afternoon. i knew him but he did not stop. following…

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