I am writing
“Mark!”
frantically writing
“MArk!”
desperate to record
these fragile thoughts
“MARK!”
done. Back in bed,
she says,
“I thought aliens had abducted you.”
How can I hope
to be so imaginative? mjh
24Feb97
Listen to Merri! (22 seconds)
This poem is yet another true story.
We’ve been together 31 years (in October) and married 21 (in May). She is my muse and my best friend (cliché though that may be).
My Virtual Chapbook (table of contents)
The coyotes
celebrated New Year’s Eve
down by
the frozen lake.
Their singing
at midnight
woke us
from a deep sleep
snug in our tent
piled high
with bags, blankets, and clothes.
I’ve never heard
so devilish a song
so demented an
Auld Lang Syne.
Just when you feared
they might devour us,
the coyotes drove off
in their red minivan
with the bumper sticker that read
“Eat More Sheep” mjh
Listen to Cold Lang Syne (28 seconds)
Of course, there’s a story to go with this…..
It was 12/31/94. We drove from Albuquerque to San Francisco to visit my brother and sister-in-law. Little did we realize that every federal property would be closed by the Gingrinch that stole Xmas during the first Shutdown.
We drove across the Sierras for the first time, convertible top down, newly patched radiator, heater full blast, snow 6 feet deep on either side of the road. That night we camped in a closed campground in sight of a ski resort across a beautiful lake. We built a nest of clothes, etc. And the coyotes did wake us. Too cold to get paper and pen, I repeated a line over and over in my head, hoping to recall it the next day. mjh
My Virtual Chapbook (table of contents)
A mile or two away
above the timberline
sheep spilled single-file
across a meadow
and pooled at a low point.
“If we can see them,” you asked,
“can’t the coyotes?”
At that moment,
we met the strangers
man and woman —
so familiar
so good looking
so foreign.
I know now
they were really coyotes
having a joke with
how easy it is
to be human.
How do I know?
Perhaps it was
the calm way they looked at us.
Perhaps it was
the way they fell on the currant bush
devouring berries.
Perhaps it was
all the wool they wore. mjh
08-25-1995
Listen to Graze (36 seconds)
There may be something fitting in the concurrence of the start of National Poetry Month and April Fool’s Day — something in this poem, as well. This poem is the first I remember writing while camping with Merri, many years ago, along South Mineral Creek, in Colorado. mjh
My Virtual Chapbook (table of contents)
In this dry year,
the cottonwood leaves linger
late in December.
They rattle
a parched prayer
or poem, perhaps.
Whispering, “rain,”
they stay long past
their fellows fallen
into mulch in the gutter.
Whispering, “rain,”
they cling to their post
on sacred duty.
Whispering, “rain,”
they cannot let go
as clouds gather.
Whispering, “rain,”
they will not drop
until they are answered.
Whispering, “Rain!”
mjh
12/16/02
Listen to Whispering, “Rain!” (35 seconds)
My Virtual Chapbook (table of contents)
Haiku may be fun
formulaic poetry —
I don’t care for it.
[inspired by a lackluster Alibi Haiku Contest]
I wish the stories all were true
that we love to tell
and I could be again with you
in Heaven or in Hell.
That I could be again with you,
and all our friends as well,
would bring the greatest joy to me
in Heaven or in Hell.
But we all know this simple truth
that on this earth we dwell
in measured days of age and youth
not Heaven nor in Hell. mjh
1/13/06
For my Mom, who taught me language and love.
Listen to this simple truth
My Virtual Chapbook (table of contents)
There was an accident today
on the road to Poetica.
A truck tipped over
on the road most taken
spilling thousands of poems.
Some handwritten on loose leaf.
Some neatly typed.
Traffic was tied up for hours
as people stood in the road reading
laughing and crying
and sharing their favorites.
O, the humanity. mjh
3-31-2010
Listen to Seek Alternate Route
My Virtual Chapbook (table of contents)