Cada cabeza es un mundo.
Sung
As I lie dying
spoon me one more time
before the darkness falls
and all I am
is no more
forever done and gone
a song no longer sung
hold me one last time
before the darkness falls
and I am no longer going
simply gone. mjh
6/19/2007
curve-billed thrasher call
The curve-billed thrasher’s call of ‘wheet-wheet’ can be quite loud. They also sing sweetly, starting very softly in the spring.
dog: a three-letter word for a good-natured optimist.
Good dog!
When poetry strikes
I walk the dog around the park,
Muttering a poem.
He looks askance
as I repeat lines
to etch them on gray parchment.
I nod distractedly to leery passers-by,
hoping I don’t look crazy
reciting rhyme to a dog.
If I ask the postal worker for paper and pen,
will he reach for his pepper spray, instead?
Will the news report “Postman repels park poet,”
“Park poet provokes postman,”
or simply
“Poet goes postal”? mjh
12-16-02
It’s a lovely October day: cold and cloudy with unexpected snow on the mountain.
Tomorrow: Spring. Friday: Summer.
legacy
I’ve become the caretaker
of a small collection of works
by a minor poet
who abruptly stopped writing
when his muse moved on.
Did he feel like a man
whose mistress has taken
a younger lover?
Or was this as bad as
the day the dog died?
He never could say. mjh
04/04/13