Moving Again

triangular red brick
an "A"
blinking
neon red
stoplight
holding cars
looking up
green circles
my old neighbors
coffee house
red rectangular
couches
young girls
picking on
scones
drinking fifty
cent refill
haven't
been here
for a while
now
door shuts
a cooling
blast overhead
I'm moving
again
I am moving.

The Fate of Wednesday Poems

Well Dear Reader (I just finished re-reading Jane Eyre today, so please excuse the reference to "dear reader"--had to), the year is over. When I began Wednesday Poems, it was only meant as an experiment; to see if I could remain faithful to a poetry practice, however small, for one year. I did it. I didn't ever miss a Wednesday, although once or twice I forgot until later in the afternoon. So, there it is. A year of poems written on Wednesdays. I do not plan to all out abandon this blog. I do still intend to post poems, but I don't think I will index them on the left. The index will be only for the true Wednesday Poems of the experiment. I shall now write poems when the spirit moves and as time and space allow, whatever the day of the week it happens to be. This too will be an experiment. If six months goes by without a new poem, well then, I may have to returned to the more disciplined practice of a poem every week.

Thanks for reading Wednesday Poems.

Hydie

Out From Egypt

out from egypt
changes emerge

a time spent
in the wilderness

disorientation
follows the known

still embrace
the unknown

and continue
walking forward

faith in manna
to be provided

daily bread
no more, no less

if only with
barest intention

walk out of
this desert

and in arriving,
love surrounds

even when the
present body tires

God will provide
a new home

more good

the earth causes a disturbance
in man's invention
nuclear catastrophe threatens

spoiled apple pie for breakfast
causes bowel
spasms and eruptions, pain

nature over nurture, the lies of
addictions
no one can understand anymore

a reality has been created to
justify unseemly
behavior and a failure to parent

do the best you can, man, while
you are here
let your days bring more good

than evil

Death in the Family

a death in the family. funeral
today. driving north, I-94,
brings all of these memories.
see high school teachers. faces
no longer smooth. less hair.

how many would-be souls rise
on the wind and gaze on
flowers made of colors that
we don't even know to be
colors? Perhaps those of us
that "be" are the limited
ones, with eyes that do not
see and ears that do not
hear. quiet now. stop.

see the snow in the ditch,
train tracks, North Dakota
winds whipping up
swirls of white over the
center line. I still love.

Giraffes make sounds, but
the human ear cannot detect
these sounds. Life is not always
within our grasp. Often it is
on another plane all together.

Calling my dad to
tell him we returned
safely, while I still can.
The snow all left behind
me in the ditches, perhaps
not even still white.