Shotgun-boys waited,
sure patience would bring rewards:
Crow just stayed away.
Crow (4)
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Category Archives: animal poems
Crow (2)
Crow (1)
Maybe I should have been
Maybe I should have been
a nature poet, talking up
clouds and lakes,
wolves and rabbits,
the coyote, the honeybee, the scorpion.
Maybe I should have spent my time
traveling from desert to climax forest,
traveling from valley to mountainside,
talking forest fires, rolling fog,
the endless waves that munch seaside cliffs,
the fantastical desert arches
that occupy our cross section of time,
snails, beetles, microbes, grizzly bears,
and how everything fails and is reborn.
Maybe I’ll let go of my newspaper
this time, maybe
I’ll move to the suburbs and write about
a drowned man, maybe
I’ll go to work for a bank
and write about a drowned man,
maybe after writing about the sea
all my life, it will be a happy ending
to load my pockets with stones
and wade to meet the rising tide.
Maybe I’ll go to work for an insurance company
and write about ice cream.
Maybe I will yet.
Meanwhile, just to remind me
that it’s not all over,
here comes that blackbird again,
calling to see if I’m ready yet
to do the next thing.
the walk at last
come along come come come
that is fine
no no need for that and no time
for the need to account for the world is a pressing need
for instance that squirrel
must be put into her proper slot SHARP! SHARP! SHARP! SHARP!
ah
the wellfed mastiff was
here
at this
shrub
since the rain stopped
well well we will see about that
now
all done
come along shall we here is a street for us to walk along I’ll show you the way
this way
this way
this
this way
this
a moment
I’m sure there’s something
here
all right
let us keep on
come along?
there that’s fine
dreamed
dreamed
I was
pursued
by 4 bears
1 was continually arriving from beyond the east
1 was striking like a hammer without any anvil
1 was in love with god who tangled him up like a vine
1 was singing like a river om om om om
by 4 bears
pursued
I was
dreamed
It was the gods all right
And the golden gods went by running
When the day was ending and the sun.
You may not have noticed, they could have been anyone
Except the way the light
Penetrated the world just then;
Except the way the aspen’s goldcoin leaves
Quivered as if air were water;
Except the way the birds went on singing
Even after night rose up all around;
Except the way the bat cut new sigils into the dark
And the way the stars were bright.
They’re gone now but yes
It was the gods all right.
U, u: Unassuming Unicorns
The unassuming unicorns united underground
Upthrusting their umbrellas with an ululating sound;
Their umbrage unassuaged, they undertook an upward run
Emerging all unbidden underneath an umber sun.
All Quiet for the Queen (a prequel)
(Being an account of the Peculiar Events leading up to the Monstrous and Notorious Tragedy of the Four and Twenty Blackbirds who were martyred by being baked into a pie; and of the Warning previously issued to all Fowl within the Royal Earshot, which these aforementioned Blackbirds roundly ignored, to their own Detriment and Ultimate Demise; written by one, Witness to the Aforesaid Events.)
Go quietly, quietly! Quell every sound,
You geese in the air and you quails on the ground!
You ducks with your querulous ducklings in tow,
You may go as you like; only quietly go.
No quacking; no quarreling; quash every cry;
Not a chirp from you blackbirds who quarter the sky!
The queen is asleep:
If you cease not to peep
She’ll awake and demand you be baked in a pie!
The birds gave autumn up
The birds gave autumn up for dead
But made a song before they fled
Here are the words they sang and said:
Oh, no, it’s the end of the world!
Oh, no, it’s the end of the world!
Oh, no, it’s the end of the world!
Let’s scatter the nests and fly away!
The frogs have sunk and turned to stone
The seeds are sleeping, each alone,
The rest of the world may do as it pleases
When we are gone, gone, gone, gone.
But Spring hatched from December’s nut;
The grass turned green and the ram sprang up;
The birds returned from where they’d flown
Acting as if they’d always known;
The frogs from their stony sleep uncurled
And the birds made song for the beginning of the world.
Bag of Anything 