September 26 – October 2, 2016: Poetry from Elizabeth Alford and J.I. Kleinberg

Poetry is a Verb

…………."… Poetry is a verb, not a noun." – Jane Hirshfield

When canyons rise to meet the cliffs
and the rivers all run dry;
when the air we need is hard to breathe,
come poetry with me.

For the sea itself is drowning
and the deserts cry for rain.
The bread we eat has tainted grain;
come poetry with me.

While the roads we take are crumbling
and our sidewalks fall apart,
a drifting leaf is no sign of peace;
come poetry with me.

When ancient trees are paved away,
stillbirthing barren land,
and the life we know has given way
once Fate has dealt our hand;

we’ll watch the stars above implode,
believing we’re still free.
When the world is gone, you’ll understand.
Come poetry with me.

January morning

I imagined a bear
lumbering black hump
in the back by the bin
when I looked out the window
this morning but no bear
was there just the green bin
steady and square
and the dark road
and leafless limbs
swaying in November
wind that should have denned
but wanders instead
the alleys of January

on this coast

you can always reach land
by heading north
he says
but now
 
stilled
 
afloat in fog
 
colorless
sea-scented cocoon
 
blind
I grasp
at slippery rails
turn from air’s chill bite
toward any warmth
squint for shadows
mountains
shore
a lighthouse beam
a drift of kelp
 
listen
for gull or goose
wave or whale
motor
voice
a buoy’s moan
a warning bell
 
waiting
listening
ebb tide in my veins
pulled to the horizon