Heat Wave
Hot town, summer in the city. Back of my neck gettin’ dirty and gritty. Been down, isn’t it a pity? Doesn’t seem to be a shadow in the city. The Lovin’ Spoonful
Disturbance of the Peace
In mid-June I start a green poem about silence, but the leaves rustle.
Summer
The cry of the cicada gives no sign that presently it will die. Basho
Good News
My cardio doc gave no indication that I might become my own ghost.
Bliss
Curled up in a gold patch of sunlight on the porch, Cat purrs in his sleep.
Good Scout
Waltie was the son of Axel and Ella Frank, who worked for my grandfather at our big summer house in Quissett. He had been a Boy Scout since he was eleven, and he’d earned the rank of Star, which is just two positions short of Eagle, the ultimate honor, which to this day is so
Eighteenth of April in ’75
On this day Paul Revere made his famous ride on a mare named Brown Beauty.
Quandary
Just trying to write about Trump makes me feel as crazy as he is.
Awakening
The hermit thrush flutes far and wee from the forest, and now it’s just spring. With thanks to e.e. cummings
Easter Posting
In the juvescence of the year comes Christ the Tiger. The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours. T. S. Eliot, Gerontian