My Poems in The Heron’s Nest
The following are all of my poems published in The Heron’s Nest, from 1999 to today (most recent provided first). I’m grateful to a long line of editors for selecting these poems, many of which I count among my very best.
longing . . .
the present tense
of fireworks
walking drunk
off the merry-go-round
my summer-sunned daughter
distant taiko—
the cherry blossoms
trembling
winter solstice . . .
I learn the word
palliative
year of the armadillo—
my daughter’s zodiac
in crayon
reaching to the back
of the empty mailbox
summer sunset
carpet patterns his retirement speech
snake
out of its skin
out of itself
toboggan run—
I discover
my coccyx
after the popsicle the popsicle stick
silent night—
the bell choir bells
at rest in velvet
spring lightning—
a flower’s shadow
against the fortress wall
muddy trail—
every now and then
a peanut shell
spring walk—
the train trestle
and its many shadows
unsold pumpkins—
straw from the store display
trails out the door
foreclosure—
the skull of something
in the crawlspace
ferry gift shop—
all the tourist mugs
gently clinking
from the ocean
to her moat
a bucket mostly spilled
tonight’s stars—
how long will it take
for my light to reach them?
night crossing—
salt spray rises
up through the anchor hole
loons scattering . . .
a floatplane touches down
into summer
a still, starry night—
train tracks
wet with dew
“On the Other Side, In Memory of Bob Major”
X:3, September, 2008 (memorial haibun)
the kite’s tail
ripped from knotty branches—
mockingbird song
“Kay F. Anderson, Life-Dancer”
IX:2, June, 2007 (memorial haibun)
ripples in the tidepool—
a quieter ocean
in my child’s shell
drifting cherry petals . . .
a window goes up
in the passing limousine
blue September sky—
the wordless things
we want to know
VIII:4, December, 2006 (memorial poem for Francine Porad)
beached kelp—
we examine each other’s
life lines
fog . . .
just the tree
at the bus stop
VII:4, December, 2005 (memorial poem for Jerry Kilbride)
Remembrance Day—
my insignificant wince
at the misdirected poppy pin
Christmas Eve—
bits of a price sticker
stuck to my finger
her last breath . . .
the strings vibrating
on her dusty harp
VII:1, March, 2005 (memorial poem for Elizabeth Searle Lamb)
crackling beach fire—
we hum in place of words
we can’t recall
VI:11, December, 2004 (Editor’s Choice poem)
dwindling fire—
our conversation shifts
to death
leaves turning—
the toboggan hanging
in the dark garage
tax audit—
dents in damp grass
from the mower’s wheels
apples picked
and the casket chosen—
lingering sunset
tripod holes
in the creekside mud—
Yosemite dawn
day labourers
gathered at the Goodwill—
the dripping awning
starry starry night—
unfinished art school paintings
in the dumpster
frosted windows—
my weight
still on the gym scale
bookmobile day—
huckleberries bloom
along the white picket fence
my neighbor’s bicycle
locked to the fence—
drifting plum petals
quiet afternoon—
leaves on her desk
arranged by colour
twilight lingers . . .
from the wrecking yard
flash of a blowtorch
IV:12, December, 2002 (reprinted in this issue, in print and online)
IV:10, October 2002 (in the online version but accidentally omitted from the print edition)
a skipping stone
strikes the moored sailboat . . .
autumn drizzle
summer afternoon—
the soda’s sound
changes as I drink
cool summer night—
a full moon
frames the bird feeder
a rest by the stream—
burrs on the tongue
of my tennis shoe
track meet—
a few grains of sand
in the drinking fountain
dew on the morning paper—
grass blades
unbending
dew drop
on a dusty grass blade . . .
the ant backs up
noon sun
picnic cheese
sweating
distant traffic hum—
the stone buddha’s
moss-filled crevice
summer clouds—
a child scatters popcorn
on the fish pond
lazy day—
our wrist watches
on the ice chest
a leaf falls
from the greenhouse ficus
clap of thunder