another daydream

another daydream

Sunday, May 26, 2019

Emily Dickinson Defends the Letter


Mollusk and Mail

A Letter is a joy of Earth––
It is denied the Gods––
Though Godspeed may prevail
––when it is deemed a snail.

Admire then the Snail––
A coiled envelope that seals
the softness of a living thing
––discerned in words
––arriving.


~ LCMH

Note: the first two lines are a fragment of Emily Dickinson's writing; the rest is my response to a prompt from "Next Line, Please" to complete the poem. Also published here: https://theamericanscholar.org/a-letter-is-a-joy-of-earth/#.XOpOMaSxWEf 


Friday, May 10, 2019

"Her Property"

Her Property

This tenement of lies
defeats the skies

to a squalor
unbecoming her.

She rummages
for goods that damage.

In the sick of unsleep,
the roof sags and weeps.

How how how 
fate kisses her brow,

arcs her to a rainbow.    
Gold streaks of hair show

glimmers of a treasure
sequestered in her nature.

If she knows she counts,
this will amount

to enough for supplying
the cost of living.


~ LCMH



Sunday, April 28, 2019

"Answer"


Answer


There were ravens making a clatter
on the tin roof above our bed.
We woke unsure of the sound, seeing
a lone black bird in the black walnut tree
...then two, then three, perched behind
the bedroom wall behind the old house
not of our ancestors but of a new history
for ourselves and daughters, something akin
to a hundred acre wood two and a half hours
from the District of Columbia.

They took their leave, nine ravens
that had convened above our heads…
a ‘congress’ or ‘unkindness’ named
by some, but let’s call them a conjuring
due to the riddle read aloud the evening prior,
“What’s the difference between a raven
and a writing desk?” We didn’t know
that there is no difference… until
I gave you ravens by writing at this desk.


~ LCMH


Saturday, April 20, 2019

"Frail April, Paris"

Frail April, Paris


St. Geneviève of the spire,
we do not deny our tendency
to crumble, the ash we are while
breathing, the spine that isn’t fixed,
made of knotty vertebrae, the patella
of our knees weakening, without patina. 
We do not deny what transpires in hours
of ages, the ghost of an exclamation point,
awe that goes before and after, our rawness.   


~ LCMH

Sunday, April 7, 2019

"Trade"

     Trade

     
     Wouldn’t
     it be better
     to fold

     that ego 
     like origami
     
     rather than 
     keeping
     it in place?
     
     To make
     more cranes,
     tulips,

     
     and owls
     out of
     
     each
     papery
     defense?



     ~ LCMH




Tuesday, March 26, 2019

"A Gift"

A Gift


my eyes scan left to right
on a random selection of
Merwin’s The Shadow of Sirius
new and hardbound
while syntax spirals downstream
form disappears like memory
and each thing written ripples
like skips of stone across
a body of water as I
catch this gesture 
to draw us together


~ LCMH

Friday, March 8, 2019

"The Way"


The Way 
 
The way she moves, it's beautiful. 
Ankle bells tell rotation of feet
while hips accent left to rightful,
elbows exalt into the downbeat.
A continuity of snaking arms greets
bangles that jangle in a new refrain
as her head slides west to east.
Shoulders shimmy like rain
cascading through human frame;
she may captivate she will not pay
ransom owed to an ancient claim.
It's she who moves the way
––like a divining rod  
recalls the beauty on arid sod. 


~ LCMH

Friday, February 22, 2019

"Peacock Décima"


Peacock Décima

The form heralds decimation
of freewheeling on easy swing
of mood with no need for steering.
Pattern prances with sheer gumption,
struts end rhymes and knows not to shun
the task of resplendent display.
His plumage be a tale… a play.
Follow him, watch, a quiet fan.
He will reward you with the span
of afterthought, and preen your day. 


~ LCMH