December 15 - Sunset at 4:30

Dusk arrives

mid-afternoon, it seems --

this spin to the dark time of the year

has me gasping for light, for air

Even on a gray day. . .

Exquisite lace

of bare branches

graces

this gray sky

December 12 - Scenes from a Gray Day

Arriving this morning, the building wing

is just a standing wall.

An excavator waits, hungry,

nearby,

to eat up the rest of the building.

Dusk starts at four this close to solstice.

I step out into oddly warm drizzle

this gray, misty, dreamlike

late afternoon.

A reflective stone facing the river behind me.

December 9 - Demolition Day 2

We inhabit brick buildings

As landscapes, enduring --

But they are as mutable, quick to crumble,

As this tender flesh

We are dressed in

Yesterday's demolition of a wing of Norris Hall

Today - just a shell remains of this section

December 8 - Becoming Rubble

Bite by bite

Of the huge, yellow shovel

These rooms, stairways, windows

Memories

Become rubble

December 7 - Coming Down

Like an old, old tooth

Too far gone to save, this old building

Is coming down



December 6 - Waiting

Staring and staring

Down the snow-flecked street

Does not speed up

This late bus

December 1 - Frosty Beginning

Ah - it begins!

Morning wind

Has an icy edge. . .

Snow dusts over November's brown ground

September 19

An unexpected gift:

This moment's peace in evening sunshine

On a lake-bound slip of land

While ducks quack, then take flight before me.

September 16

Saying farewell to you, again, today,

Graying friends from college, poet friends, gather.

You're the first of us to go.

Now, outside, this tree

Turns early toward winter.

September 16

Jacket weather

Faces a touch glum

Our town rocketed, back and forth,

This time of year between the Meditarranean

And northern Canada

September 14, evening

Every Wednesday evening,

As I walk past the Kenosha

(Italian restaurant below, doorway flanked with flowers),

I imagine living there, urban,

Cosmopolitan

Walking up to my flat on the edge of downtown

September 14

This morning's chill

(Sapling maples tinged with red)

Makes it clear:

Summer is ending

September 12

Homeward bound on the bus,

Downdown plaza

Lampposts hung with salmon-hued petunias

Balmy air - it seems

Possible for summer to last forever.

September 11

Worship today is solemn --

We recall horrors

Of ten years before - chaos, bodies falling --

Except - near me at the right,

And farther over to the left,

Babies gurgle, snuffle, speak out --

A counterpoint of new life

September 10

No better way, this bright, warm,

Mid-day in early fall

To celebrate our anniversary

Than these neighborhood

Yard sales

September 9

Morning sun glints

On the spiderweb strands

Outside my third-floor window

Life abounding, high and low,

All around me

September 8

Pretending this is Europe:

Perfect afternoon, coffee shop for lunch,

Fountain shooting high, splashing,

Misting into rainbows

September 5

Early September, long weekend ending,

We tilt into Autumn

Slant sunlight in the evening

Brilliant sky, chill in the air 

September 1

Summer's last exhalation - -

Hot, moist, air - -

All around campus,

Broken furniture piled near the streets

While freshman fill the quad,

Eager-faced, eating bag lunches

August 1

Sitting in comfort and peace

Summer class, student center movie theater

We hear Cambodian confessions

Of killing field killers - remorseful,

Anguished

Human

July 31

Back in college again

(Wined, dined, and welcomed to a seminar

With alumni)

How the decades shimmer behind us --

Not melting away, but thinning --

As we name professors, classes,

When we were first here, first adult,

Everything still possible

July 30

What wit and verve,

Imagination, insight,

And humor abound

At this miniature SF/fantasy/horror

Convention!

John Rezmerski - poet, humorist

Joan Slonczewski - new book out: High Frontier

July 29

In the afternoon, going home,

Text from my son:

My old friend's death - too late now

For that talk over old times

My dear, sweet troubadour of the city 

Photo from http://www.thecie.org/mcbride/

July 28

Yes, the river view is lovely

Evening light glows blue

Above river's edge, city profile --

But what am I doing here

In the office?

July 27

After speeding through four states,

Along river gorges, piney slopes, 

Past rock formations and wide ranch lands,

I return here to my cocoon:

The timeless river of email

Pulls me in

July 26

Campground neighbors, my road

Takes me back to tree-shaded office

And unvaried routine,

While you set off this morning for adventure

(Motorcycle, tent-trailer)

Joyous vagabonds

July 25

Outside the car

Gallatin River rushing alongside

Orange and yellow rafts bumping along the rapids

Inside the car, we are in Oxford

With Harriet and Lord Peter

July 24

Time traveling,

I reach out to you, young and serene

In the photo --

Now decades behind this Now.

My children never knew you:

Kindest one --

Grandmother.

July 23

It wasn't the vows

That caught my heart, but now,

My brother's tears:

His daughter, white-gowned, veiled,

Dancing into the future

July 22

This is the day

We sit together

Eating wedding rehearsal picnic food

Near my childhood home

Future and past fusing:

This bright, singular moment

July 21

At Kate's house,

 We stay up too late,

Eating ice cream and peaches, watching

A slide show of travel in southern France

July 20

Family gathers in the fenced yard

My little curly-haired dog leaps

From lap to lap

July 19

In the dawn light, I wander

Down to muddy river

Cottonwood fluff fills the air, cushions the ground

Two large birds in a dead tree - one white-headed -

Calling "Skreee! Skreee!"

July 18

Traveling through three states:

Morning light flashes white spangles

High up, the lake gulls

Afternoon - open, wide range land

Eagle circles, circles above the road

Evening - elegant brilliance

Dazzles, the rocky horizon

July 17

What feminism looks like, today:

there on the floor, intent,

surrounded by infant equipment,

the tall man 

diapers his daughter

July 16

Near evening, after daylong rain showers --

air clear as clear,

clean as clean --

I hurry down to the riverbank

so as not to miss the feast:

sunset

July 15

Sky full of grumbling

streets now rushing streams --

wet feet!

July 14

A few drops of rain?

no matter --

the playground calls

July 13

Canadian air, clean and cool,

brings early autumn to mid-summer

in the ecstatic Now of the playground, children shout and tumble

I sit here, indoors, amid machine hum

dusty windows welded shut

July 12

At sunset, downtown,

I'm reminded

(library stretched high, people all around)

why I love being here

July 11

Crossing the foot bridge

moments from the work day,

wishing, instead

to be down there, gliding over bright water

July 10

In humid, warm silence

sitting with those I love

I discover (again)

how boring --

rehearsing these worries

July 9

Seeing you, vivid,

I renounce

the fiction, the stick-figure,

my mind created

in your name

July 8

dark water flowing

through evening's damp heat

cools my vision

July 7

sunlight gone from the park, but lingers

high on piled clouds

 

mirrored, rippling, in the pond

while in darkening sky

the waxing half-moon brightens