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Transition Days
2024.07.25
Wynn
Poems
Country Eyes
The first Saturday morning in October at Massabesic Lake. The world is in masks. The trees are in technicolor. Autumn in New England, when Mother Nature reminds the Country what color really is. Autumn foliage season begins in New Hampshire. The eyes only see 4k desktop wallpapers. Professional photographers. Japanese
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A Candle for Neon
That this matters. These words here. Words. That’s my insistence. That what I do all day, and others can do too, matters to our world. That sharing what matters most to us, even and maybe especially, only literally, matters to us as a society. I work. All day. All
Poems
It Is What It Is
We feel so uncomfortable Saying the word soul. In the morning: We dress Our children for school. Then march Them off to war. In rooms: Full of Semi-automatic clouds of chalk. Full of The lingering smell of pencils. And tomorrow: Take an eraser To a predictably bloodied world. We
Ma
It's Really Something Else
Remove the ant-covered McDonald’s parking lot French fry from its beak, and a seagull is a soft soda pop bottle swaddled in the wings of an angel. Where there are people there are seagulls. Someone’s gotta clean. Pro-tip #1: Should you ever lose your group of
Poems
She's Afraid to Hope
She's afraid to hope. The spider in my window; She's afraid of hope. Black Widow Beautiful And she (yes, she!) is Afraid to hope. Could it be this time, (Yes, This Time!) the grass (Yes, This Grass!) is actual (In fact, actual!) green. Actual factual Green.
Poems
All of Her Poetry, Still
I didn’t know Mary was dead. (No one told me about Maya, either) A blank Pause when I read about it online. Poets don’t go out when we die. (We live with Death while we live.) We stay home. Which is why when Walt said to me (The
Ma
A Prism
The secret to a good life Is the secret to the universe. Balance. Balance what? Light. Mother Nature balances the Light. Color is measured in frequencies, So, color is the measure of the closeness… Or better said… the “nearness of the light.” Liquid, gas, solid? No and no and no.
Poems
Scroll Down and Forget 'em
Snow last night. Treetops Rooftops Road signs Topped Powder sugared Magnificent. Why scrub away Autumn's mess? Let it soak. Snow like scrubbing bubbles, When they melt the mess goes with them. Some metaphors stink. Some similes are like scrubbing bubbles, To do their best work, Let them sit
Poems
Y Nt Rn?
Where’s your ambition?
Poems
For Pablo, Para Ti
"Soneto XVII o te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego: te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma. Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva dentro de sí, escondida,
Poems
The Secret of the Moon
Watching loons at Massabesic Lake while other people fall in love. Pastel dusk sky. Orange is only ever beautiful next to lavender. Traffic. So much at once. People and problems come in clusters. Headlights off the water brings The Night Sky whisper close. He’s got a message for you: