Aloft

Afternoon

piles

a pillow fort

of clouds

a playful

image

to suit

my mood,

imagining

scrambling

to the top

and

falling

among

silver

billows

6 AM

I hear

a hum

the trapped

energy

of an orchestra’s

warming

strings

moment’s away

from the discordant

crash

of the

symphony

of machines

The Artist

Lady Sun

paints

a dawn

pastel

in wisps

of color

Sleeping in

Lady Sun
and Summer
slumber
under
a gray quilt
of cloud
reluctant
as I am
to face
this gloomy
day

Too much with us

For a single

hushed

moment

the only sounds

bird song

wind sigh

and the unobtrusive

hum

of my wheels;

in the eye

of the storm

of noise

that deafens

modern

life

Origin of title

Behind a hotel where 53 meets 94, Eau Claire, WI

Concrete jungle

asphalt river

no metaphor

can transform

human artifice

into nature

Nature

does not defy

our borders

so much

as flow over

and around them

oblivious

to our efforts

to topple

train

or tame

Nature

reclaims

our destruction

Eaux Claires poems

6/16/17
Cottonwood
seeds
float
as if the clouds
drifted free
to join
the music

The quickening

movement

of the clouds

a marimba

glissando

across the sky

6/17/17

Water

knows

no path

but

this path

of its own

making

Calm clouds
reach
ghostly hands
to angry clouds
conspiring

June 15, 2017

Lady Sun

sails in

on a river

of flame

Partly sunny

Nature

paints summer

in watercolors

sunwashed blue

and saturated green

the clouds

edged

in sparkling silver

Waiting for the storm

The gathering storm

lurks

at Lady Sun’s

back door

unfolding

like a violet

flower

that only blooms

at twilight

Impending

High

in the arms

of the pines

the wind hums

and roars

the overture

to a storm

brewing

somewhere

in the distance

Another dawn poem

A river

of clouds

flows

to where

Lady Sun

has awakened

Morning is good

Dawn’s

blanket

of blue

and gold

covers

the torn edges

of a restless 

night

Spying on the heron

Taking
Nature’s portrait
requires stealth
the camera’s 
approach
greeted not
with poses
but side-eyed
suspicion
Compared
to our wanton
selfie snapping
Nature seems
demure
reclusive
Even the ducks
decline
to toss
a duckie pout
our way

[Re]fresh

Behind

the closed eyelids

of shaded windows

Sunday

sleepers

snooze

unaware

that morning 

is decked out

in cool green shadows

Cocooned

in the hum

of air conditioning

no chattering bird song

will pre-empt

their late

alarm

and so

they sleep on

One [7 billion hu]man’s trash

Nature’s cycle
of growth
and decay
ebbs
and flows
like this river
Our trash
clashes
perpetually
lodged
and jarringly
ugly

Chance of Storms

Does the blue
sense
the brooding 
gray
just over
its shoulder?

Mirror Musing

Is the river

a mirror

reflecting

the world

upside down

or

is the sky?