April 2019 is National Poetry Month

According to T.S. Eliot, "April is the cruelest month...," It's also National Poetry Month, the largest literary celebration in the world. Go to poets.org to see 30 ways to celebrate National Poetry Month.

I will post one poem every week of April, each on a different topic I care about: #ClimateChange, #Immigration, #GunViolence, #Poverty, and a bonus on #Genomics. I invite you to do the same.

Eliot's poem, The Waste Land, from which the lines, "April is the cruelest month" come, ends:
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih

You may be familiar with these terms if you practice or have studied Hinduism and/or Buddhism. I haven't, but when I first read the poem in my "formative years," I looked them up, and then followed the threads to Buddhism and flirted with becoming a monk. Unfortunately, I was not permitted to wear a robe and sandals in the military, so abandoned that flirtation, and instead focused my amorous attentions on a pretty Air Force nurse who was tending to my ills. That led to a sudden profusion of love poems, too embarrassing to publish.

In this time of Trump, I hope for you,
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata
Shantih

Eating the Sun

(originally published April 2009)

Mouths open

Eating the sun

Greedy for fire and flame

To nourish their sex

Shameless

The Nameless All-Dissolving Ocean

Cannon Beach, OR, May 31, 2012

Someone inside you steps from the forest and across the beach toward the nameless all-dissolving ocean. 

(from Astonished, by Don McKay)

Don't Listen

"Don't listen to the singing," his mother warned. "Whatever you do, don't listen."

She held his face with her two hands and stared into his eyes, large now with fright. "Promise me?"

He stammered out a promise. A promise in the end, that he could not keep.

The singing was so beautiful. A woman's voice, a young woman, perhaps a girl, her lovely voice floated out across the meadow delicately, like butterflies painting the air with a rainbow of colors. The words were strange, a language he did not understand, but felt, felt deep, deep inside.

He listened.

Today the World Went Mad

Today the world went mad
and I rolled over and went back to sleep
Pulling the pillow over my head
Either to block out the screaming
Or smother myself

I had a hard time breathing
the smoke was thick as blood
Bullets whined about my head
Like the hummingbirds we saw
At Bamfield on the Vancouver Coast

They whirled around giant stands of Fuchsia
Delicately probing the pink and purple bells
That hung by their feet from
What was left of the balustrade
Along the courthouse balcony

All had been beheaded
and the bodies looked like the
Sides of beef that hung from
Hooks in my Uncle Sal's slaughterhouse
Where I worked summers as a kid

I remember cleaning the floors of the
Blood, grease and offal that littered
the street between the destroyed buildings
Where snipers or siddigues with cell phones
Waited to kill us with a bullet or bomb

Someday I want to wake up without
Thinking I died and went to hell
and this constant buzzing in my head
Isn't the drill they used to relieve
the pressure on my brain

What was left of it

The Burning of the Horse Heaven Hills, July 1993

The Horse Heaven Hills burned last Sunday
Exhaust from a wheat truck started the fire
It spread from a small draw to the east
across the south slope of the hills moving west

A strong wind fanned the flames and the fire
inhaling the golden prairie grass
exploding the dry sage
raced across the hills faster than a man could run

The wind shifted and the flames turned and moved north
towards the homes skirting the golf course

Huge, black clouds of smoke
billowed in front of the fire and obscured the flames
Behind the smoke, the sound of the fire was a roar
punctuated by the cannon-shots of exploding sagebrush

The wind turned the fire again and it raced along the crest of the hills
then disappeared down the south slope
Another shift brought the fire back
Fifteen-foot flames shot up across the top of the hill
then spread down the slope to the west

By now, three fire departments from surrounding towns
were fighting the blaze and keeping it from devouring hillside homes
Giant tank trucks lumbered across the hills like prehistoric animals
Fire fighters struggled with hoses ejaculating water
and drowned the flames in one, dramatic explosion of spray

The trucks moved to meet the fire at another home
while volunteers shoveled dirt on the smoldering sage and prairie grass
and dug and turned under still-burning branches

When it was finally over, some 1000 acres had burned
leaving the hills an ugly, black scruff

The lupine, and daisies, the wild phlox, and desert marigolds
burrowing owls, quail, thrush, ground squirrels
Gone

A vast hoard of grasshoppers driven from the hills
descended on the lawns and yards of the homes
swarmed over flowers, tress, and hedges
and climbed doors, and clung to windows
staring with their alien, accusing eyes

The acrid smell of smoke hung in the air
and the sunset was blood red

I walked in the hills Monday
stepping through the ashes

There is nothing left
but the cracked earth
the black rock
the smell of devastation

There is no heaven here

"Lo!  the fell monster with the deadly sting,
Who passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls
And firm embattled spears, and with his filth
Taints all the world."
(Dante Alighieri, The Devine Comedy,Canto XVII, Hell)

Spring

Wendell Berry

A shower like a little song
Overtook him going home,
Wet his shoulders, and went on.

Haven't we heard this story before?

People get shot dead in America

Especially young black people
Like the tin bears

In bowling alley
Shooting galleries
Plink dink
Plink dink
Plink dink

You'd think
We'd get upset
And do something about it
But instead
We skip over the stories
In the newspapers
And mute the TV
Because

What the hell
Haven't we heard this story before?

The Defenders

I love the courage
of the little black ants
who when disturbed
come out of their old
fencepost as big dogs
come after a rat,
take hold of me,
shake me, and growl.

- WENDELL BERRY

Lost at Sea

She couldn’t stop laughing as she ran

up the beach towards the blanket

I was coughing and spluttering

sea water running from my nose

and dribbling down my chin

Trying to do a handstand in the surf

had turned out to be a bad idea

I staggered along behind her

choking and laughing at the same time

She was toweling off as I reached the blanket

I came up behind her and grabbed her around the waist

lifting her off the sand and twirling her around

She screamed

Eeeek!

The Swamp Thing!

We fell to the blanket and I buried my face

against her neck and blew raspberries

Nooo!

She said, pulling away

Then she took my face in her two hands and kissed me

It was a long, wet, salty kiss

a sea kiss and

I wanted to drown in it

She lay back on the blanket and I leaned over her

and brushed her wet hair from her forehead

I kissed her eye lids

I kissed her ear and nibbled her ear lobe

then kissed the nape of her neck

and moved my tongue down her neck toward her collarbone

licking salt and sunblock that hadn’t already come off in the water

She said Mmm

and put her hand behind my head

tunneling her fingers through my wet hair

I put my lips on the surgical scar she had on her neck

just under the chin and gently kissed it

I ran my hand down her thigh

She pushed my head back and sat up

Come on you vampire

We’re going up to the cottage

I come back every year at this time

to walk along the shore

and watch the sea change color

as twilight approaches

and the clouds take on a pink hue

I come upon a flock of Sandpipers

scampering back and forth at the shoreline

chasing the waves out

darting here and there

looking for sand fleas

When they spot the bubble of the sand flea’s digging

they drive their long beaks down

after the many-legged morsels

But of course the waves turn

and flow back towards shore

and these silly birds turn

and dash back

and follow the retreating waves back again

hoping to recapture what’s been lost

When I approach

they take flight

sweeping this way and that

in perfect formation

their bellies and backs

alternately flashing white and black

like sun streaming through the whirling blades of a fan

Walking along the beach

I think about those last days we had together

They were such a gift

The clouds are beginning to look bruised

their dark underbellies threatening rain

What was a gorgeous sunset is now

the dark foreboding of a storm

and wind whipped waves are crashing

all along the endless shore

I stand and look out across the roiling ocean

I want her back

Three Thousand, Four Hundred, and Thirty-Seven

Three thousand, four hundred, and thirty-six

Shooting deaths since Sandy Hook

In America

The land of the free

and the home of

the well armed

By the end of this

warm, sunny spring Sunday

the death toll will reach

Three thousand, four hundred, and sixty-six

If we're lucky and don't have

another mass shooting

Because we the people

have our guns

and stand our ground

and don't take no shit

and live in the land of the free

and the home of the well armed

Three thousand, four hundred, and sixty-seven

Show and Tell

Now he takes his stored up anger

and his mother’s guns

the ones he shot with her

and the one he shot her with

and drives to the school

that he attended when he was a kid

to kill the kids who laughed

at stuff he didn’t get

and the teachers

who taught him to read and write

and watched him wait to get out

And he never brought the guns

but he thought about it

over the years that weighed upon him

as he wondered why he never

left the school

or the fear and shame

but only the school room

and school yard

and kids and teachers

where he was headed now

with his stored up anger

Now he takes his stored up anger

and with his mother’s gun

blasts away the doors that lock him out

and walking down the hall

remembering being locked out

feels the power he never felt

in all those days of watching others

laughing at stuff he didn’t get

and laughing at him

or looking at him

or looking away from him

And he never brought the guns

and they never knew who he was

and now they look at him

and they scream

and blood is everywhere

and he wonders what they feel

and each time he pulls the trigger

he remembers those school days

waiting for show and tell

and he never brought the guns

but now he has

Turkey Vultures & Condors

The Turkey Vulture is a large soaring bird that feeds on carrion. It's recognized by the featherless red head, white bill, large brown-black body and yellow feet. I spotted these along Vineyard Dr just west of Templeton, California, in early March 2013.

Turkey Vultures fence sitting, west of Templeton, California. 

Turkey Vultures wing span averages 6 ft,  making them excellent flyers.

Turkey Vultures and Condors are "birds of a feather," with the Condor simply being a very large vulture. Its wing span averages about 9 ft.

Imagining what early Native Americans, e.g., the Chumash, must have thought seeing this giant bird soaring overhead, I wrote:

We watched this giant bird

soar so far above us

Surely its wings

would shade us from the sun

and beating the air

would cause the birch to sway and bend

the leaves to flow along the dry river bed

and soaring into the heavens

would bring us rain

So great a creature

we made it a god

Oh My Heart / Il Mio Cuore

I love you

Oh my heart

I love you

Will I ever see you again?

I love you

Oh my heart

As my days come to an end

Will I ever see you again?

How happy I was then

Loving you

Oh my heart

How I loved you then

Joy

And passion

Filled my days

And thoughts of you

And now

So far

Far away

So long ago

Listen

Softly

Softly

The wings of a butterfly

Sent to find you

Watch for it in your garden

When the spring comes

In the warmth of the sun

Oh my heart

My love

My love

My love

Ti amo
Oh, il mio cuore
Ti amo
Riuscirò mai a vedere di nuovo?

Ti amo
Oh, il mio cuore
Come i miei giorni hanno una fine
Riuscirò mai a vedere di nuovo?

Come ero felice allora
amarti
Oh, il mio cuore
Come ti ho amato allora

Gioia
e passione
Riempito i miei giorni
E pensieri di voi

e ora
finora
lontano
Tanto tempo fa

Ascolta
silenziosamente
silenziosamente
Le ali di una farfalla

Inviato a trovarti
Guarda per esso nel vostro giardino
Quando la molla viene
Nel calore del sole

Oh, il mio cuore
Il mio amore
Il mio amore
Il mio amore

Shopping Day / Торговый день

She looks down at the meat displayed

In the refrigerated case

Her left hand rests on the handle

Of her shopping cart

Her right trails along packaged steaks

She picks up a sirloin

And reads the label

She sees blood pooling in a corner

Of the cellophane wrapping

And puts it back

She brushes her brown hair back

And moves with her cart

Along the display case

Peering at the packaged flesh

Red, purple, pink, and grey

She stops at the poultry section

Picks up a package of

Half breasts, legs, and thighs

Some fluid has leaked

And the package is sticky

There is a crack

Then another and another

Like the sound of her husband

Stapling shingles as he

Repaired their roof this summer

She stands with the package in her hand

Staring towards the front

Of the supermarket

Where now the sounds of screaming

Can be heard

People are running

Towards the back of the store

Towards her

Towards the refrigerated case

Where the packaged meat is kept

After the screaming stops

And there is only crying and wailing

She moves with others

Towards the front of the store

She sees blood pooling in a corner


Торговый день

Она смотрит вниз на мясо отображается
В случае охлажденных
Ее левая рука покоится на ручке
Из ее корзине
Ее правая тропы вдоль упакованных стейков

Она поднимает филе
И считывает метку
Видит кровеносной системы в углу
Из целлофановой упаковке
И кладет его обратно

Она чистит коричневого назад волосами
И перемещается вместе с ней корзину
Вдоль витрин
Вглядываясь в упакованном плоти
Красный, фиолетовый, розовый, и серый

Она останавливается в разделе птицы
Поднимает пакет
Половина груди, ногах и бедрах
Некоторые жидкости просочилась
И пакет является липким

Существует трещина
Потом еще и еще
Как звук ее мужа
Сшивание черепицы, как он
Отремонтировали крышу этим летом

Она стоит с пакетом в руке
Глядя вперед
В супермаркете
Куда теперь звуки кричащих
Может быть услышанным

Люди бегут
К задней части магазина
к ней
К Витрина холодильная
Где упакованное мясо хранится

После остановки кричала
И есть только плакать и плач
Она двигается с другими
К передней части магазина
Она видит объединение крови в углу