National Poetry Month #5

Steeple River Faith

 

No need for a church

In a town with a river

 

Boys turn out fishing

And leave the ball fields

 

Empty: bleachers vacant

As pews on sunny afternoons

 

Reels of the faithful

Dance at the tavern

 

Honkey-tonk sermons

Tell them how to live

 

In songs that twang

Their innards while steeples

 

Hover over Sundays and

No one minds the call.

 

In a town like this

Anything could be fixed

 

Right down to the stone

Water river of the matter.

National Poetry Month #4

photo 2

 

The Tumbleweed

 

I am holding the tumbleweed over my head.

Below me, the Columbia River

Slides past Vantage— town, no town.

Far off, in Paris or Toulouse, my friends might take

The tumbleweed and shellac its thorny bits.

They would hang it from their ceilings

And imagine a cartoony, hopeful place

Where orbs were wound from wind and brush

Upon the butte where sage turned tinder,

And their wild friend chased the weed,

Her boots kicking dust, all the way to the river.