AtticusWorks

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2010-08-01T06:59:00.000-07:00

Atticusworks has moved to:

atticusworks.wordpress.com

Hope to see you there!

Dog/Manna ~ Collom Lune

2010-05-19T14:27:00.001-07:00

My dog only

eats ice off the floor

he's a purist

Rabbit Dusk

2010-05-19T09:10:00.000-07:00

.

fearing the barn owl,
small rabbit
scans a sanguine sky

.

String Theory ~ A Calder

2010-05-08T07:14:00.001-07:00

.........................A Can,

.......................................................a universe

...........and a String

...................................../////...............for every possibility

........................................there is a world

...........................................................................................that is,

............................................................................................. .exactly...........ll

like..this

..one................................................in which

................................................................................................ .... since

..............................................................you didn't die............. ...............the sun is

.....................................................................Everything,.......................the same:

....................................................................that universe was,

..................................................................................................is, this:

.............................................................you didn't die

.....................................................................................................................assume

...................................................................................................................one

...this

............................never really

.................................existed for you at all,

.....................................a long distance.

.........can...........................................................call,

............and a string,...........................................from

...................................................................................................,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,..

....................................................................................................................the void

...............................a can

She Greets the Night in Moonlit Robes ~ Tan Renga

2010-05-01T10:09:00.000-07:00

She sheds moonlit robes.

Whispering grass ushers out

the iodine dusk.

A Barn Owl scans the meadow

moving slower than honey.

Unbowed

2010-04-25T15:12:00.000-07:00

the fields of grass sway

under rush of morning breeze

long blades bow deeper

we walk a narrow pathway

inhaling the victory

Why You Cut Up Your Poem ~ An Explanation of the Calder Form in Verse

2010-04-25T05:43:00.000-07:00

......................I

................................................................don't

understand........................................know

.............................................why...................you

..................................................................................cut

.................................................................up your..........................

...............................

...............................................................................poem

...........................................................why..............................................."cut"...

.........................................................................................meaning

......................................why...............your...............

.....................................................poem?..............................................what?

so horribly.

............................................>.Command Z

Poetry, regardless of how seriously it is written should be taken with a smile and a grain of salt. The world doesn't really make a good deal of sense to us, that's why we write poems. We seek to establish an order to our minds, not the world around us.

Sage ~ A Haibun

2010-04-23T19:37:00.000-07:00

.

We've planted a sage.
Light rain graces the flowers,
amethyst petals

Those who observed saw the world around her burst into color. She could not be darkened. In her house, every room was a different vibrant hue. In the front room was a sharp aquamarine; the hall, a deep rose madder; where she ate, a brilliant cadmium lemon. She was only tempered by candle and silhouette on the amethyst curtains and walls.

Remember Earth? ~ A Tritina

2010-04-22T20:01:00.000-07:00

The glint of the sun is sharper than the wing

as it cuts the tufted blue troposphere of earth.

She is smaller, yet grander than I remember.

The patchwork, field and farm, I remember,

the forests, and the lakes under a steady wing,

the lift and the drag, and the consent of earth.

A man once, but his luggage is there, on earth.

Now aerial and feathered, will she remember,

as I vault the empyrean, turning on a wing?

A bird, wind over wing, I have left the earth. Remember?

You Hear A Blackbird ~ Parallelismus Membrorum

2010-04-21T19:04:00.000-07:00

You hear the blackbird;

tune out rough twitter.

The river runs chill;

embrace the assault.

Follow mountain rising;

don't carry the dead.

Climb an open sky;

remember the night.

Blackbird by a river;

gather some berries.

To Care for a Dog with Two Legs

2010-04-18T07:47:00.001-07:00

Once she was a circle of yellow,
herding us along the beach.
Now she looks up at me,
from the sling around her hips,
a yellow lump of dog
walking on her front legs.
Do I detect gratitude? Or was that
"How much longer are you
going to make me do this?"
She is still beautiful.
She will not recover. She is old.
She whines all night.
Somehow, she is less yellow,
but seems more like a circle.

Red Sky ~ A Calder

2010-04-17T17:17:00.000-07:00

The

..........................red

garden..................sky is...............................full

.....of redbirds..............returning,

.........earthbound.....................................hands, earth

...........observe

.................................a

................................redbird

........................................................returning

................................. to.......................us,

.............................................................................................to

....................................................................................earth

For Ann and James

Sonnet?....I'm on it! ~ A Silly Italian Sonnet

2010-04-16T14:21:00.000-07:00

Would you like it from a box? Would you like it wearing sox?

Italian Sonnet songs I say, they're really not my thing.

Should I write about a king? Or a mystic sacred ring?

Should I write about little girl and a crafty fox?

Hey!, maybe I could write about Paul Bunion and his ox!

No, …How about deep out in space - the evil ruler Ming?

Ahhh, this sonnet thing I tell you…I might as well grow wings.

It’s big and ugly, scary too; Upon me it’s a pox, ...I swear, ............It’s like a bag of rocks!

Oh, ye of little tiny faith, Wouldst that thou would cool thy jets!

"Old English" speak I have no doubt, could surely rescue thee.

But if you don’t include that phrase, you’ll greatly feel regrets

- you know you could write anything and call it "Sonnet", see?

Break out your pipe and slippers boy, your wit will soon be whet!

The poem you write will as good as cacio sui maccheroni be!

Conflagration: Peshtigo, Wisconsin 1871 ~ A Villanelle

2010-04-15T15:11:00.000-07:00

Smoke blocked out the sun, and the moon rose red,

the wood and the heavens all set ablaze.

The firestorm raged o'er the bless'd and the dead.

Long drought and sawdust, the demons were fed,

refuge was sought in the maelstrom fire maze.

Smoke blocked out the sun and the moon rose red.

Through cinder and ash, the silence of dread,

no town to withstand this power to raze.

The firestorm raged o'er the bless'd and the dead.

In rivers we boiled as we bobbed our heads,

a fate to be feared by any who pray.

Smoke blocked the sun and the moon rose red.

From Green Bay reborn, the half-drowned were led,

city of ash in the north burned for days.

The firestorm raged o'er the bless'd and the dead.

Faith ignited, and by the lucky shed,

legend now hides them 'neath smoldering haze.

Smoke blocked out the sun and the moon rose red.

The firestorm raged o'er the bless'd and the dead.

Arctic Zion ~ A Double Helix Abecedarian

2010-04-14T15:51:00.000-07:00

Arctic Zone:

Beyond Your

Crystal Xylophones,

Desert White

Erases Value.

Fire Under

Glass, These

Hibernal Seascapes

Ignite Rarified

Jewels, Quicksilver

Kaleidoscopes, Pale

Lunar Opulence!

Men Need

Never More

Only Love

Perennial Kingdoms,

Quiet Jungles,

Rainforest Islands

See How

Timeless Glaciers

Unfold Forever,

Vaulting Ethereal

While Diving

Xemes Careen

Yearning. Below:

Zion Alone

First Clown ~ A Rime Couee

2010-04-13T10:20:00.001-07:00

Ribbons, balloons are red and rife.

Shock locks and beak ball tell of strife.

Those shoes could cruise a lake!

With covert threat upon my life,

He cuts at me his carving knife,

and says “You want some cake?”

~dedicated to evil clowns everywhere

Bird Game ~ Fibonacci

2010-04-12T13:43:00.000-07:00

Bird
game
She/He
He saw her.
She saw him seeing.
He felt her seeing was something.
She knew his feeling was something she wanted to grow.
He took flight as the air between them grew thick with knowing that she saw something in him.

Pictures of The Long Bien Bridge

2010-04-11T14:22:00.000-07:00

If I thought about him much,

I'd have wondered if he was alive.

I thought for sure he would end up

at the bottom of some bridge,

having jumped off, or maybe asleep in a box.

He was a friend among other friends,

but the part that I saw

of myself in him, was drowning.

He was wilder, and more dangerous,

and that is saying a lot.

When he left he wasn't turning

from the razor's edge, he was cutting

his way across, one bloody step at a time

like it was the last bridge on earth

across the dark river.

It is strange the currents we choose

and the places we are taken,

thinking we are swept away

in rough tidewater,

unable to swim

or navigate the deluge.

Maybe sometimes we know,

deeply from the mud and the silt,

that the floodplain can scrub

the surface that refuses

to be anything but intolerable.

We were just hoping to come up

someplace for air.

Last night he came up

in a conversation

across The Long Bien Bridge.

He has a new life on dry land,

anchored in the floodplains of Hanoi.

I saw his photographs and I knew.

~ for an old friend who built a fantastic life on the floodplain.

Sucker ~ A Pantoum

2010-04-09T10:13:00.000-07:00

“Aye lad, the evidence was on it real good”

He said with a crooked, half-toothed smile;

he said it like a fishless, fisherman would,

like a cop on a crime just brought to trial.

He said it with a crooked, half-toothed smile

in his way, a sweaty, short, salty sailor sort.

But like a cop on a crime, just brought to trial:

“Goin’ back out thar, soon as we’re in port”

He was sweaty and short, a salty sailor sort,

balancing a knife, by the point, in his hand,

“Goin’ back out thar, soon as we’re in port.”

“S’more down below than sea and the sand.”

Balancing a knife, by the point, in his hand,

with a tear in the eye for his love lost at sea

“S’more down below than sea and the sand.”

“I ‘spec thar’s an octopus twixt she and me.”

With a tear in the eye for his love lost at sea,

he said it like a fishless, fisherman would

“I ‘spec thar’s an octopus twixt she and me.”

“Aye lad, the evidence was on it real good.”

History As Tool ~ A Rondeau

2010-04-08T09:54:00.000-07:00

Virginia will celebrate the Confederacy!

and the brave men who died so fearlessly,

ignoring the slavery and pain

brought about by the whip and the chain,

and the tinder-box spark, Harpers Ferry.

After all we seceded so graciously,

it could have all ended so peacefully.

Let's just ignore the blame and the claim,

if only to celebrate the Confederacy.

Our Generals in war stood out peerlessly,

as men in shoddy gear died so cheerlessly

defending the slave owner’s gain.

- But don’t call the Governor insane.

It’s a political calculation, you see,

the audacity to celebrate the Confederacy.

(for Governor Bob McDonnell)

Red Bird Return

2010-04-07T10:09:00.000-07:00

Out in our garden,

your hands and the smell of earth.

A red bird observes.

~for Becky, whose mother visits us in spring as a cardinal.

Woman / Water ~ A Cinquain

2010-04-06T09:46:00.000-07:00

Jesus:

What have you done?

You travel a hard road.

I am blessed by your hair and tears,

Woman

The Great Garbage Strike Tornado ~ Triolet

2010-04-05T10:34:00.000-07:00

I’ll never forget the great garbage tornado

that trashed Manhattan in nineteen eighty three.

It began uncollecting from rot piles in SoHo,

We'll not soon forget the great garbage tornado,

Omnivorous Eddy, the landfill dynamo.

When the city was hostage, the mayor held the key,

never to forget the great garbage tornado,

oh, stinky Manhattan, nineteen eighty three!

For Martin ~ A Tritina

2010-04-04T17:25:00.000-07:00

When he came down from the mountain,

he wasn't worried anymore; his joy was not withheld.

He knew the struggle would take them home.

Not again to ride in the rear of these buses home.

Without him, they would cross the mountain,

prejudice, abuse, mistrust, and murder, finally withheld.

In the promised land, grace will not be withheld;

together, we will find our freedom's home.

We will know his courage, when we cross the mountain.

He saw it all from the mountain; the promise not withheld, and the bullet that would take him home.

Martin Luther King was assassinated at 6:01 April 4th, 1968

Quarry

2010-04-03T13:50:00.001-07:00

Sunlight surrounds her

like limestone dust on the air.

Transfixed, she waits.

Again, the red maples bud

under shelter of the oak.

crow outpaces the clock ~after Ted Hughes and Werner Heisenberg

2010-02-09T15:06:00.000-08:00

time is the abyss, the bridge, the long fall

time is the staunch resistance to now

time is a lagging indicator

measured cold new

grows old waiting for time

to catch up and still

no one understood

what Heisenberg meant

those 2.6 billion moments ago,

on a trajectory mocking the arc

of the crow,

. nothing

upon nothing below

for Caitlin and her boyfriend, Abstract Algebra

The Grate

2010-02-02T19:28:00.000-08:00

in a moment

his hands were gone

he found himself in the water

water and bread / the grate

time was stronger than stone

go, look through the key-hole and see

she was red silk with fiery eyes

E Pluribus: An Erasure

2010-01-28T22:03:00.001-08:00

Bloody,

the future was anything.

The courage of divisions,

hesitations answer history.

One severe collapse deeply,

aggressively

the storm passed.

One shuttered decline

hit those who'd already

become

that much harder.

The burdens of harder and longer, less,

unable

to know the reason.

I witness;

I hear

the children.

They don't understand,

not now.

The numbing,

the different face -

they hold a better else.

They share this spirit: strength.

It begins between;

it's that we all hated - what was necessary.

More would surely be lost.

So we took,

we made,

we spent, most

but not all.

The rest, a time of need.

We cut

We cut thought

on all made possible

Act!

until there are men

and women

who focus,

do,

begin,

grit

grow

gain -

plant today

build tomorrow.

Erased from the text of Barack Obama's State of the Union Address

A New Year's Eve Admonition to Poets

2009-12-31T03:06:00.000-08:00

An automatic poem

always sits in the closet

and waits......while

the conversation burns.

If you (foolishly)

happen to open the door,

it will spring out,

bold and bluster, but quickly

it melts into submission

and the backdrop suspicion of walls.

Maybe it will slide out as a boat

in the night, drifting

without sound; leaving no trace,

weaving water and sky,

like the blue moon

of two thousand nine.

Likely it will stand

inflexible, inexcusable

blocking the path to the door;

a pile, an edifice,

a cairn stone marker

for your fear of alcohol,

and the apology

you owe planet Mars.

It could sprout albatross wings,

be a cheat thunderbird,

circling above the cliffs by the sea

while new winds are born howling

through rock, over wave,

and gray haired snowfalls

pine hush memory.

In the morning it may lounge,

a lost lover’s lash filtered gaze,

wishing you had knocked

that lurid merlot

across the perfect

table top failure to contain

your elbow percolator wit.

Snowly

2009-12-24T11:40:00.000-08:00

Snow has me thinking

about the tight white mantle

keeping summer warm.

Absent sound, without flurry,

I dream of undressing her.

Manifesto (my laptop attempts a poem on its own)

2009-12-04T18:09:00.000-08:00

We always write about the moon.

Why shouldn't we when it rises,

like a big orange Caesar -

hailed by the armies of bare

trees under winter's blush.

We always write about the moon,

her smooth yellow arc across

darkening amaranthine.

I always want to tear the cover off,

pry it open with a blunt screwdriver;

peer inside to the clockwork

and the fulcrum that balances pain on sting.

I need to know what is red about red,

what is wet about ocean,

and what is blood about sky.

We always write about the moon

because she has seen everything.

Xeriscape Your Zendo! (another abecedarian)

2009-11-29T17:45:00.000-08:00

Although

believers

can delay

epiphanies

for gold,

heaven incurs

jealousy.

Kings, like men,

need only

platitudes;

Quaestors

require

sterile truth.

Unwelcome vain

waterings!

Xeriscape

your zendo.

pale rivers burning

2009-11-25T10:08:00.001-08:00

pale

you seek

rivers

to quell the

burning

moon

a morning meditation inspired by early chinese poetry.

only broken in layers

2009-11-23T17:42:00.000-08:00

the absurdity of birds, planes

trees, buildings, flying/ standing

broken

hips pants mind face

wood feathers brick steel

only

gravity / conceit of language

whips animal driven wheels

in layers

Winter's Clock

2009-11-18T16:30:00.000-08:00

I fear winter's clock;

hands clench, work slows, seconds freeze,

the spring in recoil.

your fields, covered in snow, or

unbowed white chrysanthemum.

Until Compassion ~ inspired by Lily Yeh, Rwanda Healing Project

2009-11-17T20:08:00.000-08:00

Until every new breath is taken

from the mouths of the dead,

bones of the slaughtered

are stacked like bricks for your shelters;

Until the blood of the children,

has watered the gardens,

flowers grass trees grow

on mounds of the murdered;

Until you have eaten

the mud and the straw,

washed clean your body

in the purple rivers;

Until clothes are cut

from flags of your enemies,

heads are covered

with their holy books;

Until history is carved

on your backs with machetes;

Until people paint dreams

on your fences and buildings,

tile shrines with their ghosts;

Until compassion pours down,

pools at your feet,

seeps into your socks

fills up your boots, covers

your knees, unsteadies your hips,

Until you can’t wade, can’t walk,

can’t swim, can’t go back to the sea,

Until an empty lot is endless resource,

your darkest devastation is transformation;

Until your weakness is equalized

by the hands of need;

Until compassion

secrets that bees tell

2009-11-06T18:41:00.000-08:00

Secrets that bees tell

to clover and sunflowers

reappear as gold

trading hidden histories,

we taste only the ransom

The Desert of Zen

2009-11-03T18:46:00.000-08:00

Zen -

Your Xeric

Wasteland, Vaguely

Understood,

Transcends

Shadows.

Rain-soaked

Queries/

Parched

Orations

Never Mingle.

Liberation Keens / Justice Inhales

Humility,

Grateful

For Every

Desert Cactus

Blooming

- Abundant.

upsidedown abecedarian / zyx

(confronting my inner) Antidisestablishmentarianist

2009-11-02T17:32:00.000-08:00

(He)

“Baloney Comrade!

-Don’t Even

Feign Grace!

Holy Institutions'

Jingoistic Kowtowing

Leaves Messiahs Notably

……Obsequious............

Politics Queers Reformation: Shouldn't This

Ultimately Vex

Witless Xenophobes?”

(Me)

...........……”Yes, Zoroaster.”

An abecedarian poem / ABC poem

childhood songs of the taliban

2009-11-01T11:44:00.000-08:00

boy........has already

called

down

enough

favor!...And

God

has

invoked......his silent

judgement!

Kazoos

lie in

mourning,.....they are

never.....(more)

out

playing......He

quells

resounding.....desires;

stuffs................insatiable ears: and

turns them in......to the Mullahs.......every one: his

unpolished

violins,

whimsical

xylophones,........and

yellow

zithers.

ABC Poem - Abecedarian

Lend an Ear to Hoichi (renga)

2009-10-17T13:58:00.000-07:00

Fallen samurai,

salt waves embrace the broken,

moon on haunted shore.

The biwa weeps on blind hands,

but no ears hear these chill winds.

In Praise of Discourse: The Unreal Truth

2009-10-14T19:50:00.000-07:00

though stronger coffee grinds

You (are) woke in the morning,

to find/fog on the door; her

lips touch the silhouettes of unreal

with longer fingernails

You (are) wont to live in the secret,

classrooms; your current lovers’ /unborn

dreams scratch future chalkboards

so happy to have them

You are w(h)et in swordfishes

hero thoughts; swashbuckling/gangplank

oceans poke you back

"for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)/ it's always ourselves we find in the sea" e.e.cummings (it was his birthday yesterday 10/14/1894) I noticed Amy George had posted this quote after I wrote this poem, quite coincidentally - it really seemed to fit so I borrowed it, thanks Amy!

we are never ready (tanka)

2009-10-12T16:38:00.000-07:00

As Autumn turns cold,

half-eaten pecans yet fall,

littering the walk.

Squirrels have discarded them

because of bitter green hulls.

The Moon InConstantinople (Limerick)

2009-10-04T14:08:00.000-07:00

In Constantinople they cried
A sword in Constantine's side
The inconstant moon
had signaled their doom
And the Byzantine Empire died

Sundown at White Rock

2009-10-03T21:39:00.000-07:00

The pelicans are dreaming

as the sun rolls down

out of low clouds, to the side of the hill.

They are the advance team,

the rest to trickle in

over a darkening month or two.

Are they supposed to be here yet?

They are white enough to be ghosts of pelicans

in eternal migration,

just checking in, until the real pelicans arrive.

A stiff breeze off the spillway

makes for a struggle.

Legs burning, rounding the twist,

I am slowed by the skates of children,

their dogs on long leashes;

slowed long enough to glance

past one man and his five fishing poles,

to aureate slivers of mainsails at sundown

and a line of egrets, or shooting stars,

a foot above the water.

I hit 25 on an uphill climb,

passing a younger man at a thin place

in the road, where wild parakeets

build electric cradles to a 100 kilovolt hum

Mendocino Meditation on Two Paths of Old Friends: A Tanka

2009-10-03T08:06:00.000-07:00

There is no rhythm

to the clanging of the bell

hanging from the buoy.

Our camp fire, the barking seals

infused by the fog horn's moan.

for my friend Khalden