things are going to hell…


yet this moment is true:

the sky reaches deep blue at noon

as I sit on the dirt beneath the cypress,

look across at sycamores and

cottonwoods, enjoy how they

bend beneath the breeze,

how the cottonwood leaves tremble,

catch sunlight for a glimpse

and then do not.


then johnny’s three-year-old self

emerges from beneath

the anna apple tree,

trotting a dog trot

with our dog trotting behind,

the boy’s auburn hair

lifting with each step,

the tips of the dog’s ears flapping,

the two of them together

but in different places,

trotting in and out of

leafshade and sunshine.


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I've been writing mostly poetry for many years and have gotten a number of works accepted in publications and anthologies. I'm most interested in communicating with poets for whom craft is a high priority. I enjoy finding and commenting on poetic gems in other people's work. For my own work, I welcome polite comments, whether positive or critical.

2 thoughts on “things are going to hell…”

  1. I really liked listening to this one!… and I’m reminded how the synchronicity of seemingly orchestrated but randomly diverse movement can bring such awareness of beauty. It’s a kind of festive peacefulness, you know? Very enjoyable!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “festive peacefulness” is a lovely oxymoron. thanks for that. i know it’s not unusual to find beauty and sometimes even an epiphany in something simple, but i also wasn’t content to let the poem stay too simple, thus, perhaps, the “randomly diverse movement,” another perceptive phrase you’ve coined which helps me understand my own poem better! it is a fun poem for me to read aloud.

    Liked by 1 person

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