12 April 2009

The Mountain

I see him every day,

Angled up to the sky

He looks dead still

His white face three miles high.

He looks like he doesn’t move

Jagged, lonely and cold.

His rocky, igneous bones

Five hundred thousand years old.

But I know how his frosted skin creeps.

Like icy inchworms down

Bit by frozen bit.

Melting to the ground.

I smell his hot sulfur breathe

Huffing through his cracks.

I feel his stony muscles

As I climb upon his back.

I hear his molten heart beating

From his stance, three miles tall.

He swells with pride to know he lives

And soon he’ll show us all.

OK. Mount Rainier is only 2.73 miles high. Not 3. Poetic discretion.

09 April 2009

Hummingbird hovers hungry
Her wings
A subsonic fluttery blur.
She flies on downy feathers
Fast as a cobra strike.
She moves on slowly
For the next bit of nectar.

Pelican flaps an armful of air
And swoops down seaward.
Breaking the surface tension
Like a spear.
He surfaces soggy and hungry
And dives down again.
He only wants a bite of fish.

Eagle scans the sky.
He circles in search
With autofocus eyes.
He plummets,
Screeching speed
Through the stratus clouds.
His reward, a mouse.

I fly on metal and fire
With combustible thrust,
Gauges and gasoline.
Bolt on ramjets
And turbocharged pull props
Power up the throttles.
I want the sky.

07 April 2009


This may become part of a larger piece.

What does that hummingbird know?
What does he think?
Beating his wings 50 times
Before I blink.
Where does he go?

To the next flower.