seeing/saying

Monday, March 31, 2014

And the blackfish

Chased

Their holy mackerel

Into the Canso gut

And there cause

Gave way

To wonder

Meant

For breaching

Clear

Of shoals

And the flayer's

Song

Tom McGlynn

Sunday, March 30, 2014

So sorry

To see

You go

My friends

You all

So tactile

And divine

All excess

And retreat

My friends

Finds limit

In goodbye

Goodbye

Tom McGlynn

Saturday, March 29, 2014

The Hopi bowl

Came from the back

Of a blue Ford

Pickup

A hue

Deeper than

The sun

Bleached sky

The pueblo hound

Sought the creek

And shade

That was then

Me more

A person

Held

Tom McGlynn

Friday, March 28, 2014

When was

The last summer

I can recall

A fountain

Hoped for

Not to drink

But all

Aflourish

Vivid blue

And red

Bleed into

This key

Misplace

Picked up sticks

Clattered

Like my arms

To ground

No such thing

As chores

I would smell

The chamomile

And its kin

Crushed against

My other cheek

Before that field

Had gone

Too grave

This last

Burns my eyes

Dried of clarity

As the stubble

Sticks my socks

Tom McGlynn

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

In this cave

Oft dreamed

My shadow

(I don't worry)

Long

Mocks the bellows

Of the bear

Snoring out

Its summer patch

While underneath

The litter leaved

Sunlight breaks

Into a seed

Tom McGlynn

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

A certain dread

The baby new

Come once

And fade

To black

"Don't look to me"

That way

It looked

Upon
Its little back

Tom McGlynn

Monday, March 24, 2014

The Irish waitress

With her fine ideas

Thought

To thicken the soup

"It's as if they march on air"

"There's nothing there"

Then she continued

To serve the troop

Tom McGlynn

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Words to avoid

While flying

Credibly strain

An over view

Unfully grown

In to fill

A canopy

A story

For to rise

Tom McGlynn

Friday, March 21, 2014

Stitched

Across the valley

Low

The weaving stream

Of melting snow

Swells the dam

To overflow

To take the town

By don't you know

Tom McGlynn

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Barely

Barely
A jar

In Jersey

Makes it

Round

To port

Digging the garden

State to hills

Tom McGlynn