poem #64

365 Buddhas



Don’t feel bad, Valdez,
the new galaxy
probably isn’t any better
than the one we have right here.
The grass is always redder
on the other side of the cosmos,
the sky is always a more exotic orange.
The constellations there are just groups of stars
that someone else has named.
To be honest, though,
I would love to see it, too,
and I imagine us on the rocket ship,
strangers in different seats,
tourists with new sneakers and Polaroid cameras,
scrutinizing our itineraries. We’ll see places
with names like the Magenta Falls, the Silver Geyser,
the Glass Forest, and we’ll take so many pictures
that I’ll even accidently capture the back of your head
in a pic of the silver water stretching into the orange sky
as the tour guide’s explanation is lost in the iridescent sparkle.
I’ll bump into you in the Glass Forest, breaking a…

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poem(s) #41: Haikus About Dogs for Sanctuary Rescue

365 Buddhas

Today’s poem(s) is a haiku series written at the request of Sanctuary Rescue, an amazing, small, volunteer-based dog rescue in Midlothian, VA, who specializes in saving pregnant dogs and puppies.  On Facebook yesterday, Sanctuary Rescue requested five haikus: one about Ella Super Beagle (the face of Sanctuary Rescue), one on puppies, on one pregnant dogs, one on rescue, and “surprise me with the last one.”

So I have written a five haiku series. Each haiku can stand alone, or be read in sequence to make a longer poem.

And, since haikus are three lines that alternate five and seven syllables, I’m going to ask you to donate to Sanctuary Rescue (or your local dog rescue) in a multiple of $3, $5, or $7. You can donate HERE.

Without further ado, the haikus:

On Pregnant Dogs (in Shelters)

Friendless. A cold floor.
Can they tell that I’m pregnant?
I…

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words #27

365 Buddhas

I keep apples in my refrigerator
and pistachio ice cream in the freezer.
I very rarely keep my plums in either
because I never save my plums for later.

I don’t want to be a plum curator,
but I’m a ferocious and devoted reader.
I keep apples in my refrigerator
and pistachio ice cream in the freezer.

I yearn to save my plums for later
and watch white chickens at my leisure
with words, ideas, and things my measure,
but I must follow along my own equator.
I keep apples in my refrigerator.


Today’s words are a rondel, which is a French lyric form from the 14th century. Refrigerators, which I like to try to spell with a “d,” much to the chagrin of autocorrect, always remind me of William Carlos Williams. He makes me wish I liked plums more.

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