The Raven’s Perch published four of my poems yesterday

The Raven’s Perch is a nicely designed online journal that has won some awards. It is unusual in that it publishes your work without asking for permission, informing you at submission that it will do so if your work is accepted. Anyway, I was pleased to see the note in my inbox. There has been a lot going on in the writing world this past few months as I continue planning for the book launch, poetry readings, and hustling my book to bookstores. I must say my early efforts have been mixed. It seems everybody and their sister has a book to sell, and bookstores are claiming not enough shelf space or staffing to handle it all. I hope to survive the promotion of this chapbook with my idealism intact.

When I start to feel overwhelmed, I go back to writing, messing around with words trying to say exactly what a poem needs to say.

Here are the poems

Water Levels
			for Karin

We were friends, but different.
I loved her loud laughter as it ripped
raucous down staid hallways. Proper
professionals tried to shush her.  Didn't work.

She admired my cooking, the
let's take it on the road 	headful
of ideas, my penchant for planning.  

We both worshiped the water. Once
visited Niagara.  Shouldered our way as close 
as we could get.  Got really wet.
		stood gaping
at the spectacle.

Each spring we skipped lunch 
to follow the river 
from the high pond
	the higher falls, 
		 lower falls, 
caught wild spray and crashes, 
	down the 
		ripple of rapids.
all the way 
to the Kennebec River.

Sat on the same rock together
Wind blew our hair, 
voices drowned out
	Glancing 
from falls 	to rapids, 
	back 		and forth, 
grinned at each other.
	
Not even a drizzle now. 

She retired to Florida, 
		 I helped her cart 
it all off to Goodwill. 



Spring Coming in Maine

Sun screams its bright.  Rises up straight 
		despite clouds,
reflects brazen
		on snow.

Not the bold of bright tulips
the pale of daffodil— or any color, really
			but imagination 
fueled by intense light.

		One clear blue patch peeks
through overcast skies 
			and, in an instant,
my eyes remember and invent 
			the rumor of spring.


Hope in the days of Covid-19

In the pale morning, hope
is a child, 	willing to try anything.

At the grocery store, 
arrowed aisles, sentries, 
sanitizer advertise 
the danger of getting 
		too up-close.

Eyes peer over masks—suspicious?
Afraid? Angry?
Hard to tell, but 
	hope leaks through feeble cloth..

Do this, don't do that
wears patience thin as masks. 

Home again, safe enough
alone.  		Keep busy through
the list of daily do-this, do- that,
Hope slouches in a kitchen chair.

At night, though, 
Hope is 
				nowhere		 
		
About 2 a.m. my mood
			 droops, 
drapes itself 
     over the 
		bedclothes.


Only get through the dark bits.

I sit up, stretch my neck, remember
dawn comes	 			
		easily.
 

		Let the clock play out.
The seconds— each heart beat 
	 the fragment 
of a long minute.  

The birds begin their babble.
An uneasy light 
drifts up.
If I'm lucky I sleep.

If not, she yanks me up 
Through 
		cracks
in morning's 	
	floorboards.




Anticipating the '91 Chevy Truck

Is he coming?
The "indestructible 350"
has a familiar rumble.
Triggers me to peer out 
windows, take down 
steps two at a time.  
 
The truck pulls up the long hill.
I breathe deeply. A week of futile fears
and uneasy sleep disappears 
with the dust in the driveway.

Just to see the laugh in his eyes,
touch his bare head, hold those
scratchy curled fingers,
his voice warm and cranky.

The door creaks when it opens
like my favorite song.