At a Simple Gesture

-

 


At a simple gesture

The fetid mass begins to glow and undulate

The warm of skitterlings scatter,

Fearful of new events

The chill, damp air softens

And a breeze stirs the deep dust

Bringing a gentle warmth

Unseen here in ages

The murky film of muck crumbles from the glass

Piercing rays overtake the shadowy corners

This diseased, abandoned hovel is transformed

At a simple gesture.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Still Blooming: Notes from June 7, 2025

-
  Opening Reflection: June has arrived with its heavy green and its sudden rains. The air feels thicker, like it’s full of stories still half-formed. Some days I feel suspended between seasons. While remembering the promise of spring, I am bracing for summer’s heat.  Writing Update: I’ve spent much of this past week revisiting older work, not to revise it, but to reflect on it. One poem in particular came to mind after a recent conversation with my wife about small joys: the first blooms of the season, the reappearance of the birds in the yard, or how the light changes across the lake. Spotlight Poem: “Early Spring” Read it here: Early Spring (March 2022) This poem was inspired by a walk my wife and I took through Paintsville Lake State Park. It was still winter, but there were signs of an early spring The trail was still wearing winter’s grey and there was a cold breath of wind off the water. But in the middle of all that stillness, she saw them: the first wildflowers o...
Read more

Small Dark Spaces

-
Image
  When we were young Before we understood the world We sought out small dark spaces We slid under the bed We climbed into the dryer We closed ourselves up in the pumphouse We disappeared into the crawlspace We found solace in the kitchen cabinets We searched out these cramped places That could be shut off from view We were hiding from the monster in our home We were always found Now we are older I still shrink from the light I still pursue cramped dim hideaways I may always I hope you have fared better.
Read more

Considering Another Mountain

-
This week, I found myself staring into the past—and it stared right back. After pouring out fresh words during the NAPOWRIMO challenge in April, I shifted gears to revisit something old: a tattered notebook filled with poems I wrote over twenty years ago. As I work through the pages of that ancient text, I am surprised to find how my voice has changed. The themes and subjects are unchanged, but I feel that the voice of my poems has evolved. My early poems are raw, bursting with unfiltered emotion—sometimes chaotic, sometimes clumsy. Today’s voice feels different: more deliberate, like a stew that’s had time to simmer. Seasoned, in more ways than one. Both sets of words are important to me, and they both will be represented in my upcoming collections.  Even as my voice has matured, the themes remain hauntingly familiar—loneliness, doubt, the sense of never quite belonging. It’s sobering to realize I’ve been carrying these same emotional burdens for decades. That enduring struggle in...
Read more