Tag Archives: Fiddleneck

LAND OF NOD

 

 

               All alone beside the streams
               And up the mountain-sides of dreams.

                    – Robert Louis Stevenson (“The Land of Nod”)

Gray days, low clouds hide
green horizons, the divide
between us and the bizarre

business of Coronavirus
nightly counting corpses
like sheep to fall asleep

in the Land of Nod.
Sequestered among the heavy
heads of Fidddleneck

bowing wet with rain,
our dreams unchanged:
sweet grass enough to keep

cattle fat and happy,
to keep us hungry with
high hopes for humanity.

 

SMALL AGAIN

 

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I dreamed I went upriver
on young legs until the roar
of snowmelt over boulders

shrank into a meadow
stream lined with pines—
going back in time.

Nothing has changed
the blackened rings,
the chiseled peaks beneath

a blue, blue sky—
and I am small again,
but with older eyes.

Where will our children go
when they get old at night?
What will they follow

to find themselves
content to be
engulfed in awe?

 

USELESS ACCOUTERMENTS

Fiddleneck - April 5, 2011

Fiddleneck – April 5, 2011

 

I’d make music
if I could only trumpet
from my fiddle neck.

 

 

FIDDLENECK

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Looking back at tracks in the clouds,
you spring the gate closed—
trapped forever.

 

 

WPC(3) — “Serenity”

 

Fiddleneck

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WPC(3) — “Yellow”