The Coming of the Toads

A Notebook – Since 2007

Category: Poetry

  • The Fall Hush

    Fall comes this time in hushes
    episodes of susurrus crawling
    warm through the body out
    the arms and hands tingling.

    The seasonal changes like
    picking up prescriptions
    from one of the Saints
    Saints Cosmas and Damian.

    A last clique of birds crush
    through the dry Dutch Iris
    patch flowers from Portugal
    and Spain not Netherlands

    and the dry stalks of the day
    lily not actually a lily lives
    longer than a day Spring
    through Fall and housing

    to butterflies and moths
    and ladybugs galore
    fall sufficiently orange
    and red yet cool.

    Sweaters come out
    the song sparrows
    the geese and loons
    over the yard sales.

    Along the streets we see
    clean-up and pick-ups
    pods and mod bods
    collecting for storage

    rakes in hand sifting Pacific
    Northwest where Spring
    is electric Fall acoustic
    clawing through the dust.

    Down south in Amador
    the Big Crush soon on
    grape harvest moon –
    If I were only a bird

    I would share a green carafe
    of red wine with my sisters
    and brothers once again
    in Fall looking back on.

  • Autumnal Approach

    Autumn appears quiet
    a dry cat curled asleep
    the homeless huddled
    until shuttled to a new
    space just like the old
    spot rules & restrictions
    apply living en plein air
    places of Objet trouvé
    found objects surround
    lean-to tents shapes built
    with plastic tarps bicycle
    parts organic architecture
    like Falling Water cantilevered
    over gutters running
    incessant and unrelenting
    life out of woods where
    one lives deliberately
    as autumn approaches
    preparing for rain wind
    and snow provisionally
    on the surface of the
    bottomless city plans.

  • Autumn Us

    In the evening the sun is placed
    over 60th and Belmont walking
    down the middle of the street
    into the powdery scene I snap
    a few pics with my phone cam:

    Autumn Equinox 2022 from SE Belmont and 68th

    Earlier in yard I cut feather grass
    as dry as a lint trap and the spent summer
    daisies cringed crinkled into dust as
    I yanked on the stiff stems like the barber
    at my gone to seed hair a mess she said.

    Looking west over downtown to West Hills from SE 68th and Stark

    End summer evenings still too hot
    to walk but coming of Fall equinox
    portable air conditioner quiet fan
    spins cooler nights tiny blue eyes
    charge to pay to keep cool to sleep.

    A day later, a bit cooler, orange to blue, Morrison and 68th

    So it goes Vonnegut said so it goes
    around and around on old vinyl the needle
    finishes its drive toward the center the turntable
    still spinning the needle clicking back
    and forth wanting to stop but caught in the groove.

    Caught in the groove walking around and around

    No one understands Universe least of all physicists
    who must talk a taught tongue while the rest of us
    find rhymes and rhythms as we dance around and around
    until the moon goes down as Chuck Berry said around and
    around until the sun goes down and the moon comes up.

  • My Affliction

    Everywhere I look I see
    signs of the cross
    in telephone poles
    at the busy intersection
    of the homeless and
    the morning commuters
    in the brow of the woman
    wearing the human billboard
    advertising her three kids
    and out of work husband
    a veteran and a nice guy
    trying to get back on his feet
    after stepping on a landmine
    at the bottom of the cross
    and I don’t doubt it and wonder
    if she’ll take the afternoon off
    and drop the double sawbuck
    just handed her all in one place.

    I am tempted but the cross
    at the local church remains
    hidden behind a giant plastic
    boastful Jesus his coiffed hair
    combed and sprayed by the
    altar ladies with their flowers
    holy water and broken nails
    who come and go they have
    come and gone and still
    they come and go
    and carry their crosses
    quietly and secretly
    and do not advertise
    their own club afflictions
    and anyhow don’t allow
    admittance of my cross.

    Every Friday at three
    in the afternoon
    the altar ladies
    take down the real
    Jesus and put up
    the plastic one
    and Sunday after
    masses they hang
    the original back.

    Meantime at the bottom
    of the telephone pole
    at the crossroads
    the homeless gather
    to disperse the day’s
    take and affirm
    nothing is finished
    the kingdom never
    comes but the will
    is always done
    daily bread is not hard
    to come by not nearly
    so hard as forgiveness
    of debts and trespasses
    or deliverance from evil.

  • Comma Splices

    If I wanted to use one,
    I’d use two, one for me
    and one for you, 4 to a
    bar, 5 to a fence.

    Comma connotes pause,
    like a cat’s paw does,
    when lifted midair.

    Pick up your comma poops,
    put in scoop bags,
    and place in the trash can.

    The Once and Future Comma Queen
    will return to Gramarye.

    Pause, and enjoy, an ice
    cold comma, tonight.

    Harmonic Bohemian Comma Scale:
    lunula moon, clipped ring finger
    nail, crow talon, gypsy jazz plastic
    guitar pick, muddy udder rudder,
    silent scythe, silver clacker spoon.

    There is no substitute
    for a comma, either
    you use one or you don’t.

    Comma rules form
    a book of spells,
    a Grimoire.

  • When Then

    When sound is noise that murmurs gurgle
    and talk crabbed rambles and gabbles
    When susurrus of water shuts off clang bang
    and no breeze blows blossoms and all fall
    long leaves crisp prematurely dull and grey
    When thoughts are crickets in a dark repeat
    and inanimate objects won’t cooperate
    When strings stretch and snap out of tune
    and ears fill full of hardened yellow wax
    Then it’s time here for a nap or a blue beer
    for there’s been a near miss missio dear.

  • A New Moon

    The doctors of science
    are replacing Earth’s moon
    with an artificial one
    made of rayon and crayon.

    The new moon replaces
    the old one deemed now
    obsolete and in danger
    of falling into the sea.

    From Earth we’ll be able
    to adjust the moon’s color
    and position to improve
    its influential benefits.

    Several high speed elevators
    attached to Earth’s tallest
    peaks will allow tourists
    easy access to hotels

    bells and whistles
    of space cultural
    events and venues
    and an Earth museum.

  • The Night Unwatched

    Two Poesies last night lost
    reports our own Town Crier
    this morning for those
    who now can not read.

    His cocked hat skewed
    he rings his bell and yells
    “Oh, Yes! Oh, Yes!
    words ‘n lines all tossed.”

    There is a browling
    of those waiting
    at the curbs for jobs
    “What is the night

    which goes unwatched?”
    asks a hawk talk host
    “Our Town Crier
    blatted had them

    but let them go
    in the night down
    said dark back alley
    while he canned.”

    “Of no consequence
    whatsoever,” said
    Sister Aloysius
    watering the uprising.

    “There is much
    in the night goes
    unseen and never
    does it get told.

    These stories grow old
    but come back to haunt
    us in ways we do not
    know or show.”

  • All About You

    I was all on my own till I touched you
    till I touched you I was all on my own
    and you all alone until you touched
    the sky above the ocean the clouds
    pulled you from a dripping wet swim.

    You liked to come first touch waiting
    patiently fins by our sides politely
    waiting for each other in the shadow
    outside your watery cave in the cove
    I without you and you without me.

    All about you was all about me
    and all about me was all about
    you on our slow trip to elderly
    crust when crest again you are
    thine and I am mine all alone.

    Out to sea it was all about you
    fish and shells and boats above
    while we waited for you and we
    waited for me it was all about
    you it was all sea creamy ocean.

    This solmization of signs mused
    no curled hair no moist kisses no
    tattoos no clothes no perfumes
    no cigarettes no booze no streets
    no cars alone olive drab greys

    sea greens and ocean blues
    all about us surround sound
    where water touches sky
    all about you all about me
    all about me all about you.

    Nothing to be done nothing
    to do much ado about you
    about me about me about
    you nothing to be done we
    sit on our rocks and wait

    for the final tidal coming
    when you touch me and I
    touch you first you then me
    then the everblue sea the
    ocean in our dew eye mist.

  • Ice Creamery

    The sun a mini strawberry delight
    in a field of vanilla smoke tonight
    as it falls into a debauchery of ice
    creamery I dive under a tsunami
    of chocolatey covered cherries
    the size of bowling balls while
    this reverse osmosis produces
    a raspberry spearmint julep
    which is to say hold the bourbon
    and bring on the rosewater
    of camphor lime and take away
    the six pack of IPA and keep the
    ice cream coming in this the
    ice creamery bathtub of sobriety.

  • A Doodle in Portland

    Like things that go bump in the dark
    night these sounds are not quite
    like what we think they are like
    old bent and dusty books shelved
    in empty house plant pots like books
    of poems used to start tomato seeds
    in hopeful spring before the last frost
    shoves the soil over and worms awake.

    Just so like I jump into the fray
    with big plans for a newsletter
    about things that are not
    empty hotels atop sidewalks
    full of homeless and fat cats
    full of fur surrounded by mice.

    On Instagram I post a skinny guitar
    and instantly hit the delete button
    and just as quickly bring it back
    like an usher flicking the auditorium
    lights on and off like a strobe light.

    And so so on I flicker and go
    with the flow now here now there
    always nowhere in the act
    of writing, of whirling στρόβος
    twist about and birl about.

    I go for a walk around the block
    and step on a glob of adhesive
    caulking and my shoe picks up
    like a magnet all manner of muck.

    Which like a bad sign awakens
    me to be more cautious of where
    I step like into a newsletter
    and so so on I doodle here
    while the sun comes
    closer more and more near
    like a full moon on this
    the hottest night of summer.