Author Archives: River

Painting

It is not a dream.
In a pavilion, an orchestra plays
To enchant the sprawling gardens.
A woman in a blue dress, covered in starlight,
Poses for reality’s scene.

Bread

The world said
I did not earn my bread today,
But gave it to me anyway:
“Take this bread
And replenish your heart.
No sorrow, no worry
Can come to the one who eats it,
For it is fresh.”

Recipe

Take an old brush
Caked with the paint
Of yesterday’s neglect,
Select the color
That future makes
And break the canvas day.

One Star

That’s right, a single sun.
When I asked for some money
He touched some twenties
And gave me a one.
Not a look in the eye
As the paper left his hands
Not a word for the demand
For need to be a lie.

This hour, a diamond
Stolen from other crimes,
Sparkles in an airtight case.
There, a plaque awaits
The nighttime thief
Who owes someone a debt:
“Break
In
Case
Of

Treehouse

Through the wet trees
Streetlights find the day
And take their daily night
While early cars like lonely toys
Drive up and down the hill.
Clouds spill sillages of blue
That drip and rise from everything
As the morning’s moods
To the days we bring.

The Six of Stones

All I have to give
Is that which I receive
And everything I have
Is exactly what I lack.
In my pocket is a single stone.
I place it in your hand.

Feel the power in your hand?
A reticence to give
Away the stone?
What now can you receive?
What now do you lack?
What do I have?

Everything you have
Is in the palm of your hand.
Is there still a lack?
You can only give
What you receive:
The stone.

Heavy is the stone
Of everything you have.
You receive
This burden in your hand—
It is hard to give
Exactly what you lack.

I lack
A stone.
Will you give
What you have?
My hand
Will receive.

It is easy to receive
Exactly what I lack.
I open my hand
And wait for the stone:
Everything you have,
Everything you give.

My hand receives.
We give what we lack.
A stone we have.

Saturday Morning Haiku

Camouflaged by branch
A tiny brown bird flickers!
Gives life to the day.

Cats cannot write poems.
Run jump eat sleep leap meow bite—
OK, cats can write.

I track in some snow.
Other world phenomenon:
A glimpse for the cat.

The bird is gone now.
Safely to another tree.
Thanks for visiting.

Sharp

An avalanche of needles
Descends the mountainside
As a forest of pine
Toward a boundary,
A bridge we cross
In the water’s soft reflection
Of pale bluegreen gloss.

Probability

Sometimes
Snow is only snow.
Falls from high to low,
Fast and slow,
Melts to ugly puddles
In time’s sludgy flow.
Or, see its frequency,
Its angle, its sequence tree
Of countless impacts,
Its search of land
For chance
Of beauty.