For the Writer

Two poems for National Poetry Month

I do not consider myself a poet. But I have had a couple of poems published recently. Does that make me a poet? Hell, maybe.

April is National Poetry Month. So I thought I’d jump into the ball game with two recent poems: “For the Writer” and “The Last of Winter.”

THE LAST OF WINTER

In dimmest light

the crow caws

angry that it snowed overnight,

a wet dusting, nearly rain, a kind of slush

The crow had other ideas, you see,

it had smelled spring,

a particular magic crow trick

But God had other plans

to mute the scent of the budding fertile ground

Birders say a crow holds a grudge,

it knows when it has been wronged,

God needs to be more careful about when

he lets it snow

***

FOR THE WRITER

Upon my mat

before a candle

incense drawn from flame

a woodpecker working

in the near pine

it’s rattle and crack

And on my desk

a typewriter sits

my journal at its side

pen before the page

In the mystic

I dream of magic

for if I saint

or devil’s best

I forever hammer

at the bark

in silent night

or morning moon

my beak against the wood

---

Photo: Nothing Ahead