A widower, I’m reading
Whispering with Flowers.
Me—an old Romeo.
I long to soften her proper heart.
John from Encantado: Desert Monologues, 2018
Each day, we rise, reborn,
our round rhythm:
another chance.
“Ode to Another Chance”
From Adobe Odes, 2006
Yeast pillow
sailing
through the green
oregano air, floats
down into the bubbling
rumors of tomatoes…
“Ode to Pizza”
From My Own True Name, 2000
Together, cada día, every day,
in many languages, library families say,
“Reading. A happy habit we enjoy!”
Together, cada día, every day,
you and I build the bridge to bookjoy.
From ZING! Seven Creativity Practices for Educators & Students, 2010
Everything’s in love.
Birds, butterflies, and now me,
dizzy in your eyes.
Dizzy in Your Eyes: Poems About Love, 2010
I want to begin the year by sharing wise words from the poet (and gardener) Stanley Kunitz in The Wild Braid: A Poet Reflects on a Century in the Garden.
“I am not done with my changes.”
“You have to practice being yourself.”
“The poet doesn’t so much disappear into the poem as become the poem.”
Twelve Choir Questions
Did the wind’s whistle redden the holly berries?
Is it the oven’s breath that’s sweet with sugar and anise?
How do the bells’ hearts beat so merrily?
Do the luminarias guide us to the path of peace?
Encantado: Desert Monologues, 2018
In autumn, broody season,
garden conversations turn philosophical,
leaves pontificating on life’s brevity, the weight
of maturity. Seed-heavy, your head bows.
“Ode to Sunflowers”
Adobe Odes, 2006
I feel like a small child
only able to speak very simple
all the time I feel incomplete
“Learning English: Chorus in Many Voices”
My Own True Name, 2000
She carries a green river,
heavy, but it hums.
In any desert, she can bow her head
and sip from her own arms.
“Cuentista”
Agua Santa: Holy Water, 1995
“I speak words of faith—practice, practice.
I pick up the next shoe or boot—like us,
it needs patient attention and repair.”
Señor Ortega
Encantado: Desert Monologues