Thursday, June 16, 2011

R (right as rain)

They say it's natural --
it falls from the sky,
ricochets from the street,
like a storm shouting
hail back to heaven.

They say the gods care
for lions laying in wait
and sacrificial lambs
when lead tears the air
open like Velcro.

Then they say
stone has a right
to be a mountain
and a blade of grass
has a right to rain.

Image: Los fusilamientos del tres de mayo
by Francisco Goya, retrieved from Wikimedia Commons

This poem is the second of a loosely connected series. For the first, see Satched.

Thursday, June 9, 2011


It is spring or
it was spring or
spring sprang summer

It makes little difference
what the almanac says
when everything's satched

soaking wet streets
flowing full as a flood
in R-D-F

And if you're not up
on the T-L-A (three
letter acronym)

then chances are
in your country
spring hasn't sprung