Burning Down the Night
Tell me where about I might find it, the thing
that blazed abroad and failed. A milky haze
hangs between me and you, and I have no one
else with whom to exchange hushed glances.
Fruit, children, seasons disappear in the company
of bastards and imbeciles. This is no ordinary fire
but what turns the sky somewhere a darker blue,
the only other sounds the sounds that lovers make.
Philosophy for the Shallow
only three hours sleep,
this is not so bad,
from a thick mug
at the kitchen table
the dog’s head
and watching out
the back window
a big woodpecker
creep up the tree trunk
and the sunrise
turn the tree trunk
to a pillar of gold.
First Encounter Beach Revisited
a red dog
calls it back.
‘Rommel Drives on Deep into Egypt’
The glue has yellowed and cracked,
and now almost every time
I open the book, more poems fall out,
but what’s it matter, anyway,
I think to myself, if an old young man
in a stocking cap and camo,
a leaf blower strapped on his back,
is blasting leaves regardless
of the fast fading daylight,
an incautious conjurer inspiring
the last raggedy remnants
of summer to get up and dance.
Nocturne in the Afternoon
The girl in the red coat was playing
on the sidewalk in front of her house
A storm was coming covered with fur
and matted feathers and that was why
it was dark and not the creepy older man
giggling uncontrollably to himself
Howie Good recipient of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry for his forthcoming collection Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements.