Outdoor poetry is meant to be an expression of the natural singing spirit. Our bodies desire to burst into spring and…
The first Sundayafter the first full moonafter the first equinox of the year,rise early and lean outside…
We stood on a hill in the hollow windand our words twisted like leaves on a stemin the storm of feelings held at bayby onslaught of…
I do not know, I do not knowWhich way the wind is going to blowIt may blow West — but I know thisYou’re the one I want to kiss
That daywhen spring is comeand birds blow song
I am the wind. I am less than the wind.I am a tree. I am greater.I am an ant with strong ant arms.I am a weak flower, a little violet, with…
I know now, know now, the final swishthat moves my life so slowly — oh so slowlyon its way. Is a swish, a swish of the secretsilver contract made…
White blew across the bluelike lucent paint on skyand one was shaped like youwith head and breasts and thigh
If I hold to the soft lightand you to the sadwhat makes it such a wrong ‘right’that we should be glad