• w-facebook
  • Twitter Clean
  • Tumblr Clean
  • Instagram Clean
  • Blogger Clean

IOWA (Thane & Prose, 2016) is the first of a five-book series that traces the poet’s progress through places of inspiration in an epic fashion. IOWA is about the surfeit and dearth of rural living; a celebration of green fields, the family farm and small town life. The next book in the series is HAMPTONS (2019). Further collections are NEW YORK, PARIS and ROME.

                                    Wild Animals

                                                 The waking have one world in common.

                                                 Sleepers meanwhile turn aside,

                                                 each into a darkness of their own.

                                                          -Heraclitus       

                                    I asked my father if he

                                    was afraid to walk at night

                                    alone. “There’s nothing there

                                    but your imagination.”

                                    What about wild animals?

                                    “They’re more afraid of you

                                    than you of them, but if

                                    one comes close, get away

                                    in case they’re sick and bite.”

                                    The Beginning

 

                                    I stand in a field and listen to wind

                                    become water on my skin,

                                    no words, just hawks in the sky,

                                    wasps in the swing set.

 

                                    The corncrib swells with rock hard

                                    cobs of multicolored grain,

                                    a bull snake coils around my leg,

                                    I step from its boot-like grip.

 

                                    A field is an ocean of green leaves,

                                    the wind waves on my skin.

                                      Cornfield

                                      Emerald waves applaud midsummer’s

                                      undulant hills, honeyed kernels,

                                      amber tasseled stalks inert,

                                      wind-wisped leaves stir earth’s aroma,

                                      slow circling suspensions of time,

                                      dust blown cloud, adagio of air,

                                      granular infinitudes above

                                      a gravel road, long grassy ditch lined

                                      with barbed wire going nowhere.