Wednesday, February 11, 2009

poems 4 pastorals from various years


Sheepdogs shear the air
with their bark, prepare

the perimeter
beyond which white flocks

never tend, inside
which grow whole bubble

edens, clusters of
friends and familiar

foe to guide us by,
pastures that glide and

deliver us back
miraculous yields.


a religious man
i love our lemon

green ancient forebear
two eyes fixed on

phantoms, the rumored
earth, hands ready to

pull her tender frame
toward uppermost

reaches in a
branching bouquet of

sheltering blossoms
one of which, or so

the story goes, was
large, could

take families whole
into a supple

recess and mothers
needn't worry that

little hands
could ever attract

he of the curvy
claws and the piercing



Lord, shepherd, my sufficiency
softly sustains me in green sleep,

walks me along the cool currents
into the awakening day

upon paths brightened in splendor
of his most sheltering essence.

Even in deepest depression
your presence abides me, fearless,

strong as your hand holds the crook-stick,
secure as your feasts from the foe.

You bless me with gracious perfume.
You overfill my meek chalice.

Surely, sweet fortune will trail me
Lord, dwelling here day without end.


I’ll take a meadow
wherever nature’s chosen
to happily jam.

Medians wild and
rioting, freeways redeemed
in numberless weeds.

Old federations of
fresh bees and blooms
wherever wasteland resumes.