I am, admittedly, not a blogger, but you see, I have this friend I’m fond of that managed to twist my virtual arm. So, here I am, this evening, writing my opening post to launch my very own author website and to promote both my first full-length collection, The Trees are on Fire, and my chapbook, Forgetting Aesop, as well as all the other wonderful ditties written by me that are available all over the internet. I am a Goodreads author and The Trees are on Fire now has a Facebook fan page. Please, take a look around, click on a few links, buy a book or two. For now, I leave you with the title poem from The Trees are on Fire as a sample of my work, since Amazon’s “Look Inside” feature doesn’t appear to be fully functional yet, although there are two lovely reviews of The Trees are on Fire there. Check them out! Happy reading!
The Trees are on Fire
And not a drop of water fell from the sky.
If the trees are indeed on fire, then why
does the sky only expose itself for the stars?
And if it’s a long way through the wilderness?
If the schoolyards are full of dying oaks?
The questions lurk with the boys running around
the yard. There they climb the open throats of the trees.
There they still come, bodies awakening,
just as we came and played until all the beauty
and laughter bled through the trees.
Things are known to burn here.
It is in this fire they build hearts and amazement—
their imaginations the resilience now coursing
through our veins, only in a different way,
like ghosts arising
from amazement in things that never grew up.
Their innocence
whispers to us: Dream.
As crows swarm over
the trees like cicadas
singing in hot hours: Come here.
Slipping starkly, easily into
the night is sometimes
the answer. Those who
follow the expressways
of the heart,
knowing
we won’t ever
get there.
