Sunday, September 20, 2015


And the sky is so blue
And the leaves so yellow
And she thinks of his eyes

Somewhere a sea recedes
Too soon taken

- Debbie Calverley

Saturday, September 5, 2015

It's Too Quiet In Here

It's Too Quiet in Here

A sparrow mistook
a light for the light
of day. A contractor
penciled Transitional
 on the plans.
A woman parked
next to the airport
and stood on top
of her truck.
In an empty office,
a fax inched out
of the printer.
The wind knocked
over a metal bucket.
Spirals at the end
of a vending
machine turned
to let down the chips.
Everyone in the sub-
way pitched right.
A blue crayon melted
on the welcome mat.
The timer for the timed
test went off. A pilot
light went out. Every-
one on the bus pitched
left. A shade slapped
open, untouched, and dust
flew up into the sun. 


Friday, September 4, 2015


So goes the revolution. To turn the wheel,
to rotate, revolve, turning
the turn, the turn of a hair—and it's the loss
of all composure. A hairpin turn, to turnabout, to look ...
Now it's your turn
to turn down, to spin, swivel, swerve,
to take the curve that turns
the stomach, to veer and arc,
with the turn of a screw
the turnbuckle of the body is fixed.
Turning the tables.
You're never turning back.
Turn the key as all heads turn,
when nobody is looking,
the body turned loose no longer impounded.
Turn up the music.
Turn off the lights.
Turn on. Turn over. We take turns
twirling before turning-in for the night,
to return to sleep,
to turn out with the morning riders
who, in turn, turn their pages.
Turn around and we turn a certain age.
Turn around again and the sunlight is turning,
turning this dim room bright.