Through somewhat more lyrical depictions of our surroundings, we can understand the reality of our world more deeply. Enjoy some of my thoughts that have made it onto the page. —Sean
Airs of Tring
The air where I am
alternates
Musty-warm one moment
Breezy-cool when I pass a window
A reminder that, while halcyon days will come,
It is still (resolutely!) spring outside
I linger, and the air is raucous
Tiny siblings in the Mammal Hall
Argue whether SHEEP! or GOAT!
While glassy-eyed ibex look back quietly
And in the Bird Hall
The squeaking and stammering of the human flock
Rivals a forest-full of flighted beings
What does it mean to live well?
To die beautifully?
To live forever?
My heart breaks
And the birds-of-paradise shine gold
Zugunruhe
What is it that compels me
After traveling two thousand miles
Trailing a rabbit in the Wisconsin winter woods
Eating rye toast at a Chicago diner with my sister
Basking in the thousand-hued land of the Apache
Scaling snowy peaks for rosy-finches
That, driving
I get into my car and am still for 161.2 miles
To grieve and walk by a lonesome road-edge
And to see birds
In their own content
With no thought of migratory
Restlessness
B. virginianus
A tigers-eye peeks at me from stainless
Steely glare denying death
Auburn-tinged sunlight-singed
Pelage-plumage
And beneath, clenched iron feet
The sunset-capturer, enrobed in dusk’s light and shadow
And dry grasses surge at its coming
Tensed sinew beneath its deceptive buffy frame
A gape wide enough it nightly swallows the Moon
The tiger roars
At the moon
At its own frame
At the dry grasses
At the shrouding dusk
At the table where gravity has captured it forever
At the fluorescence that makes naked its mystery
For an eternally-long moment one would lapse into seeing, there in that alien space, that night falls on us all and that surging grasses contain pulsing fury.
(H)eating The Green Moon
It’s a June night
Well, practically a June night
The last day of May, when the sky’s bright thermostat
Has already been turned up to 90
And there is no end in sight
The heat works its way into the heart of the forest
Into damp leaf litter
Inside a cocoon, shielded from last winter’s chill by an arc of tree bark
All the way, the heat goes
To quicken the pulse of a near-imperceptible heartbeat
A laden body squirms, twisting first left, then right
It is the kind of night, sultry night
When a glass of iced tea
Wrings rain from the air
Beading at the rim
Until the personal thundercloud bursts
Leaving a ring on the tabletop
Next to your crystal dessert-plate
On the smooth trunk of a silver maple
She ascends
Luminous
A beacon in the fading dusk
The average party-goer might pay her no heed
Entranced in the murmured conversation
Distracted by the fallen pewter fork
The mosquito whose incessant buzzing must be silenced by a swat
Meanwhile, the balming heat has done its silent magic
Tricking the darkened forest into blosson
She is at head-height now
Perfect quivering wings accented with chestnut
As large as your hand
Your eyes as large as dinner plates
The gap in the trees’ crown
Just large enough for the universe to break in
With a generous dusting of the starry host
Under the glow of the porch light
The screen door opens with a click
And the host glides out with a platter
A gentle breeze moves over the grass
As her wings rustle, she takes flight toward the moon
And the key-lime pie is served
Usiku wa Burns
Robert Burns, mwimbaji wa Scotland
Mwenye hekima, na mwenye sanaa
Mwenye kupata watu wa moyo
Mwenye kusifu na kumpongeza
//
(This poem was inspired by and performed at a Burns Night celebration. This annual Scottish tradition honors the life and work of Robert Burns. Honoring the Scottish influence on East African clothing in the plaids that Maasai people wear, I used ChatGPT to produce this poem about Robert Burns in Swahili. A self-translation follows.)
//
Robert Burns, the singer of Scotland
A wise man and artist
He touches people’s hearts
A man of praise and glory