April 17: Some More Yellow Dog, Judith Minty, Spring

I have a few more poems from the Yellow Dog tonight.

Last night, I found out that nobody signed up for a poetry workshop that I was going to conduct next Tuesday at the local library.  It's canceled.  It was a little depressing when I got the e-mail.  Of course, poetry is always a hard sell, even if it's National Poetry Month.

I have sort of recovered.  Still feeling a little ego-bruised, but I plan to drink a little bit tonight.

Saint Marty is glad it's Friday.

from Yellow Dog Journal, "Spring" section

5

Mice in the woodbox.  The fire
still warm, they must think
I am like Gulliver, either dead
or asleep.
They poke their little heads out,
they rattle over newspapers
to eye intruder
who writes in their giant bed.
Later, in the dark, they will
tie me here
with fine threads from their nests.

13

Though nearly midnight,
the sky is dawn's, shadows
of trees balanced against gray.
When I step onto the chill porch
to look for her, the moon
is there,  Nearly full
she forms a cross through the screen:  north, south,
east and west, reaching out
to mark us all in lunacy,
to set us mixing days and night.

Anybody want to get naked and dance under the moon?  Yeah, me neither.