<![CDATA[@CoyoteSings - home / current micropoetry blog]]>Sat, 21 Nov 2015 11:00:49 -0800Weebly<![CDATA[Loving this stone country song by Blake...]]>Sat, 21 Nov 2015 18:38:55 GMThttp://coyotesings.weebly.com/home--current-micropoetry-blog/loving-this-stone-country-song-by-blake
<![CDATA[Coyote ringtone]]>Tue, 23 Jun 2015 04:23:48 GMThttp://coyotesings.weebly.com/home--current-micropoetry-blog/coyote-ringtoneCoyote yip and howl notification ringtones
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<![CDATA[The Heart of the Buddha's Teaching]]>Tue, 09 Jun 2015 15:25:54 GMThttp://coyotesings.weebly.com/home--current-micropoetry-blog/the-heart-of-the-buddhas-teaching
"The Heart of the Buddha's Teaching,"
a tanka series about finding refuge in a Colorado mountain cabin with the man I love. Please check it out.

<![CDATA[Rainwatching]]>Sun, 07 Sep 2014 06:16:53 GMThttp://coyotesings.weebly.com/home--current-micropoetry-blog/rainwatching

a restless ocean
roaring in the trees
I float on the porch
eyes closed

the storm
sneaks in
with the night

fourth of July
sitting on the grass
watching them
try to shoot down
the approaching storm

sheets rippling
on the clothesline
waiting for the rain

heading home
the rain meets me

storm yellow sky
the whiptails scatter
with the first drops of rain

making their way
through the raindrops
a hummingbird
and a ray of

deeper and deeper blue
until the sky falls away
and the desert steams

flash flood
a boulder dances
down the arroyo

tall green weeds
lean over
and point to where
the garbage can was

the rain that
soaked my skin
the thunder that
silenced your words
(oh but the lightning that
showed me everything)

the tingle
of each cold drop
on the back of my neck
as we kissed
the rain away

after the storm
the scent of stars
through the open door

night breeze
a patch of cattails
stalking the moon

a few days
after the storm
a patch of yellow
in a sea of green

where the gravel
turns to dust
then turns to rain
how far down
this old dirt road
we walk for love

<![CDATA[Poems from the sixth floor]]>Mon, 19 May 2014 03:28:41 GMThttp://coyotesings.weebly.com/home--current-micropoetry-blog/poems-from-the-sixth-floor

[This Spring I spent most of a month in and out of the hospital with plenty of time on my hands. These are some of the poems I wrote...]


the one sparrow
who just didn't care
singing in the rain

the bad dreams...
this perfect sunrise

when I
was the person
who wanted
to be

the day I found you
the fourth heart
on the clover

how the picture
never captures
the color
of your perfume
or the sunset's smile

the frisbee
my bad temper threw
into the sun
the stray dog who
brought it back smiling

deep in thought
watching a boxcar pass
and fighting the urge
to leave my keys
in the ignition

I asked an old log
how he had fallen but
he just smiled
and told me sit down
tell me about the sun

buds sprouting
on an old Spring poem
I left in a notebook

tiny yellow flowers
whooping and hollering
in the alley out back
neighbor boy
with tussled hair
growing like a weed

the place behind the moon
where bears live on
and no one gets mad
or makes mistakes

that one
little thing you said
fire ant

rows and rows
of wildflowers
the rusting tractor

a nuthatch
swoops down
to ask me to dance
then changes its mind
before I can accept

I burst out of myself
and take my first breath

how quiet this dream
under florescent lights
automatic doors
open and close
for no one

that angry prayer
God answered
so calmly
in spite
of me

the slam
of the dumpster
from the garbage truck
the whisper of a cloud
passing overhead

the blind ferret
who wanted out
past the screen door
into a brand new world
on the faith of fresh air

when I was
the night falling
you were
the last song
of the sparrow

watching a crow
turn a crosswind
into a tailwind

for no reason at all
boys throwing stones
and the one-eyed squirrel
who always stays up
high in the trees

the dandelions
who decided not to wait
for the roses

night wind
sweeps away
the ghosts
of birdsongs
caught in the branches

the angels
who watched over
the crazy old man
who believed
in angels

the day my heart
burst out of my chest
and sang in the trees
as hearts often do
in momentary grasps
of sunshine and reason

jar of seeds
I plant them
just to see
what we'll be

the rocking chair
my grandfather made
out of the old maple
that swayed in the breeze
and fell in the storm

in the exam room
at the surgeon's office
wide-eyed and angry
for all the times
I didn't go dancing

always the tree
that never thought it would fall
cord of firewood

that first
trickle of rainwater
that becomes
the river

where the desert
forgets the sound
of the highway
a sparrow

attached by wires
to digital readouts
but my mind
through the window
and roaming the canyon

two dots of birds
of unknown origin
high over my head
and spiraling to
unknown destinations

the mountain and I
on a first name basis
with the sky

my lousy choice
of cable or the window
I watch
the morning sun
rise like a balloon

the bright silence
that outshines the moon
when I turn off
the lights

how quick this life
my eyes try to follow
two white butterflies
twisting and turning
in the weeds

meadowlark sings
higher and higher
sun on fire

the things that
can only be fixed by
running on four paws
down a deserted
desert highway

I'm a smile
and sometimes
I'm the marigold
gone missing

empty IV
the floor nurse
untethers me
so I can float away
into blue sky mountains

the selfie I took
way up on the mesa
of my tail in the scrub
behind some old man
holding a camera

dying sun
through a golden hole
in shadows of rain
what's left of the day
soaked in liquid night

the day God decided
that flowers should fly

just when I thought
I knew this desert sky
May snow

tiny blue moon
skyfast and alone
glowing in the clouds
so much braver
than the rain

morphine sunrise
only a hint of color
in this gray sky
of stretched clouds
and dream mountains

almost inaudible
the sound of the sun
through the window
hitting the smile
on my face

bird on a line
with a chest full
of sunshine
he gathered
just for me

she waits for me
no scent of sage
rising from rainwater
this ever-patient desert
where even the whiptails
are waiting to dance

I color the
pink peony blue
and plant it
in my head

I tell the sparrow
who stops in mid-song
he did nothing wrong
to sing so beautifully
my first day home


the woman
who left the holy well
still with crutches
who gave her miracle
to me

(for Jenny, who never didn't believe...)


<![CDATA[...hoping on spring]]>Sat, 15 Feb 2014 07:35:33 GMThttp://coyotesings.weebly.com/home--current-micropoetry-blog/hoping-on-spring

passenger window
with his nose sticking out
Volkswagen beagle

so far away
I can barely see
the star
in the night
of his eyes

as long as I can
underneath the tree
listening to different songs
of different birds
until I get on the bus
and fly off down the road

when I wanted
to be the sun and everyone
told me that I could
only ever be the rain
and to get back to
watering the flowers

she keeps telling me
how cold she is
in that voice of hers
that holds up the sun and
puts the wind back to sleep

listening to an angry sky
with nothing to say
but rain

until I
the light
of day

half the day gone
walking tree to tree
as the crow flies
just to find this kiss
we left by the river

pigeon or angel
I keep the feather

seashells filled
with rainwater
nothing is ever
the ocean
I think it is

park bench
wishing the snow
would turn to rain
and the trees
had more to say

sunset the color
of your lipstick
the first time we kissed
and you stayed with me
to watch the sunrise

when I didn't know
where I belonged
California gull
chasing his shadow
across the desert

the sparrow
who never thought
himself any more
than sunlight flitting
branch to branch

the cat's chair empty
and filled with snow

the parked cars
quiet sphinxes
watching the snow
cover the lot

walking down
an old dirt road
and I swear it's you
but it's just a crow
and I'm almost home

I start
to type out this daydream
but I backspace
until all that's left
is the first letter
of your name

old coyote
sings one last song
to a freight train
pulling a trail of stars
across a bright sky

I watch the sun
fly out of a pine tree
without ever once
looking back
winter robin

thinking he came back
way too early
and I stayed
way too long
robin in the snow

this fickle romance
the snow and I have

the blurred photo
of a sparrow I heard
with such clarity

the crow I disturbed
rubbing his wings
on the day moon

winter dusk
the moon's apology
the sun's redemption
and I the only witness
to this sky filling with stars

ten degrees
the river ice snaps its fingers
to the sunset song

glass dragonfly
in a winter alley
one wing shattered
and streaked with mud
the other catching sun

the way I loved
how you loved
the rain

when we were puppies
and life was just a bone
too big for our mouths

piles of apples
on my grandfather's farm
my brother and I
and a jug of cider
all going bad

that perfect ray of sunlight
I wanted the sun to shine
that would have melted this ice
and turned your heart
into rainwater

the first time
you kissed me
the helium balloon
I let slip from my hand
swaying on the ceiling

empty box of chocolate
I learn to love

first a bite
then a kiss
then another bite
and another kiss
till I can't tell
chocolate from love

little girl at the store
making a song out of
everything I say

the wedding ring
I took off my hand
and threw to the desert
the silence of these junipers
as I walk them each sunrise

inside and out
one of the crows
on the fence
takes her side

eyes through
the scrub
so careful
not to disturb
my dreaming

as if
there were
no sparrows
at all

<![CDATA[Waiting on winter...]]>Sun, 26 Jan 2014 04:20:23 GMThttp://coyotesings.weebly.com/home--current-micropoetry-blog/waiting-on-winter

no electric ball
just stars on the mesa
shining in the new year

coyote moon
chasing your tail
as we circle the bed
three times under the covers
before we fall asleep

in the crosswalk
through the windshield
his eyes meet mine
and we just know
green light

new snow
the morning I spent
playing with
my neighbor's dog

on the window
my name streaked
in fingermarks
where the frost
hid the sun

the blood
on the barbed wire
between the horses in the field
and the horse running
down the dirt road

under asphalt
my footprints in the dust
of an old dirt road

face first
into the morning sun
the way the mountain
taught me how
to pray

open blinds
she fills the vase
of gladiolus
with fresh

a week
after you're gone
I still make
my coffee the way
you like it

shoveling the walk
I find part of a wing
of a chalk butterfly

today I am not
going to rescue the planet
instead I will
go for a walk
and let it rescue me

I meet the brother
of a sparrow I knew
back at the old house
and he sings me a song
his nephew taught him

the old white bigot
who even hated

sticking my fingers
into a winter stream
until I can feel
my heart beating
in the palm of my hand

full birdfeeder
the chirping
of the heater fan

hidden in the trees
and singing to the dawn
sparrow moon

sitting on the hill
licking his wounds
the sun comes up
the snow comes down
just the same

behind me
sleeping on the couch
under the covers
the ferret
who has my back

I read
until the book
gets so sleepy
it starts mumbling
another language

the light so thick
from the end of the day
pouring off the sun
like water running down
the side of the mountain

the pitch black window
of a pitch black room
cracked open
the perfect pitch
of a night bird

shine on me softly
this moonlight I seek
though the car is packed
and the morning young
and she still sleeping

as if the stars
all fell at one time
and the world
was covered in wishes
my private sunrise

with each squeak
of the old pump well
a spurt of cold water
and an answer
from the chickadee

before I throw it
in the dumpster
a homeless woman
asks for this book of poems
with no rhyme or reason

when I went walking
down my grandfather's drive
out past the mailbox
to where the dirt road
turned into summer

the swayback mare
who would not let me
sit on her back
the rusted red tractor
in the weeds who would

making up
for all the lost leaves
winter sparrows

after slamming
the screen door
the sparrows
come back
but you don't

putting away groceries
milk on the top shelf
ketchup in the door
and a couple ferrets
in the vegetable bin

after the argument
when you walked ahead
throwing stones
and building yourself
a mountain

hole in the candle
where we talked until the sun
flickered on the wall

<![CDATA[Putting away the tree...]]>Tue, 31 Dec 2013 01:27:32 GMThttp://coyotesings.weebly.com/home--current-micropoetry-blog/putting-away-the-tree
brand new morning
brand new footprints
in brand new snow

white keys
I tap out
Jingle Bells
to the rhythm
of new snowflakes

city complex
the morgue decorated
in Christmas lights

walking downtown
at four in the morning
so quiet I can hear
the Christmas lights
clicking and buzzing

Walmart greeter
both of us
almost pretend
to look at each other
when we say hi

Walmart associate
tells me I can find Jesus
next to electronics

dad gives up
trying to find everyone
and watches the game
on a wall of TVs

frost on the inside
of the window
I write "Peace"
with my finger

the blurred picture
of a butterfly...
a little warmer now

I wake her
to show her the snow
but she goes back
to her dreams
and falling falling...

Bourbon Street
the night we kissed
so passionately
and the snow clouds
threw Mardi Gras beads

Big Easy
the snow falls
like powdered sugar
from fresh beignets
into the Mississippi

driving back
from visiting a friend
to see her new baby
I follow the brightest star
all the way home

the strand of tinsel
stuck to your sleeve
without you knowing
as you sleep next to me
the whole way home

the glass bottles
in the bottom
of the homeless woman's cart
sound like sleigh bells
as she makes her way past

last minute
Christmas decorations...
new snow

my old drunk neighbor
who likes to give me grief
I pack a snowball
and hold it in my hand
until my fingers get cold

on the muddy floor
of the uptown bus
the shiny red ribbon
everyone's careful
to step around

on my back
in the front yard
with my arms out
magic gloves to the sky
making the snow rise

cardboard box
tangling the Christmas lights
for next year

<![CDATA[The Color Show: Fall 2013]]>Sat, 21 Dec 2013 13:46:42 GMThttp://coyotesings.weebly.com/home--current-micropoetry-blog/the-color-show-fall-2013

Autumn City
I follow the yellow-leaf road

burned-out porch light
all the summer moths
headed to the moon

four am
listening to sirens
turn into coyotes

autumn wind
spits out the crow
it swallowed

coyote wind
chasing plastic rabbit bags
through the barbed wire

I tell the coyotes
I'm only gonna
throw it
one more time --

I give her an apology
and a candy bar
(she eats the apology)

side of the road
disco lights flashing
on a wasted cowboy
trying to dance
in a straight line

the young man
who thought he was gay
we talk for a bit
until the silence
answers the question

the poem I sent
that you never read
sneaks back into my room
and sleeps all night
curled up next to me

clouds swirl sunset
into pink and blue guesses
she feels it inside her
moving across the sky
like the daylight moon...

three am night sky
god's face big as life
then back to clouds
without saying

Monday morning
the homeless woman
and her daughter
sleeping in the woods
behind an empty church

spot of sun
I open the door
to let it in
but it scatters off the porch
and runs up a tree

when God
lost my bus money
and made me walk home
through the park
where I met you...

shadow of a sparrow
lands on the shadow
of my finger

November sky
a hawk takes the long way
around the sun

at the bottom
of the well
the top of the sky

and when I got home
how he yowled and cried
and kissed my chin
until I promised I would
scratch his ears forever

patches of snow not yet melted
I leave the white stubble
on my face

November snowstorm
summer butterflies
still chasing flowers
on the strings of my
neighbor's windchimes

all the ferrets wide awake
the smell of turkey
from the oven

I spend a few more seconds
than I need to
licking mashed potatoes
from your finger

when I was a kite
thrashing in the wind
headed for trees
and pulling
on the string of you

watching the clouds
write a poem
so obscure
I cannot copy it down
before the rain comes

<![CDATA[A little summer for Christmas...]]>Mon, 16 Dec 2013 00:09:57 GMThttp://coyotesings.weebly.com/home--current-micropoetry-blog/a-little-summer-for-christmas

the longer he sings
the louder I dream

canyons disappearing
into canyons
coyote sky

the things I learned
and didn't tell anyone
lilacs in the alley

before I knew anything
about sex

nothing to do
and all day to do it

skyfull of delphiniums
at the ground

co y ot e
s t ep p ingt ai ld ee p
th r ou g hmu dd yw a t er

was the secret
she or I?
cactus flower

summer rain
not even the river
knows where we're going

when my dad taught me
about the bears
and the bees

the way all rivers
in heaven

the most beautiful girl
who turned into the sound
of passing cars

no wings
the present

baby sparrows
I remember
not to cuss

he said he was a flower
but he was just
a jack of all weeds

when I was a turtle
with my legs in the sky
your soft hands

momentarily occupying
the same airspace...
cat and grasshopper

blue-grey pigeons
blending into the pavement
then into the rain

ship of silence
in a sea of moonlight
steady as she goes

traffic and sirens
turn into sparrows

when I had nothing
for a rainy day
dandelion gold

pickup truck
your first orgasm
startles the crows

no next life
just this one
(no matter how it goes)

how long I waited
for you to stop barking
and close your eyes
so I could touch your nose
through the fence

upside down squirrel
hanging sideways
off a tree
asks me if I'm going to
answer myself too

afternoon bluejay
his ass off
one-word texts
from my wife

two big wings
on too little a tree
crow doesn't
wait around to see
if I'll stop laughing

I ask a tree
if he remembers when
I was twelve years old
(and he shows me
the scar)

in the middle of nowhere
a coyote and I
switch off
every other song

the stick I throw
that Loneliness
always finds
and drops at my feet
so I can throw it again

canyon road
I spot two coyote pups
where we parked
and rolled around
in the stars

rooftop patio
the bartender makes me
a thunderstorm

canyon sunlight
I find a broken bottle
half full of stars

tall grass and sagebrush
the butterfly-shaped spot
on the wild pinto

glowing in the sun
in a field of dark green --

when the whole world was angry
except you
sleeping moth

when I believed
the bluejay said...

always the littlest one
showing off the most...
shooting star

underneath the maple tree
where it rains
after it rains

storm in the foothills
a wild horse kicks up his heels
and spooks the thunder

the night I dreamed you
in flashes of light
and woke to thunder

morning church bells
shaking off
the crows

wrinkles on my hands
I blink
and the coffee is done

the morning
I made love to you
so quickly
and drank my tea
so slowly

twilight thunderheads
way over my head
a hummingbird
and his wingman
rushing home

a Mexican man and I
bump into each other
and we say we're sorry
in different languages

white flying things
sometimes moths
sometimes butterflies
on how happy I am

how my father
could fix almost anything
my mother's blank stare
from the window
of the nursing home

your hips
pushing to the stars
I hold myself back
watching a katydid
crawling through the moonlight

the one sparrow
who just didn't care
singing in the rain

back alley window
the sound of God
squeezing cats

in between flights
the drug dog
who just wants to play

this is the poem
that chased my feet
then hid in a dark place
and slept all day
until life was but a dream...

the earring
I kissed that fell off
(how long we looked
in the dandelions
behind the garage)

midnight thunder
through the bedroom window
I stop inside you
for a few seconds
just to listen

afternoon thunderstorm
when I thought
you loved me
but you just
loved the rain

the way she said
like it was a candy heart
she spit out
and left on the ground

the time I sat under the tree
and told you
about my day after
you told me about yours --

ten years old
wasting time at the frog pond
how the sun only made sense
when I saw it
through dragonfly wings

August wind
I listen to the leaves
speak of future colors

the scent of ozone
way before
I see it
sparrows shoot like darts
in all directions

shining star
I unwish all the things
I wished for
and take the fall

how rich I am
these hairs on my head
made of silver
and these aspen leaves
made of gold

spilled bowl of cereal
marshmallow moons
and stars
all over the floor
glistening in the moonlight

an everything
so big
it could have been
it wanted

eight years old
the crows and I take turns
ploughing the corn field
on my grandfather's
rusted tractor

that unbelievably
foolish thing you said
when I was just about
to let my heart
do foolish things

the rain and I
take the long way home...

where the cardinal sang
all summer long...
red maple leaves

after the cicadas stop
the sun buzzing
in the weeds

early morning rain
the dreams
pour out of me

big as a june bug...

in a cherry tree

top of the mountain
where the pine trees
polish the stars

sunrise storm
the last rumbles of night
forgives and forgets

last bit of sunlight
sets the mountain on fire
aspen trees

the first time
she said I love you
while looking away

the way she loved me
and the color

whatever it is
that makes the spider stop
makes me stop too

a feather from the tail
of a thought
about you

the first time meeting
my great-grandfather
who stared at planes
the same exact way
I stared at him

I walk
into the desert
until the cars stop
and I can hear
the coyotes breathing

tied to the bike rack
a guy tells me
not to pet his dog
(I wait until
he goes inside)

she kisses me goodbye
and tells me go
do not wait for me
one more second...
Lady Time

I notice
the last dandelion
behind the house
the next morning it
and summer are gone...

the last dandelion seeds of summer
I go my way
you go yours

almost autumn
she lets her red dress fall
and closes her eyes
to wait for the rain...
maple tree

two hawks
fade into one hawk
fades into
an endless blue sky
trailing feathered clouds

the rocks
on the mountain
the rushes by the river
we never wrote down
their names

a sky full of rain
borrows the mountains
for a week
and brings them back
covered in wildflowers

the kids
ask what we’re doing
I say nothing
so we can do nothing
one more time

the lines in pencil
my mother drew
on the doorjam
where I got taller
and time got shorter

all the holes she filled
with tiny yellow flowers
rushes stick out of the sand
like ferret whiskers
next to the river

how slowly I walk
through the house
the ghosts of ferrets
always in-between
my feet

when I was the color red
and hovered in the flowers
waiting for twilight
so I could become
the last seconds of sun