Merchant Eyes

Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶

How it Began The first poems I ever saved are from Mrs. Appy’s Ninth grade English class in a folder labeled simply ‘Poetry.’ 50 years later I can’t for the life of me locate it but I can see its contents–the ditto ink is faded but still quite legible. There are selections by Richard Brautigan and…
the lights have left the leaves, golden brilliance turned out like a glowing candle quieted by the wind. the leaves float and rustle, voices, too, carried by the breeze to this place atop a hill– a slanted receptacle for sound forcing it upwards to my ears. I’m hidden–He’s not. I hear Him. He’s here.
Spider, bug, Ant and bee In my garden, At my knee. Provide a show For this young one, Eyes tuned tight In midday sun. He alone can see them move We pass so fast his dawdling proves Were we more still We’d find delight In this wee world Through child’s sight. Just a…
A mountain so wide the horizon could not contain it The path rough and boulder-strewn, here a plain, then stumbling again through the dark undergrowth towards the top. We left for this journey in the light— someone keeps stealing it away. Sun rays appear in glimmers through the trees, a flutter here and there Revealing life,…
Vashon Hardware, Vashon Island, WA Rudyard Kipling begins his classic “If” poem, urging me to keep my head when all about me are losing theirs, and I’m certain my head–and its grey matter contents– will soon explode for the sums and ciphers impinging on the brain space I. do. not. have. This is a necessary…
When you have walked through the valley of the shadow and death came anyway (not to you, for you did.not.die) and there is breath in you to greet the day. when you survive the shredding of your soul to its core and the disappearance of dreams, all other challenges– man made, God-breathed– like snow— can…