earth note 306

there's a pile of gold
leaves
across the avenue
that should be left
to decay
& feed the soil

stall the blowers

with their own exhaust

listen for the starlings

--- e b bortz

 

earth note 305

it feels like
the last warm hour
before the night chill
takes over

open hands

around a spinner
in the yard
cups the breeze just right

takes off in a burst

repetition turning
with illusions
of perpetual motion

this is what upsets

the blue jays
who know better
deep into the hillside

every stadium echo

is hollowed out
by wooden chimes
trembling rose of sharon

--- e b bortz

 

the river is my addiction

every step

unique

leads

to a new revelation

so it seems

like a shifting current

collides with the wind

never repeating itself

it's easy to miss

what's significant

my eye takes in the landscape

but once

geese head to

lean-to shelters

     weeping riverbanks

ultimately

a flock

these are not

the whitecaps

of yesterday

nor tomorrow

--- e b bortz

(published in Antennae the Antennae,
Green Panda Press, Jan 2015)

(published in Resurrection River Poems, Kent OH, 2019)

earth note 304

west park, pittsburgh

there's a method

to the shuffling 
through fallen leaves & acorns
     a hundred wild
     pecking bills & swimmers' feet
     have left lake elizabeth
     for a morning scavenge
     before the rain
     while the getting is still good

every goose lets everyone know

they are here to stay
ducks simply keep their heads down
squirrels tuck away in a frenzy
only to forget
what's in the store

the lake might freeze this winter
or maybe not

city bureaucrats

have covered all contingencies
new signs & authority misrules
     no ice skating
     no swimming
     no wading
     no pets

no eating   no drinking   no breathing

--- e b bortz

earth note 303

a cliff dweller
reaches from millennia
where hands formed
every angle with the sun
shading secrets
only a maker
knows

--- e b bortz

earth note 302

fineview pittsburgh

lone hawk soaring & dives

traverses a radio tower
signals cold hill morning

who cares if there are

a few extra beats

--- e b bortz

a river is time

as much as distance
loose intervals
portions of summer
lost friends
     before the drive-ins all closed
trails were what you made of them
car windows steamed up
easily
'cause the heat was transparent
because that's the way
you wore it

a swim was a baptism

     explanation not needed

a boxing ring

     with circles instead of squares

the chimneys coughed

wheezed every morning
like the bartender moe

and the girls rolled up

their work-camp sleeves
& held your hand
even after the music
ended

--- e b bortz

earth note 301

1.
the road mapped itself
from what i remember
out past the last hay bales
the prairies started rolling
the sun kept a round face
until dusk
even the crows seemed
to have their directions set
looking to bed down
on a distant bluff
like a call from the forest
before the dark
covered
everything

2.

the road had a unique vibration
of its own
empty & quiet for the most part
except when transitioning
between asphalt & concrete
the town lights came up suddenly
and then passed
like a silent acknowledgment

3.

farmers in coveralls
a crowded diner
stress on a dozen faces
promises broken
by bank notes
& inflated seed panaceas
all of it parched
like a river diverted
for the grease pits

4.

the road swayed

to the wind
western clouds breaking apart
wheat fields laboring
without hands
kneeling over
to touch
shadows
& loam

--- e b bortz

earth note 300

call it a day
to have an outdoor
cajun dance

wind northwest moves in

every tree in its own rhythm
beats a washboard

like any waltz

the steps seem somewhat
predictable

cept for the zydeco

coming thru
over the poplar tops

strings drown out

the sirens
greasy engines go quiet

for every distraction

there's a perfect escape
a new imagination

leaves never make a plan
to give up
untamed & no excuses

the sky a full blue

but by no means
filled

--- e b bortz
 

earth note 299

rain stripped every
carrier of soot
exploitation
a genetically modified bank statement
madmen hiding behind the wheel
at the helm
weaving in and out
of k & L gates & assorted
gated skyscrapers
extending out a hand
for three-card monte
to fool you
more than twice

if you see

the rain coming
leave the umbrella
at home

--- e b bortz