Saturday, December 15, 2018


                       Solitude Raga

               1

drop by drop water
incessantly dripped then splashed
overflowing rain        

so disconsolate
flat stones skipped discus-like     sank
a fate for stones 

courage, do not weep
though a million cells break
life    strong tea   will steep

though glass slivers glint
cut jewels flash with each beat 
broken hearts still bleed

a pot full of chocolate
crimson sphere dashed with gold
a crystal ball

a candle-lit table
of varnished oak
a glass carafe of red wine

reflections
reflected by darkness 
outside un-curtained glass windows



that owlet she raised flew
from fence to barn roof
rust dusting her talons

moon over Kielder
purple bloom above crag edge
climbing above Roughside

                   flag stones after rain 
                puddles stained with kerosene
                    drying to grey blue

drop by drop water
incessantly dripped then splashed
overflows again       

a field mouse
floating in that metal tub
left out under the downspout

no company for some days
except short-eared owls
quartering the moor



                          2

so particles traverse the universe
strange sounds like water dripping from gutters
we play those signals back in reverse
forensically    hoping to derive 
some good rhyme or reason why we're alive
or revelation of why we were meant
what purpose   if any   do we survive
to receive these signals    this testament
this old testament of events in time
whose ripples arrive carrying signals
of far begettings with clear signatures 
from which we surmise others are out there
as yet unfound    just more shards of knowledge
to log   no patterns more than Orion's edge


                           3

         cosmic waste pipes drip and splash

         between two sounds
                  drip splash
                            little sound to measure
                  distance between things
                  pipe   rock

              twelve feet between
                           sound waves spoke out
                           through air dampened by drips
                           radiating
                           from origin  
tick tock
pipe   rock
                                    between that noise of things
                                    an essential silence
                                    of movement
                                        of limbs
                                             before noise    
       warmth at center
                   towards which   air swirls     
                              warms   rises   cools
                                    & always evening when
                           noise   warmth    light       
                  then dust brought
         then warmer    faster
then breeze   wind
in your beginnings
wind myth     myth carnal
bee rhythms
         stem sway     wing fall
                  mulch
                           feeds the sycamore tree     
                                           but one wing

                                             wing of myth
                                            with bones    joints     thumb
                                         let go     forego    the primates                                              
                            thumb                  indulge
                  in chimerical incunabulum



                            4

quick!   chirps a night bird now that it is dark   
quick!   quick!    

thinking again of her gift
drawn with charcoal on thick art paper
a nude silhouette

concentric ripples
like a grenade was dropped
a trout erupted
took a dragonfly

it’s natural for waves to travel
it’s what waves do
so should we believe in that Big Bang Theory
or opt for one that explains cosmic plumbing?

impact
consequence
that gift was an event in time 
whose ripples still reach me
with a signal of perturbation   

Orion in view from the front door
Venus shining




                 what breaks that sound
                 that falls on stone
                 that sound
                 of water splashing

                  in between
                  two songs

                  one hand on a taut drum
                  damping percussive effects of crowd
                  the other on cymbals

                  achieving silence again they play
                  weaving meaning
                  on a thousand-line octave




                        ©Dick Russell, 2015
                                    Revised December 2018




Saturday, December 8, 2018

                        Away Faraway



Away faraway
someone I haven’t seen
except in day dreams rarely dreamed
she inspires me now as she did then
when she asked me
why it was I came to her?
why was it I was there?

Away faraway lives someone
someone I haven’t seen
except in day dreams rarely dreamed
glimpses, even many, are too few
leave-takings fond farewells





Copyright (C) Dick Russell 
                2018

Thursday, December 6, 2018

Hotel Room Coffee Machine Blues


She said with a smile “you know
your hair is beautiful, don’t go”
directing me to a bus to take me to the show
but I declined
saying I’d walk

another time before that
wearing that same orange hat
on her blond hair pulled back
in Dallas’ sudden cold snap
no warmth in the air
would I have been warmer
would we have talked
would I have invited her up to my room?

nearby a van lurked
surveilling the hotel
FBI
operating a wireless net
I could see from my room
dividing my time
between my first cup of coffee
and my first laptop connection
sipping my coffee watching my screen




November 2018


(based on an event while staying at a Marriott on Commerce Street in Dallas, Texas during SC’18).


Copyright © Dick Russell (Richard M. Russell)

Tuesday, December 4, 2018

                        Autumn


I should clean a keyboard
dirty from constant use
just as Indians once rubbed buckskin
white with diatomaceous earth
now chlorine tinctured cloths
clean refrigerator rooftops
cleaning time’s detritus away
wiping age from my face
forever
so that I’m young again
strong shouldered
not stumbling
so that I’m hale again
hearty
hawking 
as I stride across a carpet of leaves
fine red cedar needles
a fresh crop since the last rain





Copyright © Dick Russell
       December 2018

Sunday, July 15, 2018

Weather Cock

When the west wind blows
each breath inhaling air full of oxygen
straight off the ocean
sometimes from Hawaii
I grow younger

When the east wind blows
I grow older with worry
over blown by a vortex
of contagious contention
impossible to escape
trailing in its wake

when the north wind blows
I can reset my compass
face winter well prepared
clean air from Canada
with no tariff on import

when the south wind blows
coal trains going north
oil trains coming after
then one after another
coal train oil train again
& again




Dick Russell
copyright (C) 2018

Monday, May 28, 2018

                     Did Yeats Regret


                 his former loves
the many muses of his past?

his Eileens his Virginias
his Pamelas his Pams

did Pound muse on
Olga when with Dot
on Shakespeare when with Rudge?

do painters pine for models
they painted once
incompletely?

do subjects
never cease to spring
loves never die
once laid gently
in memory?

aye 





Copyright © Dick Russell
                2018, 2023

Monday, May 21, 2018

                     A Letter from Virgil



suddenly spring is over   summer has begun
passing clouds don’t drop rain   streams from the hill don’t run 
when conversation stops   there's thoughts of long hoses 
for blueberries  raspberries   sugar snaps   cardoons
there’s a good growing moon   iris scents and large roses
columbines have come on now hyacinths are gone 

this year good peonies after much needed rain
battered early blossoms   there’s fresh cut bamboo still green
long stalks for fast climbing pea vines vibrant purple 
climbing tripods of tall slender bamboo
silhouetted against red sky above darkness
like Indian tepee poles   once on the prairie

soon acanthus spears will unfurl crowns of flowers
on orchard trees those fruits that set will soon be culled
by crows taking cherries by farmers thinning crops
for rhubarb a second picking   sorrel has bolted
fresh lettuce is on the way and beans will soon be planted
is this time of year timely for a short visit?






copyright © Dick Russell
              2018


Saturday, May 19, 2018

A Letter 



suddenly spring is over
summer has begun
clouds pass over without dropping rain
there's talk of putting out hoses 
for blueberries  raspberries   peas   cardoons
there’s a good growing moon
soon acanthus will flower

those fruits that have set will go on
to greater glory as apples
plums
for rhubarb
there’ll be a second picking

the sorrel is past its best

fresh lettuce is on the way

already crows are inspecting trees
last year they stripped our cherries
we’ve sent off for nets

today we weeded wood hyacinths
hoping to hinder procreation
next will be horse tails 
a constant battle
they compete with strawberries
usually by far our biggest crop

we still have some from last year 

now columbines stand tall





copyright © Dick Russell
              2018


Thursday, May 3, 2018


From A Family Saga


if those fragments were put together
O’Donnell’s story might be told
would it catch his anguish
would it catch his pain
would it straighten his back
give him spine again
to relive those moments
relive those days
when warrior equipped
he marched 
when word of war came
to widow a mother 
of five sons one daughter 
when a German bullet
killed Henry Friend
out of his trench
his side lost anyway

flex at knee
shoulders back
chest out
bayonet at ready

a statue guarding 
a cemetery

and another fragment goes on to say
O'Donnell's daughter by bigamy
Rebecca
married Henry Friend's son
James
who also was maimed in a war



copyright © Dick Russell
                2018

Saturday, April 28, 2018

                        Leah



That day we went to Leah’s cabin
where deer-grazed grass gave space between cabin and cliff
scented sunlight streamed through doors
standing open to summer air
swallows were flying over a salt pond
herons stood sentry along a beach
reached by a path lined with wild roses

that day on Whidbey Island
we bought a blue trunk
sufficient for a year’s growth of
our children’s clothes

their hair glinting in the sunlight
their smiles upon meeting Leah
an eagle over her cabin
a view of Penn Cove 
where she had her clearance sale
moving on to move in with another
out of state
she said




copyright © Dick Russell
                2018





Friday, April 20, 2018

Hyacinth, One Year Old


Where a hyacinth sprouted 
pressing aside woodchips with pointed leaves
eager to bloom off the path near an apple tree
       a white hyacinth reminding me of Persephone
it’s Spring again and a ring of flowers around its stem
       some weeks later this year because of energy divided
among new bulbs thrusting weaker than before 
       but growing ever more majestic
even more beautiful
       with such a diadem Persephone still gleams




copyright © Dick Russell
                2018


Monday, April 16, 2018

They Realized
           It was not over...

Then they asked themselves
how did this happen?
how did children become estranged
daughters mothers sons fathers
why did we fight?

some said
it was the immorality of the age
President’s corrupted
Senators bought
Congress impotent
Judges partial

how did this happen?

thank god for the children
may they live to inherit
thank god grandchildren grow quickly



 copyright (C) Dick Russell
                 2018



Friday, April 6, 2018



Action Reaction Blues



Baby don’t cry
Daddy got you close
Mamma’s in the kitchen
making us some pie
Uncle’s on the lookout
keeping watch upon the street
action/reaction baby
no reason for defeat
no reason to cry
baby don’t cry

action/reaction baby
people needing changing
the world won’t change
time is all that’s changing
not the times

Grandpa went by folks 
still sleeping on the street
in tents beneath Yesler Bridge
seems there’s reason for defeat
no reason to cry baby
no reason to cry

action/reaction baby
people needing changing
the world won’t change
time is all that’s changing
not the times

people pushing against people
back and forth brickbats fly    
time
is all that's changing
not the times   
they ain’t changing
every action has its sequel
action/reaction be equal

baby don’t cry
daddy got you close
mamma’s in the kitchen
making us some pie
uncle’s on the lookout
keeping watch upon the street
action/reaction baby
there’s no reason for defeat
no reason to cry

babies need changing
that’s why babies cry
but time
is all that’s changing
not the times   





copyright © Dick Russell
                2018



Remembering Roughside   A shiny wet slate roof was purple steaming to dry blue.  There was the sound of water dripping from a broken waste p...