A New World

A New World

Under cover of dark the world renewed

itself last night.  I rise early, walk through

its veil—fresh tracks in the snow.  One doe

beat me here.  I follow her a short way,

see where she paused to sniff the air, to feel

that stir—a fawn to be born in a world,

where light returns each morning to show

the crushed twig, and I know I am

not alone in this new world bathed with snow.

                              —Donnell Hunter

                                       31 December 2011

The Dove

                            

The Dove

I’m done, says the rut, sits down.  A poem

gets up at four a. m., moves on. 

It’s like my friend who’s been ready to die

for a year, but still has more to say.

We read his words, his poetry he thinks

is prose, and learn what we didn’t know:

a life is not over, is never done.

It moves south, west, wherever the sky

Wants to open, wherever the dove

waits, lonely, but never alone.

                              —Donnell Hunter

                                        26 December 2011

                                      

I'm posting an evening early because I will be in the Temple 

tomorrow and won't have time to write.

Friends

Friends

When you know who

your friends are, the

next question is

where.  You forget

how and why.  What

seems out of place.

Sometimes, though, how

does come to mind.

You remember

that first time love

penetrated,

and you knew this

was no mere nod

you give on the

elevator

to make small talk

between floors, then

get off, back to  

your same safe self

looking for the

next true friend.

          —Donnell Hunter

               29 December 2011

Time to Learn

Time to Learn

First, I need to get

organized—all things in place

like they were before.

I could go fishing

but the ocean is empty—

waves lapping the shore.

Dark pulls back.  The sun

comes out to rule the day—and

moon awaits her turn.

I could mow the lawn

or plant a tree—flowers bloom

almost everywhere.

The wistful tiger

blinks his yellow eyes.  The owl

sleeps and mice run free.

I wake.  My scar heals.

At my side my love appears—

ready to share all

we have forgotten,

leaving space for everything

we have time to learn.

                    —Donnell Hunter

                           28 December 2011          

Gray Tuesday

Gray Tuesday

Two days after Christmas, one day after

the legal holiday of Christmas

when more people shopped, returned

gifts, cashed gift cards than bought

gifts black Friday before.  

There was no run on sneakers like last week

when crowds got out of hand.  Occupy Macys

was more important than occupy Wall Street.

What can I do to keep occupied?

Maybe I’ll read history or plane

another plank for my coffin,

which will be plain, not pine.

I opt for poplar.  Not as popular

as oak or cherry, but easy to work,

though maybe not so easy to store.

                              —Donnell Hunter

                                       27 December 2011