a deer herd
silent through the trees
the dogs freeze
///
he pushes away
the approaching toothbrush
late sunset fading
///
dad’s telescope
pointing towards Saturn
eyes open to wonder
by James Brush
These micropoems aka “small stones” are short observational micro-poem-things mostly about nature. They are the result of paying close attention to the world around and writing from those moments.
a deer herd
silent through the trees
the dogs freeze
///
he pushes away
the approaching toothbrush
late sunset fading
///
dad’s telescope
pointing towards Saturn
eyes open to wonder
the neighbor’s lanterns
sway in this late cold front breeze
someone new moves in
—
the votives flicker
tangled wicks in stoic bloom
roots unbound by flame
a year on gravity’s wings
blue seafoam sanctuary
–
we go back to work
coats wrapped around us
tailpipe smoke
rain snicks the windshield
a monolog of keyboard clicks
books I’m not writing
we study the leaves
fallen beneath the oak tree
they’re brown, he says
Heavy machines clang near the animal shelter while cirrus wisps spiderweb the sky like the broken dirt caked against the curb.
a gray stone
shaped just like the moon
in his pocket
afternoon’s treasures
bang in the washer
autumn dragonfly
carried backwards on the wind
the pool is closed
///
I went for a walk at lunch today. That’s where I often gather my small stones. I found this one and, inspired by Angie Werren’s fine haiku videos, I made a video of it. I loved the simplicity of making this.
cold sunlight
rakes across the grass
shadow deer