michael hogan Poems

It will come whether we are prepared or not
like a locomotive running off the tracks
crashing through the timbers of stanchions.
So I climb an aluminum ladder to the roof;
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- Seamus Heaney 1939-2013

There are no diggers today:
a small backhoe removed clotted earth the night before
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The word 'tiger' is a powerful word, muscular, even deadly. And this has nothing at all to do with any particular jungle cat. There was the tiger tank, for example. Also a boxer who moved quickly with a feline grace and what they call 'killer instinct'.
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There is much to recommend
staying where you are. Local
knowledge is the truest kind.
But the suitcase is in my closet once again.
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Those afternoons when the tendrils
of late blooming morning glories droop
against the whitewashed fence
and even the roses have lost the look of roses
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At dawn, doves unloosen the light.
Antiphonal echoes, vibrato from deep caves
lift us from sleep and our unformed fears.
Dustmotes linger in the air.
...

There are mornings when the sound of rain on the roof
is as sorrowful as lost children
and the sky closes over your life without mercy.
To start the day requires more concentrated attention
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What is it about the sun
on a late summer afternoon
that speaks of loss
even when the day has been more than expected?
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It was not angels exactly
but something on the other side
brought us to this place
from which we can never fully return
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No way of being lasts. Even the dog’s life
changes as we watch.
This evening, annoyed puppies nipping
(playful younger versions of her serious self)
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