by Donald Mager
Afternoon pants uncontrollably.
Scummed over with mosquito larvae,
its water dish is low. As okras’
spear-tipped fingers stiffly beckon to
monarchs and chameleons, heat hangs in
harsh layers. The stream is almost dry.
Sluggish pools, shadowed below tree roots
dangling their thick calves over the bank,
swarm with black darts of frog spawn. The heat
paw-pads around and around the dirt
radius of its ten foot rusty
chain. It thirsts for shade and whimpers a
somnolent dirge. Dirt’s baked adobe
wears thin cracks of fine heirloom china.
Showing posts with label Donald Mager. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Donald Mager. Show all posts
Sunday, August 14, 2016
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
June Journal: Wednesday, June 5, 2013
by Donald Mager
Humping along in tandem sleek black pairs,
six Starlings glean the fresh mown lawn. They
harvest ants and seeds. Dusk-lit grass glows
in jade shadows. Onyx feathers gleam.
Bobbing beaks flash yellow stabs and pricks
like toy machines. In a parallel
with the Starlings’ now, with different laws
another now presides. Ankle-high
moist tang of hay teems with conclaves of
mosquitoes gathering to ply their
trade in thirst and blood. They too know how
best to stab and prick. Their now hungers
too. Each shape of now is as supple
as who observes—what stands where—and why.
Humping along in tandem sleek black pairs,
six Starlings glean the fresh mown lawn. They
harvest ants and seeds. Dusk-lit grass glows
in jade shadows. Onyx feathers gleam.
Bobbing beaks flash yellow stabs and pricks
like toy machines. In a parallel
with the Starlings’ now, with different laws
another now presides. Ankle-high
moist tang of hay teems with conclaves of
mosquitoes gathering to ply their
trade in thirst and blood. They too know how
best to stab and prick. Their now hungers
too. Each shape of now is as supple
as who observes—what stands where—and why.
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
June Journal: Sunday, June 2, 2013
by Donald Mager
Night’s shrinking band of sky sets up shop
between the tree-lined horizon and
the tent-top shelf of clouds. The oblique
triangle of Venus, Jupiter
and speck-white Mercury drift behind
the northwest mound of trees. Applause
ends. The sky’s silence steps forward in
black. Behind the cloud tarp, the sequin
gown of stars hides. Binoculars sit
abandoned on the deck table. The
show is over. The bedroom door slides
and snaps its lock. Clouds ooze farther down
across the slice of sky and slowly
inundate what’s left of memory.
Night’s shrinking band of sky sets up shop
between the tree-lined horizon and
the tent-top shelf of clouds. The oblique
triangle of Venus, Jupiter
and speck-white Mercury drift behind
the northwest mound of trees. Applause
ends. The sky’s silence steps forward in
black. Behind the cloud tarp, the sequin
gown of stars hides. Binoculars sit
abandoned on the deck table. The
show is over. The bedroom door slides
and snaps its lock. Clouds ooze farther down
across the slice of sky and slowly
inundate what’s left of memory.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
February Journal: Wednesday, February 6, 2013
by Don Mager
Sky’s flattened cloudless platter slides its
short hour into the chromatic scale
of yellow’s pitches. Overhead spreads
creamy buttermilk. Lower west, it
edges toward pineapple. Then lemon.
Turmeric. As it slips away, its
eyes too piercing to smile, the half sun
glows. Against the cold, sky holds still in
its golden Beryl moment. It cracks
as vapor trails appear and spread. One
lifts from the airport at the city’s
far other side. The other streams down.
Their undersides burn. Rise of crimson
aims straight toward magenta’s steep descent.
Sky’s flattened cloudless platter slides its
short hour into the chromatic scale
of yellow’s pitches. Overhead spreads
creamy buttermilk. Lower west, it
edges toward pineapple. Then lemon.
Turmeric. As it slips away, its
eyes too piercing to smile, the half sun
glows. Against the cold, sky holds still in
its golden Beryl moment. It cracks
as vapor trails appear and spread. One
lifts from the airport at the city’s
far other side. The other streams down.
Their undersides burn. Rise of crimson
aims straight toward magenta’s steep descent.
