Poetry
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Spring flowers bloom briefly. We take them in.Lilacs— their fragrance, soft on the eye.In the 1960s neighbors grew them everywhere— then spring gave way and they were gone.I planted lilacs in this place: a fresh start rooted in memory.Enough to share— now they line the street.Before summer’s heat, we pause, breathe them in again, and… Read more
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In a capricious spring, freezing air settles in overnight.Apple trees, pollinating all week, are not finished.In blue darkness, temperature holds near thirty.At first light branches wait, blossoms open… or maybe not. Copyright © 2026 Paul Deaton. All rights reserved. Read more
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Following is an example of the format I’m using in the project mentioned yesterday. I modify it slightly as I get the experience. March 1, 2026Closed eyes and picked a book.Poem: ElsewheresAuthor: Donald JusticeSource: Selected Poems, p. 63Line: “The drip of something – is it water?-Reaction: There is a presence in this poem. I seek… Read more
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I have nine shelves of poetry, close to 600 books. When I want poetry, I walk over and grab a book. I haven’t read them all, and may not. They serve as a spring of imagery from which to refresh myself from time to time. Roughly a fifth of them were purchased deliberately when I… Read more
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The truth or reality behind these two images is unknowable. I believe in a Cartesian view of humanity in which the phrase “I think, therefore, I am” indicates the isolate self, reaching to others that potentially exist, through the veil of Maya. The minute I captured the photograph on my mobile device, it left the… Read more
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We mapped our house in a township with a lake and a preserve for native species…Then structures came on wheels manufactured halves parked in a cul-de-sac while the foundation cured waiting the arrival of the cranes…When the schedules converge on that day… in this plat: the dwelling, planned by convention and executed in compliance, is… Read more
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The sound of their tricycle on cement, “Look Daddy how fast I’m going!” Clockwise, now counter-clockwise in early afternoon.Round and round pedaling, pedaling looking at me then gliding to a stop.They are almost too big for it. Soon they will need one less wheel…Better to move around the expanding circles until they are on their… Read more
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Empty milk bottles, an empty wine bottle and a salad dressing bottle… filled with water and white tulips — whose time will soon be past.There is a dead spider in a milk bottle. I remember those milk bottles being left on the back porch, filled with milk. How it was…Contemporary life has changed.We drive to… Read more
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I cut the white tulips. They were almost gone. Petals dangling down, ready to fall to the ground.They still smell fresh, as flowers do… in the clear glass vase where I put them on my desk.Others bloom now, still others are yet to bloom now and next year.It’s time I left them for a while… Read more
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I can’t shake it…Here with me is…a feeling of tension.I am okay…I am going forward in time.Yet I am restlessgoing forward in time…Passing through cultures and societies,accomplishing things:doing laundry,vacuuming,or cleaning the closet…all satisfying.I washed dishesand prepared burritos for lunches next week.I have accomplished this.But I need more. ~ August 3, 1991 in the Calumet Read more
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