Posts tagged atticus

Wash from my feet
the edges of mud, brown earth 
water sky water

Fair winds feather 
across the newly aroused
wetlands, my love

Unshakable
the grass filtered moon
tails of ducklings

Shadows of the cold
faced moon, we shed the white
wind long sky

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Ann says: After an accidental encounter between Dan Collins’ truck and a duck, he wrote a haiku series to honor his unfortunate victim. Notice how the poems are written from a waterfowl’s point of view and move through the seasons.

Copyright 2013 by Dan Collins, aka Atticus. You can read more of Dan’s work here.

Image credits:  1.dreamstime.com  2. M. Scott Moon  3. ehow.com  

4. Pawel Kopczynski

We board the plane and wait
for mechanical repairs, a fixed
point on the tarmac somewhere
along an x-axis near Boston.
For a good while “y” equals zero.
I always think of flying that way.
The captain informs us it might
be a rocky flight. The seatbelt light may
remain lit. We will intersect a powerful
front and turbulence could get tough.
The cowboy to my left is unsettled
by this news. I can tell he’s not a frequent flyer.
The cabin door now closed we are cleared for flight.
His nerves require a pinch of tobacco which
he tucks in his cheek. Outside the rain
has begun to bead like spittle on the edges
of the glass. I am bound for Texas again.
Soon we are climbing in a craggy spiral.
The sky below us has been broken,
then reassembled into a stuttering arc.
Unlike the cowboy who fidgets with his cup,
I am not afraid of flight. But I understand his fear.
I want to tell him it is only points on a line,

independent of time. Up here is perspective,
space to examine the area under the curve.
Time to look closely at the graphs we have drawn,

the partitions we obey, and the reasons we will leave
or remain. I wish to say this from outside the plane.
I wish to say it in the permeable voice of interpolating clouds.

Copyright 2012 by Dan Collins.  Image: Kesha Bruce Studio

Orange moon, as you dance upon the lake,

An idea of orange or a reflection of moon


if I reach out a hand, which one can I take.

Clearly, I wonder which of you is fake.

I fear this most, you’ll take off like a balloon,

orange moon, as you dance upon the lake.

Orange moon, I wish to make no grave mistake,

enlightenment or diner, I’ll be eating soon.

If I reach out a hand, which one can I take.

Orange, is that a shimmer or a shake?

I’d reach and scoop you up, if I had a spoon

orange moon, as you dance upon the lake

If you’re not the moon, my heart won’t break

I’ll just think of you as if you were cartoon

If I reach out a hand, which one can I take

Pretend you are an orange for my sake,

Idea or reflection, I’ll look like a Baboon

orange moon, as you dance upon the lake.

If I reach out my hand, which one will I take.

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Copyright 2012 by Dan Collins.  Image: Two Gibbons Reaching for the Moon by Ito Kackuchu

She says she’ll just go out for drinks
and be back soon to make my meal.
She never tells me what she thinks
and doesn’t care how bad I feel.

She’ll be back (she says) to make a meal.
But it’s so dark, she should be home.
She doesn’t care how bad I feel
or how much longer I’ll be alone.

It’s really dark, she should be home.
She won’t phone me if she’s late.
How much longer will I be alone?
Perhaps she’s gone out on a date.

She won’t phone me if she’s late.
She doesn’t think of me at all.
I know she’s gone out on a date!
I bet he’s handsome, very tall.

She doesn’t care for me at all.
She’ll let me starve that’s what I think.
I bet he has dogs, and is very tall.
There’s not much water left to drink.

*Written for me by Atticus after I revealed that I have a love affair with my cat, Ming.

Copyright 2012 by Dan Collins. Stock image from Google.

in still water

opus blossom

Copyright 2012 by Dan Collins.  Image: Untitled by Sterling Hundley.

Wild dogs have mastered the rules of chaos.

They don’t care about justice.

Put a few strangers together a new pack forms fast;

complete respect and lightning treason.

It could go either way, if a fight breaks out;

maybe an eye is blinded by the sun and a greeting interrupted -

personal space is violated.

Or a crooked wag or snort says “Fuck you” instead of “Hi”.

Most of the time it is over quickly.

One blinks; a victor is decided, an order established.

No one dies.

But sometimes there is a fever in the blood, a smell in the air,

and favor topples like vicious dominos falling toward one unlucky dog.

It is the butterfly effect. Then it’s twenty to one -

and someone dies.

This is the way it is with dogs. There is no “thin veneer”,

just order, the butterfly effect, and death.

Humans have also mastered the rules of chaos.

They are interested in justice.

Put a few good friends together and a party forms fast;

complete cohesion and lightning cruelty.

It could go either way, if a girlfriend of yours walks by,

maybe a beer is spilled and a dirty joke is interrupted -

personal space is violated.

Or a crooked smile or chuckle becomes “Let’s fuck” instead of “How do you like your math teacher?”

Most of the time it is over quickly.

The offender blinks; respect is regained, civilization preserved.

No one is raped.

But sometimes there is a fever in the blood, a smell in the air,

and misfortune topples like bricks on the head of one unlucky girl.

It is the butterfly effect. Then it’s twenty to one -

and someone is raped.

This is the way it is with men. Sometimes they rip holes in the “thin veneer”

and make you wonder how they can be so god-damned evil.

The night horse and I
thread the eyes of dark valleys
envy of the sun

Copyright 2012 by Dan Collins.  Image: Horse by Yves Klein.