Friday, December 16, 2011

Timothy Pilgrim

Ice caving

Snow blows in low,
collapses crackling in fire.

Twigs, blackened,  become
broken arrows of frost,

quivering in cold. We lie pale,
still, hope sparks drift

toward our shared quilt.
I dream a frantic snowbird

beaks ice. Not once,
but twice.  The wind rises,

again unties night,
ropes us together.

We pelt mountain snow
with high-strung fury.

        Timothy Pilgim

       Web mutiny

These flat screens tie off dreams,
pirate eyes while pixeled derrieres

float by, round ghosts awash
in curvy seas of slender light.

Nightmares should wake us,
promise morning, hope, rum in vats,

not more bottoms bobbing past.
To break free, we must mutiny,

seize Web Mistress, take control,
gauge wind, starboard tack --

then, bound for home, torture night,
use her thong to cleat hitch dawn.

We expect no thanks
as she sways to the plank.

            Timothy Pilgrim


Fingers trace smooth grooves,
    furrows between your ribs,

from backbone near spine --
    guide meridian of the soul --

to front. The path is steady,
    slow. Each slopes south,

rounds your side, points toward
    the desert, abdomen,

brown, flat -- and beyond.
    I know I should climb ridges,

cross one valley, then another,
    head north to explore,

meld minds, blurt out ideas,
    say something profound.

But, magnetic south,
    draws me down.

            Timothy Pilgrim

Timothy Pilgrim (a journalism professor at Western Washington
University in Bellingham) is a Pacific Northwest poet who has
published over 110 poems, mostly in literary journals and anthologies
of poetry, such as "Idaho's poetry: A Centennial Anthology"
(University of Idaho Press) and “Weathered Pages: The Poetry Pole”
(Blue Begonia Press).

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