DREAMING OF THE RED 1964 . . .

artwork: ralph murre

DREAMING OF THE RED 1964 FORD MUSTANG

CONVERTIBLE DEALER  PROMO MODEL GIVEN

TO ME ON MY 16th BIRTHDAY BY MY MOTHER

by CX Dillhunt

How morning can be transalpine

How the vestiges of summer are falling

How the window can be empty and still

How the curtain isn't moving

How the bed curtails movement 

How fear can be found

How finding is fearful

How a teaspoon of salt falls

How fall is around the corner

How morning rounds out the room

How the room transforms the sleeper

How the transvestite can still be sleeping

How this poem turns the corner into fall

Now drives on through the morning window.

~ first published in Wisconsin People & Ideas

Park Eden . . .

by CX Dillhunt

Park Eden, El Valle de Antón, 

Panamá

Yes, that's a toucan,

yet I wrote this piece about

those white pelicans

~ first published in Hummingbird:

   Magazine of the Small Poem

artwork: ralph murre

The Husband Confesses

by CX Dillhunt

            State Street, Early February

I confess, I have spent the afternoon

wandering from bookstore to bookstore.

I confess, I have fallen in love again

with dead poets, some of them women.  

I confess, I am reading a poem while

walking down the street.   It is cold.

I have lost my hat.   I have no gloves on

because I cannot turn the pages if I do.

I jump from page to page, from book to

book.  I have gotten some of them on sale. 

I confess I do not know to whom I confess.

I confess I am now writing while walking.

I am not paying attention to time or manner

as I understand for a moment that the books

have forgotten they are books, that the street

has forgotten I am there as the words begin

to confess.  They have lost their way, they

are guilty they say of these purchases.

They confess they saw me coming, are glad

To have an afternoon walk and wouldn’t

I walk more slowly, tell them why I love,

speak softly, remind them of anything,

tell them who wrote them, and confess one

more time to every passerby how I know

books love and how I have fallen again,

taken time for this walk as I make my last

confession:  I can no longer feel these pages,

I do not know who is holding this open.

~ from Things I’ve Never Told Anyone  (Parallel Press)

I'd rather walk . . .

photoart: ralph murre

by CX Dillhunt

I'd rather walk with

you in this rain than stay

home to write haiku

~ first published in Hummingbird

Our corner spruces

artwork: ralph murre

by CX Dillhunt

Our corner spruces

fingering the snowy sky

counting on each flake

~ first published in Hummingbird

Moon Poem

artwork: ralph murre

Moon Poem

by CX Dillhunt

It’s not binoculars, telescope, any eyes you need

to see the moon in motion —

it’s ears — hear the moon slowly

grinding

to a halt

at each boundary — surely,

a heavenly body wants to please

— to sing, to hear

movement —

to stop

to go endlessly, boundlessly precisely — wants us to

hear the clicking clacking clocking along

attaching

to horizon after

horizon — with  you

the time to

listen

~ previously published in Double Six (Endeavor Publishing)

One October

photoart: ralph murre

One October

by CX Dillhunt

These trees on the edge

of this prairie afternoon

walking toward us

One October goose

squawking over your farmhouse

stretching neck and sky

Grey squirrel's tail glides

slides rides with red-tailed hawk

across neighbor's pond

Wild turkeys prancing

under those yellow maples

talking turkey talk

Whole October moon

hanging out in cold old oaks

next to stone silo

Empty fields speaking

of winter in our windy

haiku here dancing

~ first published in Wisconsin People & Ideas

The Divine Praises . . .

The Divine Praises as Recited c. 1956

720 S. Michigan St., De Pere, Wisc.

by CX Dillhunt

Blessed be my Mother.

Blessed be her Holy Name.

Blessed be my Father, her True Love and True Man.

Blessed be the Name of my Father.

Blessed be his Most Sacred Room.

Blessed be his Most Precious Voice.

Blessed be Daddy in the Most Holy Sacrament of his Bed.

Blessed be the Great Mother of my Mother, Grandmother Most Holy.

Blessed be her Holy and Immaculate Kitchen.

Blessed be her Glorious Assumptions.

Blessed be the Name of Adele, Virtuous Grandmother.

Blessed be Grandpa, her Most Chased Spouse.

Blessed be my Mother in her Children and in all her Complaints.

~ previously published in Girl Saints (Fireweed Press)

How to Bow

photoart: ralph murre

How to Bow
by CX Dillhunt

. . . . . . . . . . . .Bowing to another is not easy, even with reason.

You must learn to bow alone, to bow to no one. To whom, will come later, if at
all. If you have to change places in order to bow to yourself, that is OK, in the
beginning. Eventually, if you are to bow, to really know how to bow, you will no
longer change places. Instead, you will have learned how to bow to yourself
from a single position. This is no different, bowing to another, but it does require
practice and patience and above all pleasantness. If you cannot bow alone, to
yourself, you will never be able to truly bow to others.

Practice on trees, flowers, clouds, memories, dishes, floors, birds, ponds, and
grasses. Be patient. When you least expect it, you'll begin to see yourself as
you bow slowly, pleasantly to another. Remember: You are never to practice
on people. Also, be sure to save your best bows for your best friends, your
favorite gardens, an unplanned day. If bowing becomes easy, you must practice,
patiently, pleasantly. If you do not see yourself each time you bow, you are not
bowing. Bowing is not easy, but bowing is what you must do.


~ previously published in Girl Saints (Fireweed Press)

SKIING CURTIS PRAIRIE

Skiing Curtis Prairie, Jan. 3rd
by CX Dillhunt


Over 1,000
times this trail holds the poem I
could not carry home.


~ first published in Hummingbird