By David Stallings © 2010
Living with your exuberance
near the southwest corner
of my small porch
calls for ongoing negotiation,
understanding of boundaries—
a task made difficult by your beauty.
Even now, in late winter, you are irresistible.
Your naked limbs, titian and sensual, hold flocks
of wandering Black-capped Chickadees
and Ruby-crowned Kinglets. You must know
I can’t resist, though your medusa
ringlets curl my railings,
push away competitors.
As usual, [...]
By David Stallings © 2009
She wandered with Pazanne,
her German shepherd;
tended secret campfires
along the Olympic coast,
dipped naked into Cascade lakes,
opened to the datura mazes
of Southwestern canyon land.
Along the road she gathered songs,
traded them for rides.
She would come calling
when her path brought
her back to Seattle.
Late one night I returned
to my befuddled cabin
after a starry walk along the Sound.
Curled in my bed, [...]
By David Stallings © 2009
A drip collects
in a plastic tub
placed on a shelf
in my bathroom.
Its source is not rain,
but cold condensation.
I need to fix it.
This wears on me.
To be honest,
containers collect water
in many rooms of my house.
Although it requires
energy to empty them,
many of the leaks
may never be repaired.
(No. 101 in a series of replies to Han-shan’s Songs of [...]
By David Stallings © 2007
After the sting
I grow intolerant,
spray a deadly stream of Raid Killer 271.
Alien protein throbs my wrist,
my attacker lies in slimed earth.
But here, another paper wasp—
a long dangly proposition,
exotic in articulation, golden pattern,
curved antennae.
It quivers its way along the fascia board, halts.
Though vulnerable on the ladder,
I relax.
We regard each other for a time, poisons
set aside.
(No. 79 [...]
By David Stallings © 2005
Now that I know where
to look, the little removable
panel in the back porch floor
seems obvious. Lifting it
provides access to a master
water shutoff valve. No more need
to crawl through cobwebs
and dust. I feel the presence
of an agile mind, a hand
grasping my own, and I breathe
Thanks.
By David Stallings © 2004
Old Schmitty maintained it was simple.
Incline two logs up to your top
course of logs, lay your purlin
at the base of the incline.
Tie two ropes to the top course,
take two turns down around the 30-footer,
throw the ropes back up to the top,
and roll ‘er right up.
Like an old cairn,
Schmitty pointed the way
through impassable terrains.
Use the power [...]
By David Stallings © 2003
Our log home is small and simple-
We host no elegant affairs.
Some summer mornings my daughter and I
pick huckleberries for pancakes.
A sniff of the cedar air
braces me for my job in the city,
and during the ferry crossing I read a book
from the stack in the bedroom.
