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 © 2010
My frayed black leather Day-Timer,
standard size, used to be
the Cadillac of business calendars.
Now, placed in front of me
on meeting tables, it’s surrounded by
colleagues’ sleek, intelligent devices—
purring and synched to company
calendars, email, Twitter, and GPS coordinates.
The pages of my archived monthly inserts
turn like dry leaves, their veins and spots
evidence that I had appointments,
kept notes, squeezed in [...]
By David Stallings © 2009
My woman friend’s two kids
are having babies.
So are my daughter and her husband.
We will be surrounded by gurgles
burps, and frets—unrestrained
renewal.
The effect on us seems
comparable to a regimen
of horny goat weed
and toad shade supplements.
This morning,
as she released me
to the world,
my sweety stood
half naked,
a beguiling siren
at the hand carved
entrance to her
home.
(No. 43 in a series of responses [...]
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
I’ve searched backcountry ridges,
studied tides along rainy shores,
consumed two sets of black cushions
sitting zazen.
Still, only glimpses
of Cold Mountain, unless
this is it—here,
on this spruce-edged beach
along a tannin creek,
with this dark woman
and her two kids.
Olympic Wilderness Coast, 2002
(No. 38 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
By David Stallings © 2008
I lie alone on the wood floor,
eyes closed, stilled
by a day of dance
for the new year.
Fingers brush my left hand—
a question I lightly
answer. We forage a silent path
within deep woods,
curl around each other,
nurture ourselves
with minute movements.
Forever.
When we must rise
I kiss her ear, Thanks—
and let go.
(A response to Zen Master Ikkyu’s 15th century Poem Presented [...]
By David Stallings © 2007
My partner buried eight human placentas
in a circle at our meadow’s edge.
A midwife, she invoked the feminine
from all directions. In turn,
I carved a twelve-foot cedar pole,
erected it at the center.
When she and I divorced,
the pole traveled with me.
I planted the shaft,
somewhat shorter by this time,
on property shared with my new partner.
Things with her have [...]
By David Stallings © 2007
A smile rides home
with me
after five days
of coastal backpacking
with old friends
and family.
I approach my single
man’s cottage,
know loneliness
is near,
nearer.
Is now.
What vast sweep
this feeling has,
how rich with fear!
I let the waves tumble
and tumble
me into the sand.
Finally,
cast ashore,
I rise
naked
in the sun.
By David Stallings © 2007
Wind gusts
my kitchen window,
plucks
a long-covered note
from beneath a magnet,
thrusts it at my feet.
I feel you don’t listen to me,
or hear what I say,
complains my old lover
from across the years.
Pierced,
I sink
to the floor.
How
can this still
be happening?
By David Stallings © 2006
Today loneliness
trumps my flair for
solitude, and I ache
while checking e-mails.
Suddenly
a box appears
on the screen.
My daughter
wants to e-chat!
But I’ve
never chatted—
how do I make it work?
I start pushing
buttons.
(No. 60 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
