Carl Miller poems
page 95

2016


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Disturbance of the Peace


You’re drunk.
This is not the proper time or place
to express your feelings,
profane and atonal.



On the Arcata Plaza


An old man in a wheelchair
slowly hand pushes his wheels
up a slight slope to the statue.

A girl in a tight black skirt,
walking backwards facing two friends,
starts hopping and dancing.



Black Noise


from bough to bough of sprawling cypress trees
chasing each other croaking harshly crows



First Crickets


On a hot day’s night,
first crickets of the season
chirping allegro.



The Farmer is an Artist


Beside the highway,
acres of green corn edged by
yellow sunflowers.



September Fly


I guess I don’t mind
you landing on my laptop
here in the garden.

I’m a big dangerous thing
who could swat your existence.

What would be ugly
about your stripes and speckles,
your bright orange eyes?

You walk staccato, slowly,
tasting the silver surface.

And then you are gone,
faintly buzzing in the wind
roaring toward autumn.



What You Can Find


Garden flowers all
finished blooming this summer.
Bees are drinking weeds.



Reflected


in a store window
across the grassy plaza
sunset’s golden disk



Cypress Moon


five wispy branches
atop the bell shaped cypress
mottled gibbous moon





copyright © 2015 Carl Miller

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