Poetry Blog by Adam Rabinowitz


Thick sticky dark earth from the dumped 

worm bin

lay unfinished on the old plywood


whose holes had let in the rain and


I saw scurry into the Blackberry vines and



Stuck into the tar were cracked brown


eggs whose casement was not easily turned to


A hundred or more glisteny thin-walled


cracked on counters or on hot edg...

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The Times...Are They a Changin?

Before the before 

full fleshed 

flashing unflaccid

truculent and succulent

fully operational

green lights go 

full steam ahead 

cloned and cloning 


Simply synchronously

spawning creativity

exponential explosion

generator of generations

ideas and art

multitudes of melody

rapturous rhythms

amorous harmonies

symbols crashing away at


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Do you want..



What now?


If you disappear

How do I know you’re o.k.?

I'm never o.k. Even when I'm here



There was a white snowflake

And another

On the black wool sleeve of your jacket

And they nestled there - thin black fibers like eyelashes

resting over the now liquid edges


Can I…

I don't think so.

What if …

Not right no...

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Room for Regret

I used to think...

"I really should"

"If only I could"

"If only I would"


I used to wish...

she liked me more

I wasn't poor

I was more hard core


I used to dream...

that I could win

hang with the crowd that was in

and of course

be strong and thin


but all I dreamed

and wished and thought

filled the room but couldn't be bought

they left no...

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Summer's End

A translucent blossom 
caught in a last sunbeam 
sang softly to me …

of dewy morning 
when rain bound droplets 
slid along arched anticipation 
of winged visitors 
that brush softly 
past sticky stamens 
the pitch of their audible flight 
rising and falling 
as beating wings 
gauzy in motion 
buzzed gently 
against alabaster anther...  

of high sun heat 
when colors blend 

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Good Night Moon...not that book.

Have you ever noticed

how the moon punctuates the sky

brings attention to nuanced expression

of cloud and star and changing light?



Full moon declarative of periods of definitives

Of war of love of crying coyotes and coppertopped men

Of midnight beaches caressed by silver tip waves

Lit forest trails leading to open glades

Where deer dance while

fairies ban...

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We are

waiting in Winslow wondering 

if the crossed wires

arcing across the way are metaphors

for miscommunication.

If when we said, “Left at the roundabout,”

as a desired direction

a pedestrian intention

not a strictly mechanical turning

of automobile's wheels

whose irrational ratio

of covered distance to perceived measure

goes on without repetition

If we ha...

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Olympic Mountains


the moss, the grass, new spruce shoots,

 feathered leaves impossibly delicate against their rocky base,

the brush in river valley,

the lime painted passes 

below the scree seen 

from far away…

contour and shadow, sun and cloud

outlines of ridge lines

above grey above green

holding islands of trees

and swaths of unmelted snow

colored by pink and dripping...

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Desert Landscape

What lessons are taught by landscape? 

The teachings of texture

A Curriculae of contrast.

Granular granites

Seamed and cracked

Reflecting only the light but not the color of sky.

The heat of the fire

The crush and lift

Immersed in ice

The endlessly becoming less

Pulled down and discarded

Mined, shafted, abandoned

Hollowed by others

Landscapes of loss


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Dedication Page

Standing next to the lectern

listening to the clear soothing rumbling

of the Creator's voice, God of that story,

thought carefully crossing the intersectionality

where lines of truth and arcs,

arches of perspective

entangle to create a visual rhythm

in which other stories

circle and circle

back to beginnings

of desire of destiny of dedication


Hearts are heavy ...

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When I travel I tend to count things

Plaza de Mayor arches

Miles and hours

Money spent and 

Potential penury


It is not that the number matters

I see the difference in liminal light

Hear the lilt and length of the language

Unfamiliar tastes eliciting pleasure

or the firm conviction of non-repetition


But I have always counted

Comforted by the finite

A li...

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Upon Hearing of an ICE Raid: we want the country back

We want the country back.


America feels like a cornered rat

trembling savage

desperation spilling

like rabid light

from frightened eyes

gone flight now only fight

time stopped

avenues of escape blocked


desperation becoming bullets

fear becoming cages

heat waves of hatred

trapped in terror

paralyzed in pain

America feels like a cornered rat


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Thank You

Every song has a river 

every boat has a name 

every being has a purpose 

each purpose is the same


When I said I'd die for you 

I was really already dead 

those tears cried of sadness

were tears of emptiness instead


When you said you'd write to me

the writing was on the wall

I'm not really waiting

silence on a deaf ear falls


When I said I miss you


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Consequence - A Sestina

A sentence begins with a word 

or a condemnation of action 

capitals and gavels quickly fall 

emotions follow swift in step 

as bailiff's impassive approach 

begins a period of deep reflection


Narcissus gazed at water’s reflection 

unable to hear any Echo of Nemesis’ word 

unable to accept any lover's approach

as arms became petals no action 

was taken and so ste...

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When in the pool

Eyes closed curled foetal

Slowly releasing bubbles

Sinking as the empty cavity

Of lobed life

Collapses in absence 

Internal pressure released

Perhaps humming to hear

The amplified sound ripple

Away Into heartbeat and silence

From that weightless state

One feels the joy of plankton

That never ask the currents

Where they are bound

But are ca...

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A Question

What if a color was lost each time a species became extinct and the myriad palettes that fill our eyes in gardens and deserts on mountains beneath water jungles no longer held that one unique vibration of chromatic energy as though the hued gradient of beauty surrounding us was a reflection a tally of diversity nourishing the potential for immeasurable evolutions within the countless revolutions d...

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A circle starts somewhere

Primordial and ecstatic

A spirograph of hidden design

A Mandala of movement


And we dance


Hopscotch and double dutch we dance

Fractal orbits we dance

Following the songlines of creation

We dance


Concentration, inspiration, presentation

Musical intonation

Counting with our heart

The sound of our feet

While the always int...

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I listen to the news but I got confused

I remember the frogs were dying and the sea stars Banda Aceh Fukushima Haiti Lennon was shot I saw pictures of men on the moon there is a singularity whose picture I missed along with the Taliban Boko Harum Joseph Kony there are geriatrics in Guantanamo who need to pee often and spit yellow phlegm into cups that can never be made sharp Castro died and rai...

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current eventsprosetry

Folks Want

Because I think...

Folks want communication

Not figments of their imagination

Two dimensional, unfinished in creation

Draining their appreciation

Painful to their hearts implication

Bringing to what could be simple

Needless complication

Low level consternation

Endless perpetuation of some

Wordless penetration

Of what should be celebration


They want real tou...

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fulfillmentspoken word rhyme

Crawl of the Caterpillar

If a butterfly decided
that it wanted to be a caterpillar
that it regretted its metamorphosis
that it would trade its powdery winged symmetry
for a few more hours or days of blind gluttony
arboreal mastication
that it did not want to flutter gracefully
admired desired
but to slowly gelatinously contract 
along rough barked branch
to be more slug than swallow
more mundane ...

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Next Bed Over

someone died again 

next bed over

light spilling across the sill

and spread 

voices in the hall 

softer than the TV blaring 

across the breezeway 


no flowers in the vase 

on the cheap dresser 

someone long ago painted 

green vines and red berries 

no picture frames of smiling children 

now gray who recently visited 

again introducing themselves 


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Before You Came Back

I wish there were some way

 some other way 

some day 

some other day 

when the streaked lines of tears 

blown like raindrops 

slanting across yellow street lights 

were acts of abandon 

tumult of tumbleweeds 

scattering of schools of multicolored fish 

notes from a flute 

chasing their tails 

like kittens whose yellow eyes 

closed with perfect contentment


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At Noon

the long-legged shadow woman
then suddenly stopped
and waited
to be dissolved in darkness
where she could peel away 
her black stockings 
to reveal and revel
in her naked invisibility
and dance without limitations
of time or dimension
dream beyond the flat surfaces
which so often held her form
forcing conformity
to their inclination
desire the depth of rounded space
orbits ...

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a little brown and white garter snake

lay on my brick floor

brought in by the cats

I picked it up to take it outside

and it lay still


it's markings were southwest woven

rugs from painted desert roadside stands

smooth and cool on my hand

tiny cloverleaf head

ended two spiral curls

of cool gauzy beaded rope


there are no signs of life

in small brick-baske...

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free-verselife and deathredemption

Washed Away

I had a poem

elemental in emotion

wind was anger

waters were tears

something precious was lost

like a necklace in the ocean

it was the work of time and pain

words said that couldn't be unsaid

unspoken thoughts that burned

not like embers but walls of flame

pondered but not ponderous

almost whimsical

like that remembered perfume scent

I had it in my pocket 


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Out the Door Medicine

Out the Door Medicine

First goldfinch of the season flushed 

from unmown grass 

along with other finches sparrows

and chipping chickadees 

southwest they mixed 

ones with steady quick beat 

and the gold with her push and pause 

push and pause 

as though she were giving birth to flight 


and the berries not black 

still mixed in with blossom 

green with brown...

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House of Feathers

The feathers on the house are owl's

silent striated wing feathers

tucked into tile and rough cedar siding

the house is nocturnal

windows wide-eyed unblinking

sentient while others sleep while

full moon also wide-eyed unblinking

sees gathered clouds passing over

the moss on the roof is thick and quiet

bathing in rain and mist and fog

gathered clouds are also quiet


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dreamsfree-versemagical realism

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