Category Archives: Poem


Some of the things
are coming up short
in an uncertain month
of an instable era

Inflation's high and
coming home to roost
in a turbulent year
of "interesting times"

Cursing probably won't 
fucking help 
(emphasis on probably)
so keep synthesizing,
continue inputting

Talking to the manager 
might just get you deported
so keep bowing,
keep scraping.

- May 11, 2022


Another old house
is boarded up,
its wide yard
yawning with weeds

Weeks pass and
a chain-link fence
goes up, a posterboard


The trees come out of the lot,
maybe one preserved
for the tax break,
and the dirt is torn up
as cones direct traffic
around the nuisance
of tractors and trucks

Another new condo
building is formed
from Tyvek sheets and plywood
with plastic sandwiched,
invisible later
(and still nowhere to park)

Tiny rooms get carved out
for the human worker bees
craving their little patch
at the intersection of
up-and-coming and

The future is high density.

  • E Bacon, May 6, 2023


Time doesn’t move
in a straight line —

The ruler is a
shared convention and
so is the minute
we talk about, we
each know

The clock cannot be
taken seriously,
per Alan Watts,
but social institutions
are hard to
leave behind.


If this were the last time

I ever wrote a poem,

then at least one more

was written.

If this were the last time

I put ink on paper,

then at least I’ll have

made a mark.

If this were the last time

I helped my daughter find dinner,

then at least I have been

a mother.

Grief and gratitude:

I never knew these two

were sisters.

– E Bacon, Jan 6, 2022

More clearing

My husband has been dead
for a year and almost ten months
as I sift slowly through
his belongings
They are mine to sort, now
I find the love letters
his first wife wrote him
and some notes he wrote her
They sear my hands and
I drop them

I set them aside, for awhile
And then I gather them
up, and wrap them in
They’re safe this way
They sit for a long time

My husband has been dead
for two years, nine months, and two days
the day I carry these notes
in my car
to his ex-wife
and I float above them,
apart from them
They are not mine to carry,
any longer
They never were —
but I am a caretaker,
and I do take care
of those I love.

Wind Sighs Through My Soul

Wind sighs through my soul
that sheds weights of old
In the cold of the earth
is the deepest fire of life
and a diamond is revealed
in the night's raindrop before me.
The sorrow of the trees
is that of the buddha,
always watching these mortals
blow, blow and die without knowing
ever, truly, that all is well...
To forgive for the pain,
that too hurts like a hurricane,
a gale of longing and want
for the plant to grow up sure —
attracted by sun, grounded by dirt
and ever-expanding into air,
somehow a part of the forest
between bricks and mortar floundering
on a roughshod foundation.
May the peace of nature take root
and breathe a future more true.

- May 2012 (unearthed)


A home is the basis
of a turning in the sky
A patch of ground, wet,
reflects the gray above
A person tramps through,
marking space with steps
Another person stops here,
caught up in a thought
A tangle of forms seem
to be separate, apart
yet form the very fabric
of this life, utterly basic
and just another rubric.

- Dec 10, 2019


Some days,
you're stuck behind
the garbage truck.
You just need to plug your nose,
and suck it up.
The windshield wipers
clear the rain,
again and again.
Do you feel the same
itch within your soul?
I see a smiling face
in my mind,
and wonder where I might find
true communion,
endless light.
First, clear out the trash.
Keep moving down the road.

- Jan 22 '20