Saturday, August 20, 2016


all but a third of the surface
of sound is an ocean of silence

rivers carve canyons of desire
in what remains, every flood

a memory of water

©Steven Schroeder

Thursday, August 18, 2016

when it is new

Two nights running I have seen the moon
near full in clouds on the horizon,
and I have thought sun’s

rising a matter of the dark
radiance of the moon
when it is new.

©Steven Schroeder

Wednesday, August 17, 2016


mountain that is not
there, moon testifies
to air, water

gathers all blues
in one stroke
from pale to ocean

©Steven Schroeder

Monday, August 15, 2016


one red flame
on winter

stops the world
turning cold

©Steven Schroeder

Friday, July 29, 2016

sudden rain

frog hops
on glass no

body breaks


as though

©Steven Schroeder

Thursday, July 21, 2016

Saturday, July 09, 2016

a feast of Saint Benedict

the ear of my heart inclined to listen
i see a song of morning voices
the color of sun in trees outside
an open window. caged bird two
floors below replies in kind.
chatter streams on and off on
the street, brush barely touching
paper taking ink on where it rises,
little mulberry memories still here
and there. truck speeds south on
a northbound street bold dark
stroke of a wide brush that makes
high places low leaves no gaps
to mind. cyclists see precepts as options
for the slow and faint of heart. waiting is
weakness of time lost. the future, now, is
agile local small scarlet turning. truck turns. no
silence, but for a moment there are robins
singing right before my eyes, a school,
i hear, for the service of some god.

©Steven Schroeder
[from we're open, come in, 2014]