Friday, December 3, 2021

That Day in November

It is a November day of gray ambience,

a slow sip of alcohol lasting the entire

day, the slow slippage of clothes sliding

down, crumbled, discarded until 

tomorrow as the conversation sounds

like a blues riff of loss and love

and the laughter in-between hiding 

the fear and hope of today not lasting

forever as now is whispered in caress 

and taste, the liquored breath of love

exchanged as if a resuscitation for what

does not want to end, the lie the denial

of all time and eternity and how sometimes

you have to be nearly dead to be brought

back to love again.  How slow this gray

November day moves, the snowflakes

falling the way the heart says, “And then?”

-Byron Hoot

Friday, October 15, 2021

The Message

The phone message began 

with my first name so I 

knew it was a stranger.


I thought, What if time had

slipped?  What if I was being

given a chance to redeem

my life?  Make other choices

than the ones chosen?  


I thought of my family 

and friends, those I love,

of all the stories, of where

I am and who I am,


waited for the message to end.

-Byron Hoot  

Saturday, September 4, 2021

Bear Fishing

The black bear was standing upright

by the stream contemplating 

the calculations of arm speed, claw

quickness, the speed of the stream,

the fish moving, the way the water

distorts vision, the shadows 

from the trees on the water. 

Growled, “Sun’s in my eyes.”

waved as I passed by.

-Byron Hoot

Friday, August 27, 2021

A Cautionary Tale

I am wrestling with demons

whose family resemblance 

is unnerving. I don’t know

if the dead have come alive

from pictures or if a family

reunion has been called and I’m

the last to know.  But here they

are before me – the most

desirous and the least; of course,

the dead are dead and that’s 

a problem for any appeal they

have to the living and why 

the what has been always appears

demonic.  There are few realities

that survive richly, untattered 

into here and now, that eternity

which mocks all time  

crying – “Look what has been!”  

The words they lived their lives

by as empty then as now.  I greet 

them, give my response, “I am 

that I am.” see ashes to ashes, 

dust to dust crumble again. 

-Byron Hoot

Thursday, June 24, 2021

Remnant Vision

I wonder about the birds        

who fly across 

as I’m driving, swerve 

underneath, appearing 

and disappearing like shamans

in the twinkling of eyes --

unprovable and undeniable.

What worries me is how many

moments I’ve had like that

beyond everything except 

the certainty that lingering image

of someone entering and not

re-appearing, that echo waiting

for a word that never comes

like those birds  who fly 

in front of me I see on one

but not the other side.

-Byron Hoot

Monday, June 7, 2021


There was a time when forever 

seemed that way; now, the edges 

are frayed on that seamless robe.

Tomorrow does not stretch out

so far – the “w” is more distinct.

It is harvest time in the heart,

the winnowing of what matters

separated from the chaff 

of why-bother-anymore.

The thing about kaleidoscopes

people remember is the 

change each turn creates forgetting

the brilliance of the pieces

which never changes at all.

I have not seen the footprint 

of eternity only the frayed 

edges of that robe, that shadow

almost translucent. 

-Byron Hoot

Sunday, May 30, 2021


Remembering Philip Church & Mattie Stepanek

Thank you Jeni Smith Stepanek for reposting this poem


Dedicated to Poet Mattie J. T. Stepanek



There’s a wondrous place, when seen in context,

Which exists and then passes, before the speaking of a word,

It lies just beyond what’s occurred, and what happens next,

And if one listens carefully – it’s where ‘heartsongs’ are heard.

The notions of past and future are merely what we insist,

Both the last moment and the next are beyond our affect,

The truth is, this moment is the only time we actually exist.

And only have the here and now where we can have effect.

Vain-glorious pursuits can become so self-defeating.

When a heart’s songs are recorded, be wise as sages,

Bearing in mind - both riches and fame are fleeting.

Heartsongs must be inscribed to stand the test of ages.

Be still and listen in your heart for the echo from above,

Listening close in a peaceful moment of no fear or panic,

You can hear the heartsongs - recognized for their love,

And join the ranks of ‘peace-makers’ –


Friday, May 7, 2021

Monday Moon

Instant fortune poured 
into lasting lasting love,
Freed manors bless
blind listeners,
Brought down by
instant blame,
Proximity feels,
Longing blooms,
Torn after light gleams,
Blisters find injured visions,
Lines trace out the Moon

-Cory Tambourine

That Day in November

It is a November day of gray ambience, a slow sip of alcohol lasting the entire day, the slow slippage of clothes sliding down, crumbled, di...